Trigger Warning: vague description of child sexual abuse. I did not go into detail but Harry has a nightmare from something he witnessed as a child. The emotion is what I wrote and that may be hard for some to read.


10 Nov 1991, Sunday

Harry woke in the early hours of Sunday from a simple nightmare. Well, none of them were simple, these days, but those nightmares he still had of the Dursleys were relegated to simple.

This was one of those not-so-simple nightmares. They were of his Uncle Vernon, and no one else, and if anything, these nightmares had a creepiness to them that was worse than those nightmares that made him relive memories of being harshly spanked, or beaten, or shouted at viciously.

The darkness of the dorm felt alive this night after the nightmare. Icky and too close. He started to slip his feet over the bed when he glanced down cautiously at the edge.

The dorm beds were large, old-fashioned frame beds that were high up off the floor and had posts that supported a canopy and heavy, velvet drapes. Both Harry and Draco had to literally climb up into their beds, and when they were finished studying, and just being silly before bed, they would have running-jump contests in which they would both run towards their beds and try to leap up onto them. Of course there were bumps and bruises, but nothing terrible, and Harry felt it was all right to get a little bit hurt if you were a kid who was just doing normal, stupid-kid stuff.

At night, though, the space under his bed had begun to unnerve him. It made him think of his cupboard at his relatives house and how, with the stairs above that defined his ceiling, nooks and crannies had been created that never saw light. When he had been very little, these shadowed places had scared Harry because his imagination went a little too wild. There were spiders, too, even though he was as meticulous as possible about getting rid of the spiders and sweeping away their webs.

Those fears that Harry thought he had left behind in the cupboard, had followed him to his Slytherin dorm and were settling into the dark space beneath his bed. As much as he tried to tell himself that there was nothing down there to grab his ankles, he still could not help himself when he woke at night and jumped off his bed, as far away from imaginary reaching claws, just to go to the bathroom.

Tonight, though, the monster under the bed wasn't some creature with lots of teeth and long claws, but his Uncle Vernon. Harry knew, from first hand experience, that as fat as his uncle was, he had a swift, and long reach.

Peering, still, over the edge of the bed, Harry slipped his wand off the night table and pointed it menacingly down towards the floor. "You stay put, Uncle Vernon," Harry whispered softly. "I've been practicing that Stinging Hex Draco showed me and I bet I could hit you in the eye with it."

At that moment an eerie whistle slithered into the dorm with a cold chill. Harry forgot, just for a second, that Draco always opened the window on his side of the dorm just a crack before they went to bed. That fact didn't matter. The scary, whistling moan was enough to impel the little boy like a shot off his bed and scampering towards the soft light of the bathroom.

Once bathed in the safety of the light in the bathroom, Harry grabbed his dressing gown from his hook on the back of the door. He wanted his slippers, too, but they were under his bed and there was no way he was going to get them now.

Taking a deep breath, Harry ducked out of the bathroom and trotted swiftly past his bed, and out of his dorm. Torchlight, gentle at this time of night, lit his path down the stairs and into the common room. He picked up his pace again, and soon he was through the portrait of Salazar Slytherin and running for his father's quarters.

Back in his dorm Draco slept on blissfully unaware as a strange chitter, a chewing, a gnashing of tiny teeth joined the gentle whistle of a breeze wending its way through the dorm. Glittering pink dots, very small, like evil jewels, darted back and forth beneath Harry's bed. The pink vanished and in its place, illuminated for the briefest of moments by a sliver of moonlight, a rat darted out, across the dorm floor, and vanished behind Draco's wardrobe.


Snape had not yet gone to bed by the time the antique mantle clock, a Muggle treasure his mother had given to him when he was a child, chimed the turn of Saturday into Sunday. He was reading one of the books that Hermione had no doubt hoped to get her hands on when she had tried to access the Restricted Section of the library after curfew. It was titled, Origins of Possession by Baba Nara Yaga.

As intriguing a read as the book was it so far had yielded no clues in what to do with a possessing spirit. The content was rather lurid tales of witches and wizards possessed by everything from pixie breath to poltergeists to benign hauntings and finally to Fiends, of which it had been determined that the spirit of Voldemort now was.

Snape had learned that Fiends were basically like any other common, castle ghost, only these spirits were completely Dark. They were not spirits that roamed castles or arcane places that held some attachment for them and neither were they mischievous, sometimes cruel energies that caused general mayhem when they manifested. Fiends were almost always the spirits of Dark wizards or witches who held onto the living world because of a desperate need to control and harm the living. Fiends were clearly evil, and it was perhaps, a good thing that they were also quite rare. Death, it appeared, was often a final baptism that would cleanse a departing soul; even those that had been tarnished. It afforded Snape a sliver of hope that his mistakes, misdeeds, and Darkness committed whilst he was a spy, would ultimately be forgiven.

Just as Snape shut the book firmly closed he felt one of his internal alarms that meant one of the wards around the Slytherin common room had been crossed. With a tired sigh, the Head of Slytherin House rose from his comfortable chair and Summoned his teacher's robes as he prepared to go after whatever student dared to trifle with his wards and take to wandering. When his front door to the outer corridor opened, he paused in adjusting his teaching robes. There, in the doorway, with his long hair tousled by disturbed sleep, his dressing gown, bare feet, and oddly holding onto his wand as though it were a lifeline, was his son.

"Harry?" Snape shrugged his robes off onto his chair and went over to the small boy who gave the appearance of someone having made a long trek over infinite terrain.

"Could I have some hot chocolate, Dad?" Harry asked with a slight yawn. He slipped his wand into his dressing gown pocket now that he felt safe enough to walk without it in his hand.

"Have a seat, son. I will get things started in the kitchen." Snape passed Harry as he sat down on the sofa and briefly touched the child's head. Harry let out a relaxed sigh and curled himself up more comfortably in the soft sofa. Snape Summoned the knitted afghan from Harry's bed, and draped it over his son who was without his robe or slippers.

Harry had obviously had a nightmare, but at least not a vision. Harry reacted with much more fright to those. Here, the boy's body language told him that he was bothered by his nightmare, but not so enough to alarm the entire castle.

As Snape fixed the hot chocolate, he held the hope that his son would relax enough on the sofa to just drift back into sleep. Ten minutes later, as he levitated two steaming mugs of chocolate out into the sitting room (one was bitter chocolate and plain, whereas Harry's had whipped cream and little chocolate shavings melting into it) showed him that his son was still wide awake.

Harry's gaze had been fixed upon the flickering flames in the fireplace and his expression was definitely that of a troubled child. He sent his hot chocolate to a small side table where he had placed the book he had been reading, and then he floated the other mug over to Harry.

Harry gripped the mug, fortunately spelled to keep fingers from burning from hot liquid, he wrapped his hands around the warm mug and inhaled the delicious aroma of the chocolate. He blew his breath across the surface to cool it for his first sip. When he was ready, he tentatively brought the mug to his lips, delicately sipped the hot beverage, licked the small mustache of whipped cream off his upper lip, and sighed as that which could only be described as safety and comfort slipped down his throat and warmed him like the rays of sunshine did on a new day.

For a long several minutes, father and son enjoyed their chocolate in silence. When Harry was halfway through his he lowered the cup, still between his hands, so it almost appeared as though his hands and body were wrapped around the mug.

"Did you dream of the Dursleys again, Harry?" asked Snape gently. Harry nodded swiftly. Snape encouraged him to speak, "Can you tell me anything about it?"

For a long breath Harry was quiet and then he whispered, "It was Uncle Vernon. He... he..." Harry's cheeks coloured deeply.

It took every ounce of control Snape had to keep the anger from his face. Ever since he had learned of the elder Dursleys vile proclivities towards young boys he had worried about what other abuses his son might have suffered. Madame Pomfrey's scans had been thorough and did not show any physical damage to indicate sexual abuse, but those Diagnostic Spells could not show the more subtle forms of such abuse, nor the psychological damage, and it sickened Snape, especially since he had assumed, after seeing the results of those scans, that Harry's abuse was only broken bones and bruises. If his son was about to tell him it was beyond that, he would find the fat man, and kill him. No hesitation. He would destroy that filthy Muggle.

Harry coiled himself a bit tighter about his near empty mug of hot chocolate and focused his gaze upon his knees. "I don't want to talk about the dream," he whispered with a shudder that made him burrow into the soft knitting of the afghan.

"Just drink your chocolate, child," Snape spoke softly. He sensed the hush in the air but there was little of comfort to it. For a dose of bitter courage he sipped at his hot chocolate a few times. He glanced about the living room and wondered how his home could feel like something… evil… was edging its way in. Irrationally, Snape thought of the Fiend. Perhaps it was one of those things that fed when hapless little witches and wizards thought about it.

"Daddy," Harry asked softly. The diminutive in address to his father alerted Snape that there was something more than just a nightmare bothering Harry. The Potions Master did not answer but gave his son his full attention. "You'd never hate me for anything? You'd never send me back to the Dursleys."

Snape's spine stiffened. Harry's shudder right then thrummed with agitated Accidental Magic. It set his teeth on edge. Leaving his coco and his chair behind he moved to the sofa to sit beside his son. He pulled the boy into his arms after hovering the cup of coco. "Nothing in this world would make me hate you, Harry. And, I've told you before, but I shall tell you 100 times a day if you will believe me. I shall never send you back to the Dursleys. You are my little boy."

Harry sighed in relief. The vibration of Accidental Magic diminished somewhat but it was still there; as if ready to defend its wizard.

The small wizard curled tight against his father and pressed his ear to Snape's chest so he could hear the heartbeat that was so soothing to him. He began to play with one of the cloth covered buttons on his father's long coat.

