Authors Assumption: You know the story of the Goblet of Fire. Therefore, it is okay for me to reference some of the major events without rehashing them. For example, I don't feel the need to rewrite the events of the World Cup as doing so doesn't effect the plot of this story. There will simply be a statement indicating when in the storyline that it happened.

Deductive Thought: Prologue

A white owl sped across the midday sky, swooped through a window and lit on a spoon aside the white bearded ones plate. Hedwig allowed Albus to remove the letter from her talon, then she nipped a piece of bacon from within the wizard's BLT, flapped her wings and took flight out into the daylight.

The train had left a few hours earlier. Only the staff remained, enjoying their final luncheon of the school year.

Albus's brow furrowed as he read...

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Over the past two years, Professor Snape has made it indelibly clear to my rear that I am not permitted to take any action which may be detrimental to my well being. To negate the potential of future blisterings...

Albus paused mid sentence, "Severus, have you been administering smackings to the students?"

Snape picked up a crisp from his plate, "Students are the ones that read books, write essays, and partake in practicums." Crunch, crunch, crunch, "Children are the beings with minuscule brains that have yet to develop the cognitive ability to process complex abstract thoughts such as Forbidden Forest equals mean monsters that will eat me, but are capable of comprehending the more simplistic concrete concept of Forbidden Forest equals stinging backside."

Remus nearly chocked on his sandwich then struggled to hold back a laugh at Snape's description.

Albus had segued back to reading the letter, half listening as Snape continued his explanation. "Well, from what young Mr. Potter has written he seems to be processing those abstract thoughts you spoke of, so perhaps such punishments are no longer needed in this case."

Snape only gave a slight hum of agreement. Mentally, he rolled his eyes. Great, the Headmaster's reading comprehension level was equivalent to a third year. Did he completely miss that it was the fear of the concrete punishment that had caused the brat to actually think through his options?

Mr. Fuss had appeared in his office the day before unexpectedly and immediately began to pace agitatedly. Malfoy jr, had been meeting with him at the time and had sneered, "Potter, what are you doing here?"

"Detention," was the turt reply.

"On the last day of term? No wonder you're so snarly. Was there anything else you needed of me, Professor?"

"That will be all, Draco."

The blonde vacated the room.

"I didn't assign you a detention Potter, though I should for you barging in without knocking. What are you doing here?"

The pacing continued. "He says I'm safest with them. Insist that I should go back." Harry gesticulated wildly and his movements became more agitated. "Something about bloody wards that exist due to me calling it home. Home! What was I supposed to call home? A cupboard with a crib mattress on the floor, a Hoover in the corner and spiders creeping down the walls?" The short, tight turns and fast moves, was starting to irritate Snape. "Just like every bloody person in this society, so stuck in their own world that they're clueless to the dangers of the other."

"Sit down."

Harry ignored him as he continued his rant and floor wearing. "I don't care what he says, I'm not going back."

"Sit down," Snape said more firmly.

Harry acted like he hadn't heard. The air around him was beginning to crackle with energy. "Why is it th..." Harry bumped into Snape who had moved into his path.

Snape put a finger under Harry's chin, lifted it, glared and distinctly repeated, "Sit down."

Harry obeyed, but his whole body seemed to be struggling with the restriction as every muscle was vibrating. His fist repeatedly clinched and released.

"Calm yourself."

Harry glared up at the only adult he'd ever sought, and actually received, help from. The two said nothing, just stared daggers at each other.

"Head down."

Harry looked ready to slam his fist on the table and his feet on the floor. But did neither. Nor did he put his head on the table, but his muscles continued to vibrate with tension.

"Nothing will be resolved while you are in this state. You can choose to have a tantrum and deal with the consequences of those actions or you can choose to obey, so you can clear your head enough to figure out a plot. Your choice." Snape broke the glaring contest and went to his potion stores. "What is with teenagers? Can't they pick a mood and stick with it?" Snape muttered. He was fairly certain he had chosen grumpy and sarcastic at about 15 and had been so ever since. Mr. Fuss on the other hand, was an adult avenging his parents death one hour, a giddy 8 year old hyped up on junk food the next, two hours after that he was a teenager sassing back after a well deserved wallop, and now a three year old up past nap time. Snape closed his eyes and rested his head on a shelf for a moment. "What have I gotten myself into?" One day's help, two at the most assisting Lily's son was all he ever intended. Then the damn brat attached himself to him. Letters. Lessons. Advice. A place to stay when he runs away. Hell, all the headaches of replacing teachers all trailed back to the fussy three year old sitting in the other room. The challenge had been fun. It'd been years since his skills had been needed. Maybe that was why he kept letting the boy look to him for help? Snape sighed and pulled a calming draft from the shelf. He exited the storage cupboard to the sounds of ... snoring.

28 minutes later Harry groggily tried to make sense of the quill and parchment in front of him. A line divided the page in two and each side had a heading: Stay...Move. Once he determined Snape's intention, Harry folded his arms across his chest and looked on with fury at the older man. "I'm not going back to the Dursley's. I don't care what the Headmaster says."

