Whoever put this story in the "Snape Loving Posse" C2, thank you. It was one of the few bits of happiness I was able to glean out of the misery of the last few weeks.

I can't do Review Responses in the footnotes anymore, but I'm going to give that "reply" hyperlink thing a try.

Sorry for shortness.

Severus threw aside the last dratted essay when Fen stumbled into the kitchen. The child was rumpled, glassy-eyed, and nowhere near half-awake. His wild curls were dark thunderbolts and stormy cloud wisps coming off his scalp from all angles. He looked inhuman.

Severus watched the boy dip into a counter cabinet for a frying pan. The pan's handle slipped from his grasp and clanged on the floor. He jerked awake a bit at the noise, but his eyelids sealed themselves shut again in seconds. Asleep on his feet, the boy bent down to retrieve the fallen pan.

Severus got to him first.

Fen opened his eyes to glance at the man's hand around his wrist. The sharp words, "Why are you awake? Go back to sleep," fell on deaf ears. He reached for the pan with his free hand. There was a sigh, and then he was lifted into the air.

XXX

As the Severus strode out of the kitchen with Fen, the boy mumbled into his shoulder, "But I have to…have to, or he'll…" The words trailed off there, and the young Svartálfar was only begging to be let go in his dreams. He snuggled into the reclining chair when laid there and didn't stir again.

Severus stared down at him for a time. 'I have to or he'll…' He hated that phrase. Too many children whispered it about their fathers. 'I have to, or he'll hurt, or he'll kill.' He gripped his forearm lightly. 'Or he'll know.' He sighed and gently wrapped a blanket around Fen's shoulders.

He turned to head back into the kitchen, and stopped with a start. That brown barn owl was perched on the kitchen table, staring at him. He ignored the creature and read the time off a small pocket watch. Not even four in the morning. "Those essays went quickly," he murmured and nonchalantly pocketed the watch. The owl had her head cocked now, with an all-too-human expression of bemusement on her feathered face.

He glared back at her. "Not a word. Not one word."

"Hooh," she hooted cheekily.

XXX

Hours later, Severus was knocked out of his exhausted stupor by two tentative hands on his shoulders and the smell of something mouthwatering. He lifted his head up off the wood grain of the kitchen table and blinked as a plate laden with food was shoved under his nose. He turned to look at Henry, whose hands were still on his shoulders. "When did you learn how to cook?"

"Wasn't me. Th—the boy," he was told.

He glanced sharply at Fen. The boy stood uncertainly at the other side of the table, holding a plate that had perhaps one fourth as much food as the other two. Severus took that plate away and shoved a more laden one at him. "Since you've used up so much of my brother's food, you can be the one to make sure it doesn't go to waste," he said, voice acidic.

Fen stared down at the plate on the table. "But, sir—"

Severus arched a brow, and the boy clammed up instantly. "Sit," he ordered and to the chair across the table from him. "Eat."

The boy didn't need to be told twice, sadly. In a more perfect world, there would have been a flash of willfulness in the child's eyes. Instead Severus had spied that familiar, hollow look of meekness and desperate hunger. He was no stranger to underfed, over-mannered children. Pureblood Wizarding families tended to raise their young that way—though to tell the truth, underfeeding was much more common with girls.

He glanced up and bit back a sigh. The boy had had seated himself but had yet to eat anything. Manners. Severus took a quick, perfunctory bite of food, then turned to his older brother. "Would you mind eating outside?" he asked Henry as Fen started to ravenously inhale the contents of his plate. "We"—he nodded towards the boy—"need to talk." "Eat," he added, when the sounds of food disappearing down a small throat suddenly stopped.

Without a word, Henry picked up his plate and walked out the door to eat on the porch. Severus stared after him. His half-brother fell firmly in the category of over-mannered child. He closed his eyes.

"There a few things you need to understand, Mr. Svartálfar," he began and felt Fen glance up at him. "First: I do not like children."

Somewhere, somehow, an owl snorted.

He ignored the sound and went on. "Second of all, your enrollment at Hogwarts in the middle of the term is an painful inconvenience, particularly for me." He did not mention homicidal staircases. "I have today to arrange your enrollment fees, supplies purchasing, and immediate transportation to Hogwarts School. To do this, I need to know one thing. I don't care if this is a sore subject for you. If you don't tell me, I will use your blood to thicken my potions."

Fen paled considerably at that.

Severus pinned him with a look and asked, "Who is your legal guardian?"

XXX

Fen's thoughts had fallen into a dizzily spinning arc of doom. His legal guardian? What did that even mean!

His parents? He didn't have those.

The people who took care of him? The House Elves couldn't keep him safe anymore.

The person who owned him according to the law? That would be Lucius Malfoy, but Hell, he couldn't say that. He blinked, remembering he had been freed. That was why he was in this mess. So Malfoy didn't own him anymore. That was one bright note in the funeral song of his life.

"Don't have a guardian, sir," he mumbled at last, somewhat relieved.

Henry's brother lifted an eyebrow dangerously, not pleased at his answer. "I keep a vial of truth potion on me at all times," the man said. "I should warn you, the taste is vile—though mixing in half a cup of your blood might make it bearable."

Fen gulped. "What—what's a legal guardian, exactly?" he asked. "Sir."

The man looked at him oddly. After a time, he answered, "Whoever the Ministry says is responsible for your care."

Fen nodded. "Right. …Don't have someone like that, Sir."

He watched the Hogwarts teacher pinch the bridge of his nose. "Are your parents alive?" he was asked after a long moment.

"Don't know, Sir."

"Who takes care of you, then?"

"No one, Sir. …Well, Henry—"

"—he doesn't count. Someone had to take care of you, Svartálfar. Who?"

Fen looked away and said nothing for a time. Finally: "Do I have to answer? Sir?"

XXX

Severus truly wished he wasn't bluffing about the truth potion. He didn't have any on his person, only a few calming potions and a sturdy bottle of good old Muggle-fashioned napalm that would explode when shattered. He wanted to use both at the moment, but what he really wanted was a nice, cool vial of Veritaserum to cram down the boy's throat.

"Do I have to answer, Sir?"

He put the acid into his voice that he normally reserved for Gryffindors. "If you want to live."

"Sir?" the boy gulped.

"Yes?"

"I think I'd rather die."