"I used to run from Uncle Vernon. It was almost a lark when I was really young," Harry spoke softly just loud enough for his father to hear him. "Lots of places to duck under and Uncle Vernon was so big. I had a friend once," sighed Harry. His voice was tainted with such painful wistfulness that Snape brushed his lips to his son's temple. "His name was Eddie. It was really Edward but he liked being called Eddie."

Edward Blunt. Snape felt his heart sink to the furthest depths it ever had. It had never occurred to him that Harry might have known this other Muggle that Vernon Dursley had injured so terribly that it had affected the boy's mind. He then heard a sniffle as of tears beginning and his heart sank even further.

"Eddie knew no one was s'posed to be seen with me so he'd sneak over when I was gardenin' for Aunt Petunia. We didn't really play cuz I had work to do but Eddie would help me and he'd tell me stories. Harry looked up at his father for just a moment. "Eddie told me he wants to write someday. He'll be really great.

Snape, instead of letting out his anger kissed the top of his son's head slowly. Edward Blunt is in recovery but would he ever tell his stories again? he seethed inwardly. The wizard had read in the report that the boy talked, or babbled, to a worn out blue, stuffed dragon… Ice trickled down his spine.

"Harry, you told me you had a stuffed animal once," asked Snape carefully. "Do you know what happened to it?"

Harry nodded, and he twisted the button on his father's long coat. "For Christmas it was the only thing I had; a blue dragon. So I wrapped it up in the Sunday funnies from the garbage can and I gave it to Eddie." Harry giggled softly. "Eddie thought that Norbert was the greatest gift he'd ever gotten."

The child quieted and for a moment Snape hoped that there was no more to the memories his son was revealing to him. Alas, he was not that fortunate. Harry took a big sip of his cooling coco, made sure the cup was back in its hovering spot, and then he continued to speak.

"Near the end of the Summer when I was seven, I think, I was removing all the dead buds on Aunt Petunia's roses. I hadn't seen Eddie all day. When I was putting stuff away in the shed, I heard these strange noises. Sort of like a puppy getting hugged too hard."

Harry's hand that had been worrying Snape's button wrapped into the cloth of his long coat so tightly that some of his skin was pinched. He ignored the slight twitch of pain. He had to hear his son.

"I smelled it first," shuddered Harry. "Uncle Vernon liked to drink this really awful stuff that came out when he sweated. I could still hear those noises, too. I turned the corner and there was Uncle Vernon. He wasn't hugging Eddie but he was squashing him. Eddie's face was all messed up with tears and snot and blood, too. He saw me. He told me to run. I ran, Daddy, and I shouldn't have." Harry sniffled and Snape could feel the wetness of tears. "I ran, Daddy, and then Eddie and his family moved away. I know why now, Daddy. I know what Uncle Vernon was doing and I ran."

The sobs burst like a dam and Snape pulled his child tight to his body. He had seen terrible things at the hands of the Dark Lord, and sometimes at the hands of the Death Eaters. This, though, what his innocent, helpless son had seen would always be more horrible to him.

Snape kissed his child, unaware that tears fell from his eyes and onto Harry's dark, unruly, tousled hair.


An hour later Snape woke with a jerk. The tendrils of a nightmare skittered away as his awareness settled itself. He looked down to find his son curled up where he had sobbed himself to sleep. The older wizard vanished the coco mugs, and then he rose from the sofa. Harry, who was still deeply asleep, he gathered into his arms. He moved into his bedroom where he tucked his child into his bed. Snape then settled himself on top of the covers but near his son. It was perfection when Harry turned in his sleep to curl up next to his Dark Man.

The Potions Master brushed the fringe of hair that covered the scar… no the rune scar. He decided then and there he would no longer refer to Harry's scar as a curse scar. Lily had put it there to protect her child. Tentatively he stroked the scar. A breeze that should not be drifted through his room and ruffled Harry's hair.

Be afraid, Vernon Dursley, Snape's thoughts threatened. Muggle law is not enough to protect your worthless hide. I will skin you and find the Darkest potions to use your remains in, you vile excuse for a human!

Snape kissed Harry's warm cheek. For certain he knew he had completely lost his heart to this small boy. He whispered, "I will always be here for you, my dear little Harry. When you are grown with little ones of your own I will still be here to keep you safe from the monsters. Even the Muggle ones."


10 Nov 1991, Sunday - Breakfast

Harry looped his green striped Slytherin tie around his neck and the magic in it cinched itself snugly against his throat. Even so, he did not like things that felt constricting so he tugged on the tie to loosen it. When he felt better he smiled at himself in the bathroom mirror. He was glad it didn't talk. The castle bathrooms and the Quidditch team room that had been created for the Quidditch Little League team had talking mirrors. They were, in a word, obnoxious.

Harry turned to look at his father's bed that he had made up when he had awakened. He felt, again, like a baby for having come to his father but he had dreamt last night about Eddie and he didn't want to share that memory with Draco.

The eleven year old wizard sat down upon the edge of the bed. He was tired of all these nightmares. He smiled in contentment as he recalled words that filtered into his sleep hours and hours later; I will always be here for you, my dear little Harry.

Harry joined his father for breakfast. Snape had ordered a large breakfast of Belgian waffles with blueberries and strawberries, sausage links and bacon, and orange juice for them both.

"Do you have school stuff to do today, Dad?" asked Harry.

"My grading is all complete so I shall be assisting the Deputy this morning and then brewing this afternoon." Snape took a sip of his bitter coffee. "Have you finished all of your homework?"

"Almost," replied Harry. "We have a test on Monday in Herbology so I have to do some review. Draco, me and Hermione are going to quiz each other this morning."

"Very good. I would like you to join myself and the Deputy at eleven for tea," said Snape.

"Me? Why?" Harry looked up from his last bite of bacon.

Snape took an uneasy pause before revealing, "The Deputy Headmaster was a friend of James. He is looking forward to meeting you."

Harry blinked in awe. The Deputy knew his father? He'd be able to ask all sorts of questions, then, right? "Does he, uhm, know about the adoption, Dad?"

"He does not, Harry, so it has been a little difficult for him to swallow our story." Harry nodded sympathetically. Harry knew that their story didn't paint his mother in a terribly flattering light, from the bit Snape had told him of the story, but he figured his mum was all right with it since his Dark Man was taking such good care of him and giving him a happy life.

"He knew my father... er... my uhm, James?" asked Harry.

Snape paused at Harry's hesitation. "Harry, you do know you can call James your father, do you not?"

Harry nodded. "I do, Dad. It just gets confusing, you know? He's really my real father, or dad, or pop, or whatever I would have called him. Then, for our story he's my stepfather, but everyone else thought he was my father... uhm, when I was a baby. And then... uhhhhm..." he shrugged. Poor Harry was so confused, he couldn't even finish his thought.

"Just save yourself the trouble and call James your father, Harry," Snape spoke quietly, yet decisively. "It is easier to let everyone else sort it out for themselves."

"Okay," Harry agreed. "So, he and my father were friends? Were you friends with him, too, Dad?"

Snape's eyes hooded closed, slightly. There was no way for him to avoid the past and James' part in it.

"We were not friends, son," Snape began. "Your father and Professor Lupin were, but only for their years in Hogwarts. The professor left for the Muggle world when he finished school." He went on to explain about Lord Mortimer, his family, and that the man was a Squib, but also the Liaison for the wizarding world.

To Snape's expectation, and tiny bit of dismay, Harry latched onto the bit of information about why he and Remus had not been friends. In clipped tones, he expanded upon the tidbit of information and told his son that they had been in two different Houses and Slytherin and Gryffindor's rivalry was perhaps at its worst.

"It did not help that your mother and I did our best to hold onto our friendship, even though she was in Gryffindor and I was in Slytherin. James Potter and Sirius Black were the most negatively vocal about our friendship and they did their best to denigrate me in Lily's eyes." Harry's gaze narrowed sharply, but part of what his father had said puzzled him. "Denigrate - to treat as though I lacked in value or importance. They belittled me with insults and nasty nicknames, and did their best to catch me unawares in the corridors with hexes and jinxes."

Harry's eyes widened and he let out a gasp of indignation. Snape thought, at first, that his son was angry with him. "My father was a bully!" At his son's angered expression, he felt a bloom of warmth within knowing that his child was angry on his behalf.

"To be fair, Harry, I must admit that I did manage to give back as good as I got. James and I were unfortunate, regular visitors to Madame Pomfrey's care." Snape smirked lightly, a quiet sign to Harry, who had found the statement funny, to giggle a bit.

Snape rose to his feet and lifted his son from his chair and stood him on his feet. "Some children are awful, Harry, and it has been difficult for me to forgive James and his friends. No matter how once I felt about the boy, as your father, he loved you greatly. It is that man that you must remember, and respect. Keep this to yourself, it is also that man who blessed my adoption of you."

Harry let out a breath of relief. If his father, his dad Severus, hadn't wanted him to like James Potter, he would have disliked him for Severus. He hadn't wanted to, but the truth was, he loved his dad, and if it had hurt Severus to like James, he wouldn't have. He was pleased, and relieved that his Dark Man didn't want him to hate James. Impulsively, he hugged his Dark Man. "Thanks, Dad!"

Snape smiled and patted his son's back. He then added, with a slight, good-natured smirk, "James could not help telling everyone about all the mischief you got up to from birth."

Harry dropped his head suddenly into his hands. "Oh no! Did he show everybody photos of me taking a bath?"

Snape smirked as he rose from the table. "Oh, I am quite sure he did!" he teased.

Harry gawped as he looked up at his father. "Did you see photos of me... naked?"

Snape seemed to consider the question seriously. "Hmm, there might have been one or two, I believe."

"Ugh!" Harry grabbed his bookbag and practically sprinted like an escaping hare from his father's quarters.