"That's because he hasn't given you reason to care about his opinion. Mine, however, you should care about." Snape tilted his head, "What will I do if you make a rash decision that could put you in danger."

Harry blushed and mumbled, "You'll paddle me."

"Then I suggest you start writing so you can make a wise decision rather than one that could be detrimental to your comfort."

"Staying with Sirius is about comfort. The Dursley's hate me."

"And what do you know of your Godfather?"

"He's fun. He's nice. He likes me."

Snape huffed, "He's reckless. He's spiteful. He's bigoted. You've spent, what, a whole three hours with him? How will he treat you when you screw up? Do you agree on the same fundamental principles? A year ago you complained to me that adults don't care about kids, that they don't make smart decisions when it comes to the safety of children. Was he looking out for you when he left you bleeding and traumatized so that he could seek revenge? Had he stayed with you instead of acting rashly you probably never would have even met the Dursleys. Make the lists. Then make your decision."

Back in the present...

Dumbledore continued to read.

...I carefully thought through the negatives and positives of living with either potential guardian. Sirius is the unknown; the Dursley's the familiar. The unknown can be scary and dangerous; but likewise is the familiar. I've attempted to speak with you in the past regarding the issues with the familiar. The details mattered not to you then, so I won't hamper my hand to write them now. I understand your viewpoint on where I should live, but your opinion was formed on a grain of salt with no food to land upon. I, myself, have but an un-popped kernel of the facts as I have only briefly met my Godfather. But that kernel is enough to make me choose to leave the familiar, for what is life as an un-popped kernel of corn? Safe, but unfullfilled. I am choosing to fill my life with new experiences, for some things are worth the risk.

I thank you for your advice, for what is popcorn without a bit of salt? Advice should always be taken into consideration. I have considered what you said, that I am safest where my mother's blood flows. It flows inside me. I will have to trust in that to keep my blood flowing. But to live I must do more than just survive. Sirius Black is my new guardian and it is with him that I will live.

Sincerely,

H.J. Potter

P.S. A knowledgable man lays in a stock of fish for winter. A wise one adds on a supply of vension, foraged goods, and items harvested from the fields. A leader observes and learns from each, then tosses in a batch of curiosity and innovation, forging a new trail on which he may lead.

Dumbledore frowned over the letter. It was an uncomfortable feeling having ones advice ignored. He was also disconcerted by some of the lines in the letter, "The details mattered not to you..." What details had he ignored? "...to live I must do more than survive." How was it that boy's lines so nearly matched those in the prophecy? Dumbledore rubbed his brow. More to the point, how was it that after more than a century of working with teens he still failed to recognize that those young beings had a tendency to do the exact opposite as they were told just to prove their independence? Though his limbs twitched in need to delve into a floo and demand things go his way he subsided. He had long thought of himself as a wise leader, but at the moment he felt more like the fisherman, stocking only fish.

Chapter 1: An Intruder

A few weeks later...

The sun blared through the window. Snape stretched. He sniffed. Bacon? Eggs? What the...? He lived alone, so who was cooking? Snape trudged downstairs rubbing the grit from his eyes. He had an intruder, but if they were cooking they were unlikely to be dangerous.

"Good morning, sir."

How wrong he was. Snape slumped into a chair. Mornings should be outlawed. "Potter, what are you doing here?"

"Following your order, sir."

"It is to early to deduce your meaning. Explain."

"To live with an adult, sir." Harry brought the coffee and orange juice to the table.

"You live with an adult," then Snape muttered, "If you can call him that." Snape, sipped his coffee. "I take it all is not well at the dog pound?"

"It's just that...can I stay with you for a few days?"

Snape's brow crinkled, "Why here? Wouldn't the bookworm or the birth control challenged be a better choice?"

Harry hesitated, "Hermione asks too many questions and would insist 'I solve my problems by discussing them' and Ron sided with Sirius. I'm mad at both of them."

"What lesson do you want them to learn?"

Harry's eyes flashed with rightousness, but he calmly said, "Lesson, sir?"

Snape ticked off on his fingers, "You don't want to be questioned about what happened. You don't want to solve the problem through discussion. Yet you plan on returning home within a few days, which indicates you want the problem solved by then. You sought help from a person who teaches lessons. So, what is the lesson you intend for them to learn?"

"That everyone deserves respect. That no one deserves to be treated poorly. No matter what," Harry stated, firmly.

"No matter what? What if Petigrew still had his soul?"

Harry hesitated, "He deserved punishment and that is the punishment the ministry decided on. I'm sure he was less than pleased with being stuck in the owlery in his animagus form most of last year, but he always had plenty to eat and I never brought him any physical harm, nor did I ridicule him. I may hate him, but I won't let that make me become him."

"But the dog and freckled brat are in someway like him, at least in your eye."

Man and boy dug into their laden plates.

