Author's Notes: Here's the second half of the chapter. You're getting this one early because I'm home sick; don't let it spoil you. Expect at least a month again before Chapter 8.

Extra points for anyone who gets the reference in the title.

Edits: Only a few, none important. I changed what happened to Hedwig in chapters 2 and 3; now she's got a "nasty" cut and she's staying with Hagrid while she recovers. In chapter 6, I put back a couple of lines that got cut because I felt they were too sappy; Harry and Remus both refer to "5 more minutes" but it's unclear where they got it. Hopefully that's fixed now. Sorry if it breaks the sappiness barrier. Lastly, also in chapter 6, I changed the exact wording of what Harry says about his mother's visions.

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The knock on his doorframe came just as Severus was bottling the last of Potter's new potions. "This had better be important," he snarled without turning around. "I have been up the night brewing Potter's new potions; unless the boy is dead I don't want to hear about it."

"Er--sorry, Professor," the ashamed voice came from behind him. "I'll, uh, come back another time."

He spun, only years of Death Eater training keeping the flush from his cheeks. "Potter!" The boy froze, one foot on the bottom riser, but did not turn around. "Come back here, Potter."

Slowly the boy turned, revealing cheeks that were bright red. "I'm sorry, Professor," he said immediately. "If I'd known you'd been up all night, I wouldn't have come. I'm sorry you had to go to all that trouble."

Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy. "Are you, now." Miserably the boy nodded, eyes fixed firmly on his shoes. "Why were you down here at all, Potter?"

"I...I just wanted to talk to you," Potter responded so quietly that he had to strain to hear it. "I can come back later." He peered up at Severus, meeting the man's eyes for a fraction of a second. "I really didn't know..." He trailed off, waving a hand in a vague manner.

"Well, you are here now," Severus pointed out to the boy. "Surely you are capable of saying whatever it is you wish to say," he prompted when the boy was silent. When still nothing was forthcoming, he sighed and began cleaning out the cauldron he had been using.

"How do you deal with knowing people only put up with you cause you're a good spy?"

Severus dropped the cauldron in shock at the boy's impertinent question. His hand was halfway to his wand when his better sense prevailed. "You realize, Potter, that in some circles that question would be a dueling offense," he said conversationally instead.

Potter flushed. "Sorry, sir," he responded, sounding genuinely contrite. "I didn't mean it as an insult to you."

For a moment Severus imagined he had heard a faint emphasis on the final pronoun, but then he dismissed the notion. He had clearly been up too long. "I believe you overestimate my worth in the eyes of the majority of your cronies, Potter." The boy's lips thinned--interesting. "But how do I 'deal' with it? With keeping my hand off my wand, gritting my teeth, and frequently a great deal of Old Ogden's."

The boy frowned at him, but not angrily. Severus believed it was the first time he had ever seen the boy think in his presence. "That's...not quite what I meant. Sir."

"Then you will have to clarify, Potter. I am afraid I do not speak lower-class Muggle teenager fluently."

To his great shock Potter smirked. "Where on earth did you learn to speak it at all?" He waved a hand and blushed again. "Never mind." The frown returned. "I meant the word 'deal' in a...more mental sense. Psychological. How do you cope with knowing they all see you as..." The boy trailed off, clearly looking for a polite way to put it.

"Only sightly higher than a rabid dog, and that only because I am of use?" Severus suggested. He was faintly aware that he sounded angry and resentful, and thought absently that he really should sleep before having these conversations.

Potter shrugged. "I...something like that, anyway."

Severus regarded the boy before him evenly for a minute in silence. Unsurprisingly to him, Potter began to fidget fairly shortly, playing with the edge of his robe with the fingers of his right hand. "Look, I'm sorry," Potter muttered finally. "It was a stupid thing to ask you." He shifted his weight. "Sorry." He turned as if to leave.

"I am not sure I have an answer for you, Potter," Severus said lowly, making Potter turn back around. "In truth, I have very little choice in the matter. I suppose I 'deal' with it by reminding myself of the lack of alternatives."

Potter stared at him for a long moment. "Why don't you go back to Voldemort?" he inquired. "He doesn't treat you nearly as badly as this lot--or he wouldn't if you actually followed his orders."

Severus felt as if someone had kicked him in the chest. Is the Boy Who Lived beginning to doubt which side he should be on? Heaven help the world. For a faint moment he thought of the irony of achieving the Dark Lord's orders by refusing to follow them. Then his eyes fell on Potter's bandaged left arm, and he could breathe again. No, this was likely about something rather different... "Of all the people in this universe, Potter, you are perhaps the last I expected to hear defending the Dark Lord," he managed to say.