The Silver Trio were neither in the library nor in their study room in Snape's office. They were in a storage room in the dungeons that had old, broken desks, and chairs stacked along its four walls. A large painting of a sunset over an ocean with a terrible hole in the middle of it leaned up against a portion of the broken furniture. Across from the sunset was a still portrait of a one-eyed man with a patch that looked a great deal like a historical pirate. Also in the storage room were odd Rubric-like gee-gaws, and a tall cabinet painted in garish purple and gold with yellow Chinese dragons and hundreds of lush lotus blossoms all over it. Most interesting of all was the slightly bent, and very old skeleton of a small, winged dragon strung by silver wire from the ceiling. The three children had spent a few minutes tiring their necks as they craned their attention to studying the fantastic find.

Hermione brought them all back to what they were in the storage room for, and they were in need of a place to sit.

Draco had discovered a rolled up bit of carpet that looked like it had suffered some burns on one edge. He had unrolled it to cover the stone floor and Hermione used Scourgify to clean the carpet of its accumulated dust. It was really a pretty piece that had the tale of Aladdin and the Forty Thieves within its threads.

Harry added some cushions to their find. Most of them either had been chewed by doxies, or appeared to have been the practice target for someone perfecting the Blasting Spell. None of them knew a Repairing Spell so Harry just turned the cushions to hide the worst of the damage.

Once their 'nest' was perfected, they all sat down and Hermione took a large volume out of her bookbag. Harry squinted at the book.

"That's a different book," asked Harry.

"This one goes into the Animagus transformation in more detail." She flipped the large book open. "And look at this!" She pointed at the chapter she had opened the book to. "Here's a potion we can brew that will show us what our forms are going to be."

"Let me see that." Draco turned the book and leaned over to read the list of needed ingredients. "We can buy most of the ingredients, but that one is really rare." He tapped his chin. "Professor Snape would get mad if he found out his Chameleon Skin went missing."

Harry glanced at Draco in worry, "We're not going to steal from my dad, are we?"

Draco shrugged, "Papa gives me a generous allowance, but not that generous, Harry."

Harry frowned at the recipe. "Do we need the potion?" he directed his question at Hermione.

She shook her head, "We don't, but it would make our visualisation exercises easier. Also, if we know our Animagus form, we can look up what each animal means for us."

"We don't get to choose?" asked Draco with disappointment. Hermione shook her head. "That's not fair," he grumped. "What if I wind up like something stupid like a porcupine?"

Harry chuckled. "That would be wicked, Draco! You could shoot quills at everyone."

Draco considered that, and then smiled. Maybe a porcupine wouldn't be so bad. "What would you want to be, Harry?"

"A dragon might be fun," Harry smirked.

Hermione shook her head. "Animagi can't turn into magic animals, Harry."

"So? I just said a dragon would be fun, Hermione. You don't have to be a spoilsport," he chided.

Hermione gave him an unconcerned moue. "Somebody has to keep to the facts, Harry, and that's me."

Draco and Harry both smiled and then moved to sit beside their bookworm friend who was back in charge of the book. For a long moment they were all silent as they studied it.

"We really should have that potion," said Draco.

"Without it, we'd still learn the transformation, but it would take a few years," informed Hermione.

Harry sighed heavily, "Maybe if I asked dad..."

"NO!" Harry was nearly deafened by the negative reply of his two friends.

"Harry," said Hermione firmly, "if your dad found out we wouldn't be able to learn how to be Animagi until our seventh year!"

"Yeah, but, we can't steal stuff," Harry almost whined. He grimaced at that sound in his voice. He was suddenly feeling wimpy. "Well... hmmm..." Needing someplace to stare at, Harry's eyes dropped to the list of ingredients. "It doesn't look like we really need a lot of Chameleon Skin," Harry said slowly.

"Yes!" crowed Draco with a hiss. Hermione grinned.

Harry frowned at the girl. "Hermione? You're always telling us to study and listen to the rules and stuff."

"She was out after curfew, Snape," scoffed Draco. "And your dad knew Hermione was in the restricted section, too."

Hermione blushed. "I was Sorted into Gryffindor, at first, Harry. Why do you think that was?" Harry's jaw slowly dropped open. She giggled.

"Yeah, you were," Draco nodded. "How come that was? You're real smart and all, you should have gone in Ravenclaw."

Hermione shrugged and shut the book. "I like to read. Everything." She stared for a moment down at her knees. "Mum sort of didn't like it and da' wouldn't buy me books because mum always told him that once I got a rich husband, I wouldn't need them."

Draco stuck out his tongue as though he had tasted something bad. "That's kind of dumb, Hermione," added Harry.

"My papa's rich and mother is way smart. I want to have a smart wife, too. So, did you go to a library a lot?" asked Draco.

Hermione shook her head. She then smiled slightly, "I was able to buy a lot of books second hand and such, but I had to keep hiding them from my mum and da'. Hiding stuff from my mum can be a real adventure."

Hermione then described all her hiding places that not only included the garden in their backyard but beyond the Granger house and throughout the neighborhood and town. She told them about the map she had created that led to all of her hiding places. They weren't all simple to get to. Many had steps to climb, or rocks or the way to get to them involved complicated paths through town, the park, and even two that involved crossing a creek and disappearing down an abandoned culvert.

Both Draco and Harry were impressed. "Wow, Hermione, you really must like books!" declared Harry.

She blushed. "I like learning, Harry. Sometimes it's worth it to break the rules to learn something new."

Harry was dubious. Both Draco and Hermione were confident that they could steal the needed ingredient, but this was his father, Professor Snape, they intended to steal from. Harry smiled wanly as he listened the his two friends outlines plans for the acquisition of the Chameleon Skin. If his father should ever catch them, it wasn't going to be pretty.


Draco returned to the Slytherin common room to finish some homework. Hermione, it seemed, wanted to go to the library. Harry departed from his friends and made his way up to the Deputy Headmaster's office.

Hermione did not go to the library, though. She found herself inexplicably drawn towards the Infirmary and so, with a sure foot, she made her way there. Madame Pomfrey was nowhere to be seen and before she knew it, Hermione was standing over Professor Quirrell's bed.

Only for a moment had his expression been placid, untroubled in his coma. Upon her arrival the comatose wizard's features contorted and he let out a moan that was a long and drawn out sigh.

"It's pretty, isn't it, Professor?" In Hermione's hand was the curious stone. Originally a mottled pink with granite-like flecks of black in it, the stone was now a rich crimson and almost transparent.

Quirrell let out a very soft, sighing moan again, but Hermione, mesmerised by the stone she held, was unaware of it. After several seemingly long minutes, she tucked the stone back in her pocket and left the Infirmary. Not once did she look back at the wizard who writhed as if in pain upon his bed.


Ssssoooo closssse, whispered a reedy thin, barely substantial voice deep within Quirrell's mind. Waken... waken...! I want... that... ssssstone!

The voice faded as its strength dwindled, smothered by fear from Quirrell. He had tried... tried so very hard with every, broken, thread of his magical core... day and night his mind fought the evil that was so... deeply... rooted within. Quirrell was losing... falling into that irresistible pit of comfort... sweet, unconcerned, uncaring bliss where he did anything for his Master. Unwilling, yet willing... and he knew he would die... Quirinus was prepared to die... if only to destroy the infection deep in his psyche...

Quirrell's body jolted spasmodically as the voice, still faint, crawled upward in his consciousness, an unwelcome, primordial ooze.

Shhhh, let me do everything, my little ssssslave... let goooooo...

Quirinus fell, and fell, and fell so far away... and he cared not one bit as he allowed a familiar fog of apathy swallow him further away.


10 Nov 1991, Sunday - 11am - Tea time

The Deputy Headmaster's office entrance was guarded by a tall, wide suit of armor that must have protected a very large man at one time. Curiously, though, this suit of armor had a crown of silver and gold upon its helmet. For a moment, Harry, who felt too small in front of the armor, just stared up at it. His head was tilted all the way back as he wondered how he was supposed to get past the suit and into sharing tea with his father and the new Deputy.

"Do you need a password?" Harry finally asked the armor.

The gauntleted hands clanked together bringing the halberd in its left hand into both hands and now in front of the suit of armor. Harry yelped as the heavy halberd dropped toward him, stopping just an inch above where his head would have been had he not jumped backwards. Suddenly the armor slid aside to reveal a tapestry. The tapestry then was pulled aside and there stood his father.

"Dad!" Harry exclaimed with relief. "I thought the suit of armor was going to kill me!"

"King Henry just wanted a password, son, and I forgot to give it to you. Come inside." Snape held the tapestry up and Harry went under his father's arm and into the Deputy Headmaster's office.

The Deputy's office was circular with a cone-shaped ceiling in which the large skeleton of a Gryphon hung above the office. The bookshelves were shiny brass and glass lining about a quarter of the walls. A very large fireplace dominated the office and the crackling fire was flanked by two sentinel gryphons. Across from the fireplace was a large, ornate desk of white pine carved with ivy and flowers that twined around the graceful legs and along the edge of the surface. It was covered with neat stacks of scrolls and parchments. The chair, also of white pine, was cushioned with white silk. Harry wouldn't know it, but this was nearly all the décor leftover from when Minerva McGonagall was Deputy. Remus planned to bring in a dark oak desk, to get rid of the skeleton, and the bookshelves. He preferred wood, and anything that reminded him of days gone past.

A slightly smaller desk of white pine with frilly scrollwork along its bottom edge was against one of the long, thin windows. Seeing the green ink his father favoured, Harry figured this had been where he was working.

Snape's hand flattened lightly against the middle of his son's back. Gently he drew Harry in front of himself. Harry looked up at the Deputy Headmaster whom he had only seen once as a substitute in DADA class.

