As always my thanks to my reviewers Pendecardiel, an unwrapped chocolate covered Lucius for you, and an update as well frissbee, I'm glad the story doesn't gross you out, I try and keep within the realms of what I'd like to read ;p good luck with your finals! Tyleet27, thank you for your compliments, I'm afraid I need Severus for this story, but when I finish with him he's all yours :) Batsutousai, you are now my most worshiped beta, I value your input tremendously, I give Tom to you in perpetuity with a chocolate fountain by the bed Potions Mistress 101, your brain isn't pea sized! Working inside of Severus' brain is enough to give me a nosebleed! Enemywithin7, keep an eye on the pool ;) it won't disappoint Eyeinthesky, it's a really old concept, I thought the wizarding world would like Shadow Bete Noire, Katsy15, animegurl088 and firebellania thanks so much for letting me know you like it!

And yes, as some of you may have guessed this will go AU as we go along. No I don't own Harry Potter if I did I'd be wealthy not poor!

Now on with the motley!

Chapter Four - My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes

He'd always thought Albus Dumbledore's office looked like the nest of some demented magpie; shiny things glittered left, right and centre in an attempt to lead the unwary eye. It could have been, of course, that Hogwarts headmaster had no sense of fashion or décor, but Severus Snape was fairly certain that the whole room was a trap for anyone who didn't practice Moody's 'constant vigilance'. It was supposed to bemuse and baffle you into an unwise move. It hadn't worked on him since he was quite young; he couldn't afford to be flash blinded – not with so much at stake. Allowing his eyes to travel the length of the room, he saw the puppet master himself, seated behind the huge expanse of oak that made up the headmaster's desk, watching him with blue eyes that seemed more tired than merry at that precise moment.

"Severus, my boy, you bring me grave news." He winced inwardly. Why did Dumbledore always sound like he was speaking to history, every word and phrase ready to be recorded for posterity? Why oh why couldn't the man just ask for the news, or a report? But no, he had to sound like something from a Shakespearian tragedy. Taking a step forward he nodded, he knew it irritated Albus that he refused to play along with the farce of formality. "Yes, I suppose you'd think it fairly grave that your boy saviour is in my bed, and almost bled dry." Severus managed to stop the smirk before it hit his lips with an effort of will – if Dumbledore, by any chance, had an 'impartial' witness, like the werewolf, hiding in a corner, that would bring them out. He wasn't unaware of the vampire rumours, and the sentence did sound properly debauched.

Yes, there it was, as if the Headmaster had bitten into a lemon – mouth puckering behind the beard and a slightly unfriendly twinkle in those blue eyes. Dumbledore was a showman, and didn't like having things run away from him, especially not his tame Death Eater. "Severus, I do not think now is an appropriate time for your attempts at humour…" The old man's voice was flat, normally not the best of signs. "…you have informed me that you believe Mr Potter to have attempted to take his life on school grounds, something that I remind you should not be possible under the wards laid down by Rowena Ravenclaw. Personally, I find nothing amusing about it."

Severus rolled his eyes, yes, there it was, Dumbledore the all knowing and all powerful, second only in might to Merlin himself – dear lord it was tiresome. "If you recall, Albus, I told you I found Harry in the Pool of Shadowed Reflections - you are quite right to quote Rowena's contribution to the wards but you must remember she has a distinctly Roman philosophy on these things, a gap was left, a way out for those with no other way to turn. That is the Pool's purpose: to answer ones darkest and most intimate desires, much like Salazar's mirror." Which I know Potter has seen, you old codger, the last sentence was finished silently; he really didn't need to explain the intertwining subtleties to Dumbledore.

Dusty blue eyes narrowed and he could almost watch his superior's sharp mind follow the threads of chance and prophecy to try and sort out what had happened to his Golden Boy, what had led him there. Severus stayed silent. Truth be told, he wanted to know just as much as the old man did. "Has he woken, Severus? Spoken at all?" Now there was a crux. Of course the boy had awoken, had said things, but they were private – he knew that much – not meant for dissemination amongst the masses – even if one of those was Albus Dumbledore – so he slowly shook his head. Lying was something he excelled in, as was keeping secrets, and something compelled him to keep Harry's secrets close to his heart.

Those eyes continued to watch him, assessing, before a sharp, decisive nod ended the introspective period. "Then I must assume that something is seriously wrong with Mr Potter and make a decision as his de facto guardian." Ahh here it came, the moment when the boy would be claimed outright for the Order of the Phoenix, but how would it be couched? "Someone must care for Mr Potter's welfare. As you have apparently saved his life, Severus, it seems best that you help me choose." Snape repressed the cynical smile that wanted to pull up the corner of his mouth. Perfect, have Harry's most hated teacher make the decision that would change his life, neatly taking any ire of the boy's off of Albus. He had to hand it to the man, he would have made a brilliant Minister.

"Of course, Headmaster." He kept his voice expressionless, and his eyes locked with Dumbledore's. The man had no way in, his mind was locked tighter than a vestal virgin's thighs.