Potter immediately grimaced, and Severus's chest eased further. "Ew. No. Just..." He shrugged uncomfortably. "Trying to see it from your point of view."

"Ah." Snape regarded him solemnly for a moment. "In one way, you are correct," he said finally. "The Dark Lord's service is in many ways an easier path, especially for one such as me. However, it comes with costs that I do not care to pay--at least, that I wish to offset as best that I am able." His eyes narrowed. "Why, exactly, are you asking me, Potter?" he inquired softly. "You surely know how to 'deal' with living with those who despise you by now." He hoped the boy would catch the acknowledgment he had been wrong about the boy's home life.

Harry bit his lip. "The Dursleys hated me, but..." He paused, clearly choosing his words carefully. "I knew it would end. Eventually I would grow up, and leave. And...I had the dream of loving parents, then. I could believe there had been someone who loved me, once."

Severus tried to control his astonishment at hearing the past tense from Potter. Even he, who had hated Potter--both of them--could admit that if James Potter had one redeeming quality, it was love for his son and wife. "Whatever your father's flaws," he began, only to see Potter flinch noticeably, "James loved you and your mother dearly. Your mother loved you as well." That was not a good look on Potter's face. The roil in his stomach intensified.

"I know about your relationship with Lily," Potter said quietly. Severus froze again.

"Indeed," he said in a voice that felt as if it should chill the entire room.

It did not dissuade Potter, however, who looked at him solemnly and went on. "Did you ever wonder why she left you?"

Of course he had. "Yes, Potter," he said in a growl. "Of course I did. Contrary to popular belief, I am human."

A faint smirk touched Potter's lips, and he snorted, but went on. "She left me a letter, you see." He looked down at the table between them. "She...she had a vision. She had a vision telling her she needed to produce a son with James Potter." He paused, taking a deep breath. "She left you in order to create the Boy Who Lived."

Severus nearly took a step back, but controlled himself in time. "That is an interesting claim, Potter." He thought he was beginning to see where this was going.

"She knew they wouldn't live to see me grow up," Potter said quietly as if he had not heard Severus. "He knew it, too. And they created me anyway."

"Created you?" Severus thought he really was too tired to be discussing this. He could not adequately keep his surprise and disquiet from showing in his voice.

"Did you never wonder what they were doing in the woods on Halloween?" Potter asked, still looking at the table.

"Yes," Severus breathed, fear beginning to grip him. Merlin, let this not be going where he feared.

"They couldn't get her pregnant," Harry began. Oh, Merlin. "So they did a fertility ritual. And a potion." Severus was sure he was pure white by now. Luckily, Potter was still staring at the table. "So yeah, they created me. To be the Boy Who Lived." Harry continued looking down after he finished, slowly rolling his hem between his fingers.

"Why are you telling me this?" He knew he was croaking like a frog. He tried to stop the beginnings of relief; the boy did not appear to be trying to work his way around to...but the conversation was still young, he reminded himself.

"She said you made it bearable," Potter whispered. "She said seeing you gave her an anchor--said you were gentle when it was your turn." He glanced up at Severus, not quite meeting his eyes. "You...you have been kind to me, these past few days. I had hoped...had hoped you might understand. Might help me...figure out how to live with...things."

The incredible irony of Lily's son coming to Severus for life advice struck him suddenly. "I..." he began, then realized he had no idea how to finish that sentence. Instead, steadily regarding the top of Potter's head as he did so, he unbuttoned his right sleeve. He saw the boy begin to protest, saw him realize it was the other sleeve, saw the green eyes narrow in curiosity. "I have not always dealt well with my situation either, Potter." He rolled up his sleeve and presented the arm beneath it to the boy.

Potter glanced at it, frowned, and looked up at him, clearly seeking permission. Severus nodded, and the dark head bent over the proffered limb.

He knew the moment Potter had spotted it; the boy's head flew up, eyes wide, and his right hand sought out the bandages covering his left arm. "Yes, Potter," Severus said softly. "I, too, discovered how difficult it is for a wizard to die from exsanguination."

"Oh, is that why..." Potter broke off, flushing. "I just figured I'd bollixed it up, like usual," he added bitterly under Severus's dark stare. "Is that what it'll--I mean, you can barely..."