Remus Lupin was a slim man, but where Snape was wire and sinew, the Deputy Head was tight muscle. He was only a few inches shorter than Snape with straw brown hair oddly streaked by strands of grey. Upon his cheek were thin, criss-cross hatchings of very old, pale white scars, and one eyebrow dipped slightly from a deeper, older scar that cut across the eyebrow, skipped the eye, and ended just below it. It was far from 'horrible'. Instead, the scarring gave him a weathered look that was disarmingly pleasant, and just a hint lopsided. The effect was enhanced by eyes of striking amber and a light smile that could easily be mistaken as shy.

The Deputy wore a Muggle suit of brown and beige tweed. The coat had leather patches on the elbows and Harry was reminded of a funny English professor who tutored a teen vampire slayer in some show Dudley would watch sometimes.

Harry's innate distrust of new people kicked in unhesitatingly and he pressed back warily against his father. Although this man appeared quiet, a lost-in-the-crowd sort of man, the little boy felt an instinctive sense of not fear, but caution settling into his bones. There was something that lay beneath the surface like a dozing, wild animal, and the last thing Harry wanted to do by accident was to waken this one's beast.

"Harry," said Snape, "this is Professor Remus Lupin."

Harry didn't glance over his shoulder, although he wanted to. He could feel how his father's body had stiffened as if the muscles underneath his skin had coiled like a cobra ready to protect his son. The small boy could also hear caution in his father's voice and a light sneer of dislike aimed at the Deputy; dislike that his father was doing his best to bite back.

Remus crouched down to Harry's level and widened his smile. The amber eyes softened as though to tame the wildness the child sensed. Harry smiled cautiously in return.

"It's very nice to meet you, Harry," Remus spoke gently.

The wolf within, now closer to Harry than he had been in DADA class, could now decode the confusion of scents within the boy that had briefly surrounded the child in class. There was Harry's own distinctive odour, that of childhood, snowmen, of flying through the sky on Summer days. Then he sensed a much older aroma, that of James, excessive confidence, the mark of one who had to be a hero. Overlaying that was a much newer scent of spices, herbs, and shadows hiding secrets. This was the scent of Severus Snape.

He now knew what they meant and the secret that they held. In that brief moment, Remus divined the truth between the father and the son. Snape had adopted Harry, but he had done it in such a way that all magical means would reveal the Potions Master as Harry's biological father. How it was done, the werewolf did not know, but that didn't matter since he did know, for certain, that Snape would do anything to protect Harry, to keep his son safe.

Remus looked up at the Potions Master and a look of knowing passed between them. Snape's gaze hardened in warning, but if anything, Remus' own gaze softened more, extending his trust within his silence. Snape's fingers clutched possessively onto his son's shoulder as another one of the old walls of resentment shattered beneath Remus' gaze. In their exchange of saturnine understanding, Snape knew that Remus had detected the magic of the adoption, yet the werewolf had no intention of sharing that truth.

Snape nudged Harry a bit forward, letting his son know that there was nothing to fear from the Deputy.

"Hi, Professor," said Harry quietly. "You knew James... I mean my...?"

Remus interrupted, his tone subtly enforcing the falsity, "I did know James, Harry. Shall we have some tea and you may ask me any questions you'd like?" He unfolded himself and motioned Snape and Harry over to three chairs in front of the fireplace where a large platter with tea, cakes, and biscuits waited.

"Chocolate chip biscuits!" enthused Harry as his eyes widened with boyish delight. "My favourite!"

As they took their seats, Snape frowned at Remus. "Sweets before lunch, Lupin? Are you taking a page from the Headmaster's book in regards to sugar? You had better not have sherbet lemons in that tin." He eyed a square tin that was painted with sepia coloured, Victorian flowers.

Remus ignored the barb, which really didn't have as much sting behind it as it might have. He picked up the tin and plucked off the lid to reveal slim biscuits that were of very light, swirled and crisped pastry filled with the Deputy's favourite hazelnut chocolate. He plucked one out, put it into his tea, and swirled his tea with the confection. "I was never fond of sherbet lemons, Severus. However, it will be up to you to police your son's indulgence this afternoon." With a wink, though, he handed one of the biscuit sticks to Harry whose eyes were rather wide at the sight of the curiously yummy looking stir sticks.

After swirling his tea with his own confectionery stirrer, Harry started to reach for a biscuit, but glanced quickly at his father. "One biscuit or one cake, Harry," his son pouted. Snape was intractable, though. "Not both, you sacchariferous barbarian and you had better eat all of your salad at lunch."

Before choosing, he put down his tea and picked up his bookbag and plopped it into his lap. He rummaged for a moment before pulling a black leather covered book from the bag's depths.

"Some studying to do, Harry?" asked Remus.

Snape was puzzled, but waited, just a moment to see what his son was up to. Harry was flipping through the pages. "Dad? How do you spell 'sacchafariferous'?"

"Sacchariferous." His father spelled the word and sipped his tea as a knowing smirk managed to crinkle his eyes, just a tiny bit. Harry had made good on his threat and had ordered a personal dictionary for himself. The book was in his hands, which leaned on his bookbag still perched in his lap.

With a bright smile that showed triumph at the acquisition of new knowledge, Harry recited, "Sacchariferous – adjective meaning to yield sugar." He then stuffed his dictionary back into his bag, plopped it back onto the ground, and snatched a tea cake from the platter. His smile now smug and accompanied by a rather Dumbledore-ish twinkle, he bit happily into the still warm cake.

"Very good, Harry," Snape approved. "For showing the initiative in getting your own dictionary, you may have a biscuit, too."

"Thanks, Dad." Harry's reply was slightly mumbled from the cake in his mouth. A quick admonishing glance from his father had him mumbling a quick apology as he took a sip of the tea to wash down the cake. When he could speak properly, he said, "I just wanted to know what you were saying with all those big words."

Remus chuckled, "Then I suppose you'll start going about Hogwarts sounding like your father?"

Harry shook his head. "No, at least not now. Draco knows a lot of big words, but he sounds right saying them. I'd probably sound poncey. I do like using big words as insults because someone like Crabbe or Goyle don't know what I'm calling them until they're grown-ups!" Harry giggled at his slyness. "I bet that's why you use big words when you're insulting people, Dad."

Snape's expression was one of his most snarky, used rather often in his Potions class, but for his son, there was a touch of warmth to the black eyes that could, at least in class, become so hard that all of his students swore they were rare, black diamonds.

"So, I can ask anything?" Harry had to make sure as he glanced over his teacup at Professor Lupin. It was one thing to ask his father questions, and that was okay because his father was his father. It would be rude to ask a stranger questions, even if he gave permission.

Remus affirmed, "Anything, Harry. What did you want to know?"

Harry stared at the brown-haired man and did his best to not gawp like an idiot. Of course he had questions, but he couldn't think of any of them. It also didn't help that Professor Lupin was being so polite and expectant.

"I know," smiled the Deputy as he noted Harry's hesitation. "Why don't I tell you a few stories about when James and I were students?"

Harry smiled at that. Sipping his tea, he settled in his chair and listened raptly as Remus related several stories from the days of the Marauders years in Hogwarts.

It was Snape who noted that all of the stories dealt with pranks the Marauders pulled on fellow Gryffindors, and those pranks were tame; hardly like the ones pulled on Slytherins, or Snape himself, for that matter. Even so, old hurt was being stirred up by the reminiscences. He began one of his Occlumens meditations to help quell those old emotions.

"Why did you call yourselves Marauders, Professor Lupin?" asked Harry politely, even though he knew he was interrupting the story about James and Sirius getting caught sending flying notes to each other in Charms class.

Remus hesitated as he caught a rather pointed expression from Snape who appeared interested in the answer as well. He coughed slightly, "Well, that was Sirius' idea. He liked code names for everything and a favorite book series of his was about the wizard pirate Captain Toller, his crew, and his ship, the Marauder. They were pirates who sailed the oceans in an enchanted pirate ship having various adventures."

Snape's eyes rolled. He was familiar with the series that were a favourite, even today, of most wizard teenagers. As a boy he had read one book, Captain Toller and the Marauder Finds the Hidden Island of Crystal, and had immediately decided it was the worst piece of tripe he'd ever wasted his time upon. "I should have known Black would aspire to be a pirate," scoffed Snape under his breath.

Harry's quick glance at his father was that of concern. Not once had the scowl on the older man's face been relaxed and Harry realised that his father was tolerating these stories from the past about James, barely.

The Potions Master was very good about not broadcasting his more turbulent emotions to most people, but such distress was somehow easy for his sensitive son to pick up on and when Harry felt this unease from his father, he wanted to do something to fix it. Putting down his tea he slid off his chair and moved to stand at his father's side where he leaned slightly against the armrest. Snape's arm moved automatically to the boy's waist and squeezed him in a gentle, one-armed hug. For a moment Harry smiled up at his Dark Man, his father, his daddy who comforted him when the shadows wouldn't stop being scary.

Remus reared back, his head connecting with the upholstered back of the chair, as Harry's sharp, green-eyed gaze caught him by surprise. Harry's smile was dim, now, and although it still offered friendship, in the boy's eyes were a clear warning to the werewolf. It was, 'This is my daddy. Don't ever hurt him.' He nodded, gravely, to Harry, acknowledging the silent threat with respect.

Snape, understanding the body language between the two, brought peace to the tension by speaking softly into Harry's right ear, "Remember what I told you at breakfast about James, son?"

Harry nodded, his gaze placid as he spoke solemnly, "He grew up." Snape's arm tightened around Harry's waist in approval and then, with a very slight smile meant only for his son, he nudged the boy back to his chair.

Knowing that he'd done well, and he had helped his father, Harry sat back down in his chair. The smile was gone from Snape's face, but so, too, was the tightness that had warned Harry of an impending migraine. With a look to the Deputy he gave Remus an open, and forgiving smile, "Did you know my mum?" Harry asked.