"Excellent, Severus. It comes down to three choices – the boy may stay with his Muggle relatives." He shook his head, and Dumbledore should have expected it. No wizarding child should ever have to stay with Muggles, and if his suspicions were correct... Well, there was something to be said for Lord Voldemort's way of dealing with non magic folk. "No?" Despite the question inherent in the pause that followed, there was little doubt in Dumbledore's voice. "Then Remus could certainly have Harry at Grimmauld Place." It was an option – the boy was fond of the werewolf – but he'd reserve judgment, those blue eyes were still watching, weighting his every motion. "Or, he could be placed in your care Severus. You have long handled Slytherins' thorny crop of pupils with a light touch and steady hand."

And the trap was sprung.

Severus could feel it in his veins – pulsing underneath his skin – a choice between an easy path and one scattered with rocks and scourged by thorns; yes, he could let the boy go to the werewolf, Lupin, almost maddened by grief at the loss of Black. They might, together, find something of a path through the wilderness that surrounded them both – a kind of survival-based co-dependency. But he couldn't countenance that, couldn't actually stomach the thought. The why he didn't bother to consider, it was enough that it revolted him. Which meant taking on the Boy-Who-Lived himself – could he bear it? Yes, with some ground rules. At least he would give Harry a choice in the direction he wanted to walk.

"I'll take the boy, Albus." A flash of, what? Surprise or triumph sparked in cornflower eyes. "But certain conditions have to be met." He could hear the flatness in his own voice – felt weariness drag his bones, even as Dumbledore nodded at him to continue. Wasn't being a spy enough? He had to be a nursemaid too? "The boy lives with me, in a suite attached to my own – that includes during term time – until I see fit for him to return to his house. He doesn't attend classes until I feel he is ready to do so, nor will he see other students until I believe him to be ready. This is for their safety, as well as his."

He watched Dumbledore's face, but was still surprised, and made wary by the almost instant capitulation he read there. "I do not believe, Severus, that Minerva will like your conditions."

He shook his head, his voice more gentle now victory squirmed within his fingers, "Minerva is more flexible than you give her credit for." He had a soft spot for the Scottish Deputy Headmistress, and she loved Harry Potter as if he were her own grandson. "We'll liaise, but I have your word on my conditions?" Dumbledore nodded and Snape took two steps back into the fireplace. "Excellent. Then I'll get on with Harry's rehabilitation." And, without waiting for anything further, he flooed back to his chambers.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Darkness cocooned him.

He could hear his own heartbeat rushing around him; liquid and real like moments in a mother's womb.

Sleep.

Gentle voice like the shushing of owl wings in the dark comforted and healed him.

Purple – Red - Gold.

Colours solaced his wounded mind, sliding around him like bandages filling the gaps with comforting numbness.

Violets.

The candied taste against his tongue, delicate and ethereally comforting.

Warmth

Comfortable, caught somewhere between sleep and awake, Harry stretched himself out, allowing relaxation to seep into his bones. Something was making him tense and afraid, but he didn't know what, nor did he care. He felt so good, so peaceful and calm – but then he didn't remember why he should be upset.

Magic…

Its use in the room slid over his nerves in searing patterns, and he felt something stir low in his stomach, something wild and hungry, and his eyes flickered open, blurred and unfocused. The light was dim but, he could see the figure by the fireplace, lined in purple and gold, red shifting through, the figure moved liquid and graceful in the semi darkness of the chamber. It made no noise, no step, to destroy Harry's dreamlike state. And the colours; he could remember the colours from earlier sliding through him like silk bandages….

Need.

He wanted to touch it, draw those colours into himself. He sat up quickly, before it got away.

Pain.

Agony sparked through his body, starting at his ribs, and with pain memory, returned as sudden as one of Dudley's punches in the kidneys when he was holding a pan full of hot fat. He let out a pained sound and despised, it closing his eyes to try and master himself once more, wishing for the taste of violets to return, for oblivion, but the memory remained.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into the face of Severus Snape, Potions Professor, and the man who owned his life, but for some reason refused to end it. Black eyes were full of something – contempt? No, not quite right. He couldn't put a finger on it, and the colours kept distracting him, dancing out of the corner of his vision. Snape's mouth was down turned, nothing unusual there, except, he would have thought the Potions Master would have been dancing for joy to own him. He opened his mouth to ask a question and started to cough uncontrollably. His ribs stabbed with pain his throat was dry and parched– and suddenly, water spilled between his open lips. He swallowed, but his strength was failing him again. He felt himself slumping, and an arm caught him, keeping him upright.

Water finished, he looked up. Those raven eyes were still on him, but something like – concern? – glimmered there, and he realised it was Snape holding him. "Sleep Harry." The deep voice was certainly dispassionate enough.

"Why?" his own sounded like a badly damaged clarinet, broken and filled with splinters, and the one word was all he could manage. He was tired and hurt and wanted release.

Snape shook his head, dark hair slipping forward to momentarily shield his face. "Sleep. I'll answer that question when it means something." Then the arm behind him was laying him down, and prone sleep was harder to fight. He felt Snape's arm removing itself and long fingers brushed against his throat on withdrawal. Numbing lassitude seized him, dragging him into sleep without dreams.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------