"Like Pettigrew? No. Like my relatives? Yes. I thought I was escaping the constant barrage of insults, demands and violence by moving in with Sirius. Turns out that I only escaped them being aimed at me. Well, for the most part. Mrs. Black's portrait is plenty insulting towards me. But most of it is being aimed at Kreacher from Ron and Sirius."

Snape paused, fork midair, "The house elf?"

Harry nodded. He rubbed his chest like his heart ached, voices sounded in his head, an odd mixture of Uncle Vernon, Sirius, Aunt Petunia, Ron and Dudley, "Useless freak." "Deranged." "Get lost. No one wants you here." "Why don't you go hide in your cupboard." "You don't deserve anything." "Get in here." "Do this list of chores." "Lazy brat." "It's your fault." "You're a nobody. Nothing."

Harry drew in a shaky breath. "Kreacher's odd. He's lonely. Talks to himself. Makes a lot of hateful comments. Everyone that liked him is dead and Sirius is trying to erase the memory of those people from the house. Kreacher lives in a cupboard and wears rags. They demand things of him, expect them to be done. But it never crosses their mind to say, 'Thanks'." Harry spoke in almost a whisper of a voice, "He's me."

Snape felt a brief stab of pity. "I warned you that you didn't truly know the mutt and the red head has always been an idiot."

"Can't I change them?" Harry pleaded.

"People are difficult to change. Have you not always attempted to change your relatives attitude toward you?"

Harry thought back on his childhood. He'd kept an exquisitely clean house; made meals worthy of a TV show; maintained a garden bereft of weeds and well suited for a magazine cover. His efforts were ignored, scorned, or claimed as his Aunt's own. 'Why thank you. It takes so much time, but the efforts are well worth it. It is too bad you must work and so are unable to care for your own home in such a manner,' crooned Petunia to her fellow bridge club member, who scowled in return.

His relatives seemed to take such pleasure in degrading Harry that for a time he had attempted to be as horrible as Dudley, just so he could make them pleased by giving them the enjoyment of being horrible to him. He'd purposefully smashed a vase in a fit of fake rage. He'd thrown a tantrum at the store over not being able to purchase Coco Crunch cereal and ripped the box of said cereal so it scattered across the store's floor. He'd talked back, telling his Uncle he was a, "Non-sensical walrus." Harry had endured the beatings, starvations and isolations these acts had earned him. This plan to please his guardians was dumped as a bad idea when the punishments became more than Harry was willing to endure.

Being good hadn't earned him any rewards. Trying to make them happy and simultaneously himself miserable had been more than Harry could take. Plus his heart wasn't in it to be bad. Purposefully breaking things and screaming and stomping your feet to get something just seemed...wrong. But that didn't stop Harry from desperately wanting someone to care about him.

There was the summer when he was seven when he purposefully did dangerous things in hopes they would try to stop him, try to save him. Turns out his internal magic knew this was a hopeless attempt. Harry stepped into the way of an oncoming car. The wind seemed to knock him back on his ass. Dudley laughed uproariously. Petunia looked briefly disappointed, then harangued Harry for daring to dirty the trousers she'd purchased. The disappointed look played like a loop in Harry's mind. His Aunt was disappointed he hadn't died. But the craving to be wanted continued to eat him so he broke some cardinal rules for children. He had run down the stairs with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth and an open pair of scissors in his hand. The back hand to the check, followed by, "How dare you?!" nearly had Harry's heart soaring for the brief moment in which he hoped Uncle Vernon might actually care that he could have been injured, then Vernon had roared, "What if Dudley had been on the stairs! The scissors could have gone right through him!" Luckily for Harry, it had gone unnoticed by both family members that the toothbrush had vanished as he had scrambled down the steps, and the scissors, though they had come close to Harry's leg, had bounced harmlessly off his jeans. It was only now, looking back, that he realized his magic had protected him.

All his efforts were for not though. His relatives hadn't changed. They despised him and always would. And though it had never worked for him in the past, he was desperate to change two more people, because Sirius was the only person in his memory that ever treated him like family and Ron was the first person he'd ever been able to just sit and talk to, his first friend. It itched at his insides, this likeness the two had with Harry's detestable relatives.

Snape's question replayed in Harry's head, "Have you not always attempted to change your relatives attitude toward you?"

Harry slowly nodded, "Yes, and I might have failed, but you didn't. They were different last summer. More tolerant of me." Harry conveniently blocked from his mind that his relatives hadn't stayed changed, and that it was more Snape's other gifts (an unlockable door, a food box, clothes and a Y membership) that had made the situation tolerable.

Snape raised a brow as he basked in the compliment, likewise ignoring that he knew deep down that the compulsion spell and potion he had used would not have had a permanent effect. "Let's plot."

As the breakfast dishes floated to the sink Snape asked, "Is the hound going to come barking at my door?"

"Sirius?" Harry scoffed, "He thinks I'm with muggle friends. Doesn't even know me well enough to know I haven't got any."

"He bought that?"

Harry gave a flourish of a bow, "I would not deign to defile me Maestro of Deception's teachings by seeking his assistance while simultaneously failing as his pupil."

"You better not," uttered Snape.