"Not terribly well, Harry, but I do remember her. Lily was always busy with school, or her friends," quickly he glanced at Snape, and saw that the stoic, protective mask was back in place. "Lily was kind and always thought well of others..." he then chuckled, "and she was wicked with Charms. Did you know she invented quite a few?"

Harry's eyes widened. "Really? What did she invent, sir?"

That was news to Snape. Imperceptibly he leaned forward to better listen to Remus' reply.

"Hm, well, probably the most well-known one, amongst mothers, that is, is called the Mother's Embrace Charm. This one is used to hold a newborn in the perfect position for bathing, feeding, or for changing nappies." Harry giggled and Remus smirked pleasantly. "Along that line, Lily also improved upon the Skin Rash Healing Charm for children."

"However did you manage to learn about these, Lupin?" asked Snape acerbically, but still with interest.

Remus glanced up at the dark-clad wizard, "Just before I went to work with the Mortimers I had a notion in my head about becoming a Healer and so Albus arranged for me to be apprenticed to Poppy. After I got the job at the Mortimers, I had thought to break my apprenticeship since I would be living in the Muggle world but she convinced me that Healing skills would come in handy when tutoring children. She told me that if any of the children were magical, I'd be thankful for her teaching." He smiled wryly, his blue eyes sparkling with humour. "Considering the family started with one child which multiplied into four, her advice was rather timely.

Remus then quickly outlined other charms that Lily had invented and Harry began to note a pattern of similarity in his mother's spells. He observed, "These are all charms for kids, aren't they?"

Remus gave the boy a wise smile, "I dare say, Harry, you were very likely the inspiration behind all of those charms and spells."

Harry grinned at that


Letters – correspondence exchanged during Sunday, Nov. 10, 1991

Severus,

Narcissa handed your letter over to me to address. I had been meaning to speak to you about the Grangers, but it has been a busy time. That, and I have been consumed in my research on Ancient Runes and Old Magic to deal with the problem in the Hogwarts Infirmary.

After the Sponsorship of Hermione was made formal, I wrote, as a matter of course, to the Grangers and explained the Sponsorship Program and how it would work for them and their daughter. Attached is the letter I received from them. It is the only letter I have received from the Grangers. To be honest, I am a little flummoxed over the content and am not entirely sure what to do. Narcissa has, understandably, been a bit more vocal on the subject. I had to restrain her the evening she read the letter as she was highly tempted to visit the Grangers personally to deliver her thoughts on their missive. I must admit, one is sorely tempted to call upon 'old friends' to deal with them, but I doubt Hermione would approve.

Any advice you might have would be appreciated.

Lucius

Copy of Dr. Jean Granger's letter to Lucius Malfoy. Delivery by Muggle Mail, then delivered by Hogsmeade Post Owl. Letter is dated October 16, 1991

Mr. Malfoy,

My husband and I have already received more than enough of your kinds correspondence than we care to receive. Yes, we know of the so-called attack upon the girl and we really are not surprised. Our difficult daughter never has known how to fit in and it appears she is carrying her habits to your world. I have told her since birth that if she wanted to get anywhere in life she would be doing herself a favour by adopting the ways of those around her. As usual she must be different and so it only gets her into a mess. Quite frankly we are tired of it.

So, now you are sponsoring the girl? I would try to warn you that you are embracing nothing but anguish in her, but by your letter you sound quite a bit like we know her to be. I told George from the moment we found out she was unnatural and hardly to be considered human, that all we had planned for her was wasted and ruined.

She is your problem now, since it is obvious you didn't need our consent at all for this farce of yours. George and I no longer wish to be bothered and we leave it to you, as her sponsors, to have everyone who thinks they should keep us in the loop out of it. Blood isn't always as true as you believe it to be, and we are discussing adoption options for a more suitable child; as we should have before HER disappointing birth.

Dr. Jean Granger


Dr. George Granger

Lucius,

I nearly burned Dr. Jean Granger's letter after reading it. Perhaps you should have let Narcissa have her say. And, those 'old friends', I was inclined to add my request to yours. As you pointed out, though, I think Miss Granger would not be at all happy at our more aggressive solution to dealing with her reprehensible parents. It would also not do to circumvent the law, so perhaps a visit to the venerable Grangers is required?

I am highly disturbed by the fact that not once is Miss Granger referred to by name. How long, I must wonder, have they been so distancing themselves from their child?

If you have not already begun to do so, might I suggest you begin an inquiry into the legal ramification of the Sponsorship in regards to a possibly abandoned magical child born of Muggles?

Severus


Severus,

Next weekend I should like to visit the Grangers. Meet me at the Manor Saturday morning at 9am should you wish to join me.

Indeed, I have been looking into our Sponsorship of Hermione Granger and have learned that, oddly, it is not a legal matter for Wizarding Children Services, but of the Hogwarts Board of Governors. How delightful that I am so well acquainted with that august body!

This is the procedure:

We would have to effect a valid severing of Parental Rights from the Grangers – both Muggle and wizarding forms -and then present it to the Board.

Once the Board has examined the paperwork a Letter of Recommendation will be drafted and then summarily accepted by the Board.

WCS will then receive the letter and will authorise, without prejudice, formal Ministry approved adoption proceedings.

Although we hardly need Hermione's approval, as she is underage, I think she would wish to know of our intentions. I shall consult with Cissy on the matter and then we shall talk to Hermione.

Enclosed, please find a Howler for Hermione. Would you direct it to her at her next mealtime? I am not at all pleased by her behavior on the 7th in regards to the breaking of curfew. Although I have had no hesitation in applying punishment firmly and repeatedly to Draco's backside until his thirteenth birthday, I am not quite sure what to do about a girl in regards to corporal punishment.

Have you any further advice for me?

Lucius


Lucius,

The Howler will be delivered on Monday at breakfast.

In regards to spanking? Miss Granger will better remember your lessons if you take her books away. Similar to restricting play time. I have given Miss Granger detention for this Sunday in addition to an essay. Shall I pass on any further chastisement on your behalf?

Severus


Severus,

I believe you may add a suitable punishment for Hermione from me. Two weeks restrictions, if you would?

By the by, I do appreciate that you were more forthcoming with the details of Hermione's adventure and subsequent encounter with the Mirror of Erised. Dumbledore simply told us that Hermione had gotten lost, and then fallen and injured herself!

Were you aware that the Mirror of Erised is considered a Dark Artefact? In my library I found a book on historical Dark Artefacts and Objects in the last 500 years. According to my research, the mirror feeds upon the magic of those that get caught in its 'Spell of Desire'. More importantly, it once belonged to Gellert Grindlewald. According to the book, Grindlewald found a way to hide objects within the mirror. A very tricky business as doing such caused the mirror to become unstable. Please make very certain that Hermione truly is unscathed after encountering the mirror.

Lucius


Monday, Nov. 11, 1991

The Silver Trio were seated at the Slytherin table waiting for their breakfast to arrive. Harry asked Hermione, "Did you get lectured by dad... I mean Professor Snape for being out after curfew?"

"Yes, I did, of course," she replied a tad testily. "I've got a detention, too, this whole Sunday." Her oatmeal appeared before her and Hermione picked up her spoon and began eating it. She didn't like butter or sugar on it, which caused both boys to shake their heads. They had tried to convert their friend to the pat of butter and spoonful of maple sugar everyone was allowed, but she wouldn't indulge.

"I wonder what you'll do for the whole Sunday, Hermione," mused Harry.

"Professor Snape got a whole barrel full of Abyssinian Snails in this weekend and they're pickling all this week." Draco teased his friend with the information. "I think those are even worse to prepare than Bubotubers."

Hermione glared at Draco. "Eat your orange!"

Draco chuckled and Harry smiled. Hermione just ignored them until the mail owls arrived. She was caught off guard when two letters fluttered down in front of her. Hermione was about to reach for them when she heard Draco muttering, "Oh no!"

Glancing at Draco, Hermione saw that he was looking up above her. Her gaze followed until she saw a red envelope drifting, rather smugly, down towards her. Harry noticed that the entire Great Hall had become quiet.

The Howler stopped its descent just in front of Hermione. She stared at it warily. Draco nudged her sharply. "Open it!" he hissed, his voice harsh, but sympathetic. "Howlers only get worse if you wait."

Hermione's hands shook as she reached for the awful, crimson coloured Howler. Her stomach roiled horribly as she wondered how in the world her mother had sent one of these magical lectures to her. As her fingertips touched the envelope, it burst open. To her astonishment, it wasn't her mother's voice reprimanding her. It was Lucius Malfoy!

"Hermione, I am greatly disappointed to learn of your after curfew adventure in the library. Although it was a clever thought to circumvent Professor Snape's wards as you did, I am certain I will not be hearing of a similar indiscretion anytime soon." Hermione felt stunned, and sick, and absolutely terrible as she listened to Lucius' very controlled voice. "As for the Restricted Section, I am beyond disappointed at your flagrant violation of a rule that is put in place to keep you safe! No book, no research is worth risking yourself as you did, child, and you will not do so again, or believe me you will regret it!"

Hermione's throat had gone dry and she swallowed. She let out a startled yelp as the Howler burst apart and vanished. At that moment Tara Anglaise draped her arm over the first year's shoulders and handed her a handkerchief.

"Wipe your tears, Hermione," she said softly into the girl's ear so no one could overhear. Tara then patted Hermione's back gently. The first Howler was always tough for the first years.

"He didn't even yell," Hermione said somewhat in shock as she sniffled.

Draco nodded, "Yeah, he never does, but he did use The Voice on you." The boy shuddered as he referred to a certain tone of voice, full of disapproval and disappointment that Draco himself had only heard from his father as he grew up. Draco had long ago called that particular tone, The Voice. When he heard it, he knew he had to pay attention, or else. "That's even worse than yelling."

"Yeah," agreed Hermione.

"You okay, 'Mione?" Harry asked gently. His friend was still staring at the spot where the Howler had been and he guessed she had never gotten anything like it before.

Hermione turned to face Harry. "'Mione?" She frowned at her friend. "What?" Harry asked in puzzlement.

"'Mione. You called me 'Mione, Harry," she repeated, strangely awed.

Harry didn't understand why she was being, well, weird, but at least Hermione wasn't thinking about the Howler anymore. "Yeah, I guess I did. I'm sorry about that, Hermione."

She smiled, "No, no, it's all right, Harry. I don't mind it. 'Mione is kind of nice."

Tara interrupted before the three could begin to talk about something else. She had noticed that one of the other two letters was on Slytherin House official parchment in their Head of House's signature green ink. "You'd better open this now before you forget to, Hermione." Tara handed her the envelope.

"Oh! Yes, thank you, Tara." Hermione broke the seal of Slytherin on the parchment and then unfolded it. She read the terse and straightforward words. "Oh no! No, no, no! That's not fair!" she suddenly wailed as she dropped the letter.

"What?" asked Draco worriedly. "What's it say?" He and Harry both grabbed for the fallen letter, but it was Harry that snatched it out of the way first.

Harry read aloud, "Miss Granger, on behalf of your Sponsor, you have an additional punishment for your recent folly. For two weeks you are banned from the library unless accompanied by Prefect Anglaise to pick up any books that you need. Any and all recreational reading, as well as any additional reading that does not have to do directly with your classes, is hereby suspended for two weeks as well. I have taken the liberty of removing your extra reading material from your dorm and will return them to you at the end of your suspension. S. Snape, Head of Slytherin."

"Ouch!" remarked Draco. "Hermi..." he glanced at where Hermione should have been sitting. "Where'd she go?"

"Ohhhhhh," hissed Harry as he spotted Hermione. "She is soooooo dead!"

The young first year, quite full of hurt and indignation, was striding with purpose up to the staff table to confront Snape.

Snape had abandoned his breakfast when the Howler was delivered. He had hoped that it would have been Narcissa who created the Howler since he had heard Lucius use the same tone, the one Draco called The Voice, upon his own son. It was an unusual timbre that had no effect on adults, but perfectly made a child listen, with ever-growing dread, and then shame at whatever the child had done. Snape had to admit, The Voice was very effective, yet it was quite unlike the magic the Headmaster used to coerce others.

Once the Howler was finished, Snape then watched as his letter had been opened. The girl had paled, at first, but then her cheeks had flushed. While Harry re-read the letter out loud, Hermione's eyes had turned on him, broadcasting too well her anger. His gaze suitably darkened as she rose from her seat and strode towards him.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, Snape rose from his place at the staff table. Since the table was slightly raised on the dais for the table's placement, his height was even more imposing. He crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a warning glare.

"Miss Granger you will return to your table and accept your punishment with grace at once," he ordered in that dangerous, silken tone of his that caused a few of his colleagues to shudder.

Paying her Head of House's warning no heed, she shouted, "You can't take my books!" Hermione unwisely stamped her foot against the floor as she cried out, "They're mine!"

"Severus, you took her books away?" chided Minerva in quiet shock.

Snape glared with a flash of anger at Minerva McGonagall. In a very low voice that did not carry in the Great Hall, he hissed, "Do keep out of this, Professor McGonagall. I will deal with my Snakes as I see fit." With that he turned away, left the table and marched down to his defiant student.

Having affected such a strong approach, Snape had hoped to scare the little nitwit back to her table and friends. To his utter embarrassment, Hermione, stupidly, shouted at him again, "Give me my books back!"

Hermione was literally caught by surprise as the Potions Master grasped her by the upper arm, turned her a quarter turn, and landed the flat of his hand with a firm smack to her backside. Snape let go just as quickly, and ordered very sharply, "My office, Miss Granger! Now!" He then strode out of the Great Hall ignoring all the stunned looks of the students he passed by.

For a moment Hermione stayed where she was. Utterly shocked, and humiliated, her cheeks reddened as she realised what had just happened to her. Touching her backside briefly, she then broke into a run after her Head of House, all too eager to leave behind all those eyes staring at her, and the more subtle laughter.


At the Slytherin table Prefect Anglaise put an hand very lightly on Harry's forearm as he watched his friend running out of the Great Hall.

"He spanked her," Harry whispered, feeling a bit numb.

"She shouldn't have talked back to Professor Snape like that," Draco grumbled. He didn't like what he saw, either, but he felt Hermione deserved that smack.

"But, why did she do that?" Draco's anger vanished as he heard the desperately confused thread in his best friend's voice. He shifted closer to Harry and gripped his hand, squeezing tightly. He knew he was one of the few people allowed to touch Harry so firmly.

Harry turned his gaze away from the spot where Hermione had been and looked into Draco's gentle, grey-eyed gaze that was filled with concern. "He's not..." he lowered his voice, "The Dark Man won't hurt her, will he?"

It was the fright in Harry's voice that chilled Draco and decided him as he rose from his bench. "C'mon, Harry." He tugged the slightly smaller boy from his bench and almost dragged him from the Great Hall. Out in the Entrance Hall, they moved quickly across the flagstones and to the narrow, arched doorway that led to the dungeons. "It's all right, Harry. Your dad isn't going to hurt Hermione. You'll see."

Having a purpose to focus on Harry now followed his friend down into the depths of the dungeon to where Hermione was now probably in the Dark Man's office awaiting further punishment. His mind hoped, feebly, that his father really wouldn't hurt her for talking back to him.


Back in the Great Hall, Prefect Tara was about to settle back to her breakfast when she noticed the last of the two letters and Howler that Hermione had received that morning, sitting by the first year Snake's empty place at the table. She picked it up and glanced at the writing on the front to see who it might be from. Frowning, she tucked it into her robes, and then returned to her breakfast.


Snape stood imperiously at his open office door as he watched a glistening eyed Hermione run the rest of the way down the corridor towards him. His glare raked over her penitent form as he watched her slow down to a respectful pace that took her quickly into his office. He swept in behind her and allowed the door to slam shut in reflection of his ire. Hermione flinched appropriately and he went to stand behind his desk.

Hermione sniffled and as quickly as possible swiped at the betrayal of a few tears on her cheeks. Snape ignored that as he regarded his wayward Snake. She was contrite, certainly, but their was still a stiffness of indignation in the child's body language. Her attachment to her books was, possibly, a bit stronger than he had anticipated.

Nevertheless, he growled out in a rough, silken voice that reflected his exasperation with the child, "I have not had to strike one of my Snakes as I did you, Miss Granger, in five years. Your behavior was appalling. You brought your House into an unfavourable light, and you embarrassed me in front of my colleagues, the Headmaster, and all the Houses of Hogwarts." He noted that her chin began to wobble with the effort of suppressing her emotions. Sadness and remorse he expected, but it bothered him that the girl also appeared still quite angry with him." He lowered himself, with a touch of menace, into his desk chair. "You had better use that intelligence of yours, Miss Granger, and rid yourself of that righteous indignation you are harboring," he threatened.

Hermione gulped and tried, very hard, to push away her anger. It dissipated, but in its place was a very severe ache, and loss. More tears managed to escape and fall upon her cheeks.

"They're my books," she just managed to lament sadly under her breath.

With a nod of his head, he indicated an impressive array of books that had been carefully shelved upon one of his book shelves very recently. "They will be returned to you after two weeks, Miss Granger." His eyes narrowed as the girl's body almost sprang for the confiscated books. He was inwardly pleased when she reigned in the impulse to dive towards the books, and kept to where she was standing. An anguished longing for them remained, though, upon her stricken face. "As you can see, I have taken care of them and no one will touch them."

Snape's own anger was fading while concern for the child's untenanted emotions settled within him. Some anger, perhaps outrage at the knowledge of her punishment, was to be presumed, but this desperate attachment bordered on the obsessive and it concerned him.

Hermione sniffled, yet again, so Snape conjured a handkerchief for her and floated it towards her. She took it from the air and dabbed at the tears and blew her nose. "Thank you, sir." Her voice had been so soft Snape very nearly didn't hear it.

The Head of Slytherin wanted to comfort the girl, to let her know that his anger had passed, but she had broken two fundamental rules of Slytherin, and of his. They needed to be dealt with before he could deal with the problem arising from her additional punishment.

"Sit down, Miss Granger," he ordered curtly. When she gingerly perched herself on the edge of a chair, her spine far too stiff and straight, he continued, "I shall deal with the concern over your books in a moment, but I want you to realise what you did to receive that spanking."

"It was just a smack, not a spanking," she clarified, in a half-mumble.

His eyes narrowed in warning that she not contradict, nor correct him again. "Be that as it may," he bit out, "your behavior in the Great Hall was shameful and I warn you I will not be seeing it again. It was rather too Gryffindor in its delivery for my taste."

Hermione's cheeks blushed with outrage as her jaw fell open. "I'm not a Gryffindor!"

He sneered, "Aren't you? Roaming the halls after curfew? Trying to break into the Restricted Section of the library? Shouting like a banshee at your Head of House because of a punishment? Slytherins have more subtlety than that, Miss Granger. You have more decorum than that. I have seen you exhibit ladylike manners for a child your age so I know this display was beneath you. I expect better of you, Miss Granger!"

Looking into her professor's eyes, she could see the truth of his words, and the bitter disappointment he now had for her. For a brief moment that smack to her backside had stung, but not as much as the disappointment her respected and most favourite teacher now had in her. That cut into her heart and she felt that it was something she would remember, forever.

Her shoulders drooped and her spine bent as all her dismay at her behavior spilled forth in remorse, "I'm so sorry, sir! I know I shouldn't have done it, but I was just so angry and I couldn't think straight!"

Snape didn't speak right away. Briefly he drummed his fingers upon the surface of his desk, then stopped and leaned forward a bit. "You were angry about your punishment," he stated.

"You took my books!" she snapped.

He glared warningly and his voice rumbled like distant thunder darkly, "Snap at me with disrespect again, Miss Granger, and I will have Professor McGonagall join us to witness a spanking that will have you unable to sit without a Cushioning Charm for a week!" His fist thumped on his desk and he ground out, "Thirty points taken for your behavior in the Great Hall, and fifteen points taken for now." Hermione's jaw dropped, but she snapped it shut as she felt her anger rising unbidden again. "Accio Calming Potion!"

The cupboard to the right opened and a potion bottle came sailing out of it and slapped into Snape's hand. He Transfigured a scrap of paper into a small cup, poured out a dosage and handed it to the child. "Drink it. I do not want anymore untoward outbursts as we discuss this difficulty you have with your punishment."

Hermione rose from her chair, took the cup and drank down the potion. It was a bit chalky, but its magic worked immediately to calm her emotions so she could think more rationally. She knew she really hadn't done herself any favours, and in fact she felt quite a bit like a lunatic for having reacted as she did. Hermione had mentioned, though, that she couldn't have stopped herself if she wanted to, and it was true.

Snape waited a few minutes for the Calming Potion to take full effect and then he asked, "Miss Granger, I had expected you to react with some resistance to having your books and library privileges removed but I did not anticipate your hysteria."

"My mum always called me hysterical," she bristled. "That wasn't hysteria... sir..." Suddenly she clapped her hand over her mouth as she caught the dark scowl from her teacher. Hermione apologised, sincerely, at once. "Oh god, I really am sorry, sir! Honestly! Please don't take anymore points from Slytherin."

He considered the desperate request shrewdly. "I shall not take another point from Slytherin if you are able to provide me with a plausible, and truthful, explanation as to why you are so reluctant to part with your books."

Hermione squirmed uneasily in her chair. What her teacher was asking for meant she would have to reveal some truths she'd really only felt comfortable telling to Draco and Harry. However, she didn't want to lose more points from Slytherin and get anyone from her House unduly mad at her.

With a resigned sigh, she replied, "My books are all I have, sir." Snape's scowl made no sign that he comprehended the statement that, to her, explained everything. Briefly closing her eyes, she clarified her declaration, "My books have always given me what I wanted, and couldn't have. My mum didn't understand, and she... she threw away quite a lot of my books until I learned to hide them so she'd never take them away again." Opening her gaze, she pleaded, contritely, "I know it doesn't make sense, sir, but my books are as much a part of me as breathing is. I just feel that if you take them from me for two weeks, I'm going to die!"

Snape was quiet a moment longer before declaring shortly, "Surely you are old enough to know that sounds simply ridiculous, Miss Granger." He frowned as she nodded in agreement miserably. "No one ever died from a lack of books." A little softer he said, "I do realise that books are very important you, child, but it is time you also realise that there are those, here, that regard you very highly, and consider you an important part of their lives. Books are not 'all that you have' anymore."

Hermione was quiet, expecting her teacher to say more, but then she thought that perhaps he expected her to say something. "You mean Harry and Draco, sir," she whispered.

"Most certainly," he nodded. "You also have the twins, Mr. and Mr. Weasley, young Mr. Longbottom who is flourishing under your tutelage. There are also a good portion of your own House that think well of you. There are Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy who believe in your potential and are entirely pleased to encourage you. Once a week Lucius either writes to me, or meets with me here, not only to see how his son is doing academically, but you, as well." He smiled slightly as Hermione herself smiled, just a bit. "Also, I do believe that you write rather lengthy letters to Narcissa, do you not."

Hermione giggled slightly, then blushed. "Aunt Cissy doesn't mind, does she? I mean, I know they're long, but it's so nice to write to her, about everything and I know she reads everything because she answers my questions."

"Considering that the witch has never stopped writing to you, I believe you need not ask such a question, Miss Granger." Hermione smiled. Snape rose from his desk chair and walked around the large desk where he moved in front of the girl and leaned his hip against the edge of his desk. "Now, I will not reduce, nor change your additional punishment from the Malfoys, Miss Granger. However, I will make this one concession; when you come to your study session before dinner, you may take two minutes to assure yourself that your books are fine. Is that acceptable?"

She nodded, letting out a breath of relief. "Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Get along to class, then, Miss Granger." He watched the girl leave and then he moved to the open office door and glared into the corridor where flickering shadows were created by the burning torches that lined the old stone walls. "Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Snape. Do show yourselves."

With matching hang-dog expressions, the two boys shuffled out from the darkness created by the shadows and allowed themselves to be ushered into the Potions Master's office. "Well?" he demanded.

"You hit Hermione," Harry accused in a flat voice.

"I did not hit her," began Snape.

"You did too!" Harry snapped just as several emotions burst from within: indignation, dismay, and an uncomfortable wavering of his trust.

"Mr. Snape, I have been shouted at once today," he growled out, doing his best to ignore the possible erosion of trust right before his eyes. "I will not tolerate it again."

Draco grasped the sleeve of Harry's uniform and yanked on it hard. "Har-ry!" he hissed in warning. Harry jerked his sleeve away from his friend, not allowing his gaze to be diverted from his father.

"You hit Hermione in front of everyone," the boy insisted firmly.

"It was a smack, Mr. Snape. I did it not to hurt Miss Granger, but to get her to attend to the fact that she was behaving like a spoilt toddler. That is quite a bit more than I intended to discuss with either of you as this was to be a private meeting between myself and my student." He regarded his two Snakes for a moment, then glanced pointedly out into the corridor through the still open door, and then back to the two boys. "Would you care to explain the reason for lurking outside my office?"

Draco was studying his clasped hands with feigned concentration. It was up to Harry to explain. Harry remained ramrod straight for almost a whole minute before he drooped slightly. Words poured out of his mouth at a phenomenal rate, then, "!"

Both Draco and Snape looked at Harry with puzzled expressions. Draco bit out, "What?"

Snape drawled, "Repeat yourself, Mr. Snape, slower this time."

Harry really didn't want to repeat himself. At first, there in the Great Hall in the aftermath of Hermione's public smack, he had thought it was the right thing to do; to go after them and make sure his friend would be all right. But then, halfway there, he had the sinking feeling that should his father really, and truly wish to hurt someone, he was an adult, and much more clever, and even dangerous, than most adults he knew. Harry was just a little kid who knew some magic (and some of it he wasn't all that good with), so what could he do to stop the Potions Master? But then, a part of him tried to reason with him that he was very wrong about the Dark Man. He would get mad, certainly, but he would never hurt a child. As reasonable as that sounded in his mind the smack Hermione received had stirred up old memories of similar, hurtful bum smacks from Aunt Petunia.

"I wanted to make sure... er... you didn't hurt Hermione." As an afterthought he lamely added, "Sir."

Snape made to reach for his son's chin, but was dismayed when the boy twitched slightly backwards. The effort, on Harry's part, to stay in place was all too visible.

What have I done? Why does my son flinch away as though I am about to hit him for worrying about his friend? What did I do that made Harry think I was going to hurt Hermione?

Snape sat down in the chair Hermione had recently vacated and regarded his son. Hurt by his son's fears glistened briefly in the depths of his dark eyes.

Harry saw that and he began to babble, "I'm sorry, sir! I shouldn't have thought that! I know you're good! Dark Man you saved me from so many terrible nightmares when I was little and you've never smacked me once since I got here! I just... just... I... didn't...!" Harry's babbling ran out of steam and since he didn't know what to do, he settled for chewing upon his lower lip and curling his fists into his robes.

"Come here, child," Snape motioned with his hands for Harry to step closer. It was heartening to him that Harry did not hesitate and this time, when his father reached for his hands, Harry released his grip on his robes and the boy allowed his father to fold his large hands over the smaller ones. "You remembered something from your time with your relatives when I smacked your friend, did you not?" he asked with accurate insight. Harry nodded quickly. "Will you tell me what it was?"

"When I was eight my Uncle Vernon was having some work done on the house so my Aunt Petunia didn't have any choice but to take me with her and Dudley. We went to the zoo." He smiled at the more pleasant aspect of the memory from his past. "It was really wicked getting to see all these great animals, but then Dudley got hungry and he wanted an ice cream. Of course, Aunt Petunia bought him one, but not for me. And, well, I just really, really wanted one and I asked as polite as I could. I really did. And, and then she grabbed my arm and walloped my bum a bunch of times." Harry's fingers shifted and he convulsively gripped the older man's hands. "Honest, sir, I wasn't being smarty mouthed or anything! I was being the most polite I could 'cuz I really wanted an ice cream! But she hit me, and bruised my arm, and I thought Aunt Petunia had broken my bum, too!"

Draco heard that last bit about the 'broken bum' and he bit down, hard, upon the snicker that threatened.

"Shh! Calm down, Harry," soothed Snape. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and used his wand to dampen it slightly with cool water. He dabbed the cool cloth over Harry's flushed cheeks, chin, and neck. "Better?"

"Uh huh," nodded Harry.

Draco moved to stand beside his Head of House as he eyed his friend. He had composed his mirth and now watched his friend. "Did you go away in the past again, Harry?" he asked with concern.

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I sort of did," he affirmed. His dark green gaze caught the dark orbs of his father's. "I really do know you wouldn't've hurt Hermione, Dad. It was just weird in the Great Hall..." he shrugged in resignation.

"I understand, son." He drew Harry to himself and gave him a quick hug. "You are going to have these odd flashbacks from time to time, but we will deal with them."

"I'll help, too!" piped up Draco. Harry smiled at his best friend, and then hugged him until Draco hugged him back.


The Slytherin Prefect, Tara Anglaise, slung her bookbag quickly over one shoulder and made her way down from the Transfiguration class to the dungeon office of her Head of House. She had a few minutes before any of his evening detentions began and she hoped that was all she needed. When she arrived, the door was open, and Snape was already at his desk grading essays or tests. She knocked lightly.

"Enter," he spoke solemnly and glanced up to see the seventh year prefect. "Miss Anglaise? What may I do for you?"

Tara pulled the letter from her pocket that was a tad bent from having spent the day there. She held it out to him and he took it. "That was at Hermione's place this morning at breakfast, sir. I guess she didn't get a chance to read it."

"No," he smirked. "I believe Miss Granger had her mind on a few other things." He then nodded and glanced down at the address on the envelope. "Why did you not deliver this directly to Miss Granger?"

Tara hesitated, but only for the briefest of seconds. "It's from her parents, sir."

"So it is," he drawled, wondering why the girl was stating the obvious.

"Well... Hermione's never gotten anything from her parents, sir. Flint was teasing her about that one night. You know how his mother writes him about the least little thing, right?" Snape drew in a breath and nodded for the young lady to continue. Everyone knew that as nasty as Marcus Flint could be, down underneath all that bluster he was the worst momma's boy anyone had ever met. "Anyway, everyone was talking about the Malfoys Winter Ball that night and Draco happened to ask Hermione if she had heard back from her parents, yet, on whether or not she would get to go. Hermione tried to ignore him and finally snapped that she couldn't go and for him to 'quit nagging' her about it. That's where Flint jumped in and said something about how she ought to do whatever she wanted since it was obvious that her parents didn't care about her."

"And Miss Granger's reaction?" he asked smoothly.

"She cried," Tara grimaced at the memory. "A lot. I almost sent someone for you, but Hermione did rally her emotions and settle down. I then had to talk to Draco and I asked him not to mention the Ball to her for awhile. At least, not until I got her to write to her Sponsors about the problem." She glanced at the letter. "I didn't give that to Hermione, sir, because I was a little worried that if it wasn't good news, it wouldn't do her any good to hear it."

"I think you did well, Miss Anglaise. I shall deal with the letter. Thank you for bringing it to me."

"You're welcome, sir." She then turned and left the office.

With a wave of his wand, Snape closed his office door and locked it. He turned the letter from the Grangers over and over in his hand. It had been mailed the Muggle way to the Hogsmeade Post Owl Office. From there it had been delivered to Hogwarts for Hermione. The letter was just a week old.

Flipping it over to the backside, he used his thumbnail to part the closing flap from the envelope and was promptly awarded a papercut that sliced across his thumb pad and cuticle. Cursing the Muggle envelope, Snape Summoned a disinfectant and then healed the cut using his wand and a simple Healing Charm. With that small annoyance fixed, he removed the letter, unfolded the flower-edged, cheap stationery, and began to read.

Hermione Jean Granger,

We have had it up to here with all the owls that are coming from your world, and that school. You must inform anyone that has written us that it needs to stop, this instant.

George and I have been talking earnestly this last month and we have made a difficult decision; in light of you being adopted, or sponsored, or whatever that wizard thing is, we are washing our hands of you. Frankly, you've been nothing but a bitter disappointment since your birth. No interest in your future, no interest in the things that matter to us. How many times have I told you that you were destined for something greater and you just never listened! Contrary, disobedient child!

We tried to live with your magical aberration but to be blunt, George is plainly terrified of you. I suppose you don't care that when you received that letter from Hogwarts, his nerves made him quite ill. It only made him worse when we had to take you to that absolutely insane road for school supplies. George really hasn't been the same since. Especially since you've apparently gone and got adopted. This is the last straw. I am utterly shocked that we weren't even consulted, but I guess that's how things work there!

What this comes down to is that George and I are heartbroken at the loss of the daughter we thought we had. Everything we gave you and you just threw it back in our faces like so much trash. Now you're somehow superior to us, I guess, because you can wave a silly wand around and we can't.

You have your world and it is best that you forget about ours. The magic you did here was too much for any sane human being to deal with, and I rather consider it dangerous, too. With the plans we've made it is far too big a risk for you to return. You're obviously one of them and you should remain with them.

George has packed up your things and you should receive them about a day or two after you get this letter.

Dr. Jean Granger


In a smaller, more precise print there was a postscript to the letter after Hermione's mother's signature.

Hermione, there were many times I took your side against your mother (mother was firmly scratched out in someone else's hand) Jean and I am afraid I cannot do so any longer. It is better that you live with your own sort. I'm sure you'll be happier, and this time I think Jean will have the daughter I should have given her. I've enclosed a photograph of Araminta. She is five and is quite the young lady. Jean is delighted with her.

Dr. George Granger


Very slowly Snape put down the letter and refrained from instantly burning it to ash. He picked up the envelope, turned it upside-down, and out fell a small, Muggle photograph of a very pretty, five-year old girl. Her smile was perfect, as were her perfectly styled, golden curls, and her dress of pink and yellow, lace and silk that Snape doubted Hermione had never seen in her own closet.

Snape laid the photo on top of the letter and ground his teeth together as his blood boiled hotly in his veins.

Never in his life had he ever read something so cold, so insulting, so cruel, before. It was a rambling mess of a missive, but its intent was a truly aimed arrow – had Hermione read it, her heart would have been cleaved in two. His little know-it-all Snake might have been the first, ever, to expire from a broken heart.

"You two and the Dursleys are the worst sort of Muggles... of human beings," he growled tightly under his breath. Around his office bottles and jars began to rattle ominously. Not heeding the rise of his magic, Snape slammed his fists onto the surface of his desk. An angry aura of red burst forth from his fists at the impact, and exploded. At the same moment, several dozen jars popped, burst, or shattered.

The possibility of potions mixing that shouldn't was enough to shut down the Potions Master's anger. He folded the letter, with the photograph, and tucked it into an inner pocket. He then removed his wand, vanished the mess from his walls and floors, including the glass, and swept out of his office.

Just a few steps away was his classroom where a group of Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff thirds years waited for their teacher, who was curiously late by at least fifteen minutes.

Snape burst into the classroom, causing almost all of the students to flinch, jump, or let out startled squeaks. "Read chapters 14 and 15 of your textbook and then write a 2 foot essay on the properties of Hippogriff Talon."

Not one student made a move. In fact, they rather stared a bit dumbly stunned at him. "Well? Get to your dorms and get started! Class dismissed!" He shouted.

That stirred the students into action, and in under a minute, the classroom was cleared. Snape slammed the door shut behind them, plucked a jar of dried cockroaches off of a nearby shelf, and threw it with all his strength across the room until it shattered on the far wall.

"Bastards!"


That evening, Snape did not speak to Hermione of the letter from her parents, but he did invite Harry, Draco, Hermione, the Twins, Neville, and Millicent to dine with him in his office. He was mostly quiet during the sumptuous meal. Around him the children babbled, argued, discussed classes, and the upcoming holidays.

Oddly, not once did he find any of them annoying.


Monday, Nov. 11, 1991 – A few strokes before midnight, Hogwarts Infirmary

Quirinus Quirrell was not a warrior. He never had been. A weak and easy to frighten man, he had once believed in the enigmatic Lord Voldemort and his message of preserving Pureblood wizardry by the complete separation of Muggles from the wizarding world. He had served his Dark Lord by traveling the world in search of spells and rituals that would ensure his Master a long life; a life that might even stretch beyond death. He had never taken the Dark Mark, but his soul had been Marked long before then.

Upon his Master's death at the chubby hands of an infant, he had hoped to escape the Dark Lord forever by traveling to the ends of the Earth. Quirrell had known, by then, that Voldemort wanted the wholesale annihilation of the Muggle population. Not just the separation they had preserved for centuries, but Voldemort would have a world of wizards only.

Long after coming to this conclusion Quirrell had chosen not to give Voldemort all that he found on his travels. He was hopeful that by travelling to the far ends of the wizarding world he would never be found; by anyone. For he was by the words of the Dark Lord, a traitor.

When he heard of the Potters' death he thought it might also mean his own. One of those very spells that he had acquired for Voldemort had been used to hobble him mentally, and to prepare him for the eventual destruction Lord Voldemort had expected from a Prophecy.

The Dark Lord had used a subtle spell and a very arcane ritual to weave a portion of his own soul around that of Quirrell's. Quirinus had not known of this for he had been under the soporific haze of a very strong, long distant mesmerisation. He had dreamed such horrific things, things that repulsed him deeply, but were oddly overlaid by by a sensuous thrill that had later sickened him. Those strange visions had faded and he had awakened in his own bed in the little cottage his aunt had given him along the coast of Cornwall.

Ignorant as he was then, Quirinus was no longer. Magically weak, and infinitely terrified, he knew that it was impossible for him to oppose the parasite. Still, he could not stop fighting and everytime something weakened the parasite within he mentally fought against it.

How the little witch had gotten the Philosopher's Stone, Quirinus could not say, but its song swept tantalisingly through his head, night and day, calling for someone with the power to tame it.

As he himself had been injured by the odd Light of white power that had assaulted his mind, and his magical core, so too had the parasite suffered. All the strength Voldemort had siphoned from the unicorns and the Centaurs had drifted away like ash. It was the song of the Stone, and only its allure that kept the Dark Lord fighting to keep a hold upon his vessel that was Quirinus Quirrell.

Within his mind, a disgustingly cold cheek laid itself against Quirrell's own. His Master's… no, the parasite! … Voldemort's voice crooned gently to him. "We are nearly sssstrong again, my Ssssacred Vessel. Sssstay here besssside me, dear Quirinussss. You will awaken. You will live and we shall gain the life and the power we dessssire."

If he had been able to, Quirinus would have wept.


Update 5/2015