"Advances have been made in curing wounds made by the Slicing Curse since then," Severus said, "and too, you have a more competent Potions Master brewing your healing potions. In a year, you will need to know your scar is there to find it." He looked thoughtfully at Potter. "At the time, I felt that anything would be preferable to facing another day in my position. Since, I have discovered that the secret to going on is simply that: doing it."

Potter stared at Severus's right forearm. "Thank you, sir," he said finally, barely above a whisper. He glanced up at Severus. "I appreciate it. Really."

Severus nodded curtly as he did up his buttons again.

"There...there is one thing," Potter said, voice no stronger. "My...Lily...she wrote you a letter. Said you deserved to know what would happen on Halloween." Severus froze. For a moment it seemed as if his heart had stopped, but then it redoubled. Potter continued, seemingly oblivious. "It...it has a bunch of protections on it--well, you'll see." He held out a folded piece of paper, but did not release it immediately when Severus took it, instead holding onto it and muttering something. The letter flashed gold; Severus recognized the type of security charm. Paranoid much, Lily?

Several minutes later he set the letter down with hands that shook. I have until Halloween to live, he thought numbly. A spy is of little use if he is unable to spy--unless I can convince the Dark Lord that my potions skills are invaluable...

The boy across from him was watching him with a faint frown on his face, but he dropped his eyes the moment Severus looked up. "I hope you will understand if I wish to verify this claim," Severus drawled.

Potter nodded. "I sure did," he said softly. Pulling a battered piece of parchment from his pocket, he slid it across the workbench. Severus picked it up and turned it over before nearly dropping it in shock. It was a Paternity Parchment, one with Potter's name on it. Surely enough, there was his own name at the bottom--on a list of eleven names.

"Professor Dumbledore was there and verified that parchment himself," the boy--his son--was saying. "You can check with him. Or buy your own. Or I have a whole stack of them upstairs if you trust them. They're still sealed."

Severus scanned his eyes down the parchment again, with a sense of surreality. His first impulse was to throw it down and send Potter scrambling out of his laboratory at wand-point; this was just the sort of joke Black would have thought was funny.

He did not do so, however; he rather thought that if it was a bad joke, Potter had been taken in as well, and Poppy would not thank him for disrupting the boy's healing that way for the mere crime of being too gullible.

Wait... "Albus verified the parchments?"

Potter nodded. "He said it was still sealed properly, and he didn't think D--James could counterfeit that without Lily's help, and Lily wouldn't."

No. James was good at charms, but counterfeiting of that nature was far beyond his abilities. He would not have put it past Lily--after all, if the letter was to be believed, she had concealed Potter's true parentage from him despite Severus looking for signs that Potter was not, well, a Potter--but while she might have been willing to do so for a reason, she would not have considered pranking Severus to be a sufficient one.

Severus sank back onto the stool behind him, not wanting to believe this was not a prank but real; but the evidence available suggested otherwise. "I see," he said finally when he realized Potter was staring at him, brow furrowed.

"Professor Dumbledore said something about verifying it independently, but needing to be discreet," Potter continued after a moment, still watching Severus warily. "I figure he reckons people will get ideas if he runs out and buys things to check someone's parentage."

Indeed--Severus was not the only one who remembered Halloween 1979 in detail; he would not care to speculate what the Dark Lord would think if given such information. "There are a few potions I can brew that will reveal the degree of blood relation of two individuals," he said thoughtfully, "but it will require something from you--blood, preferably--"

"Of course," Potter said immediately, as if Severus had requested that he continue breathing. Did the boy have no concept of what could be done with his blood? "Just let me know when, sir."

"Not today," Severus said, when the boy looked at him expectantly, like he expected Severus to produce a tourniquet and needle on the spot. "I do not have the resources to store blood, and the test is most accurate when the components are fresh."

"Just let me know which cauldron to bleed into," Potter said with a half-smile that was almost a smirk. Severus snorted. Abruptly the boy sobered and bit his lip. "Er--sir?"

"Yes?" Severus set the parchment carefully back on the table; Potter picked it up and stared at it, still chewing on his lip. "You wished to ask a question, I presume?" he prompted when the boy still did not continue.

"Er--well--I was wondering--how is it possible for it to be true?" Harry waved the parchment. "I mean--how does someone have more than one father? I thought that wasn't, er--" He waved his other hand this time, cheeks bright red.

"You are correctly informed of the facts of life," Severus said dryly, and was rewarded by seeing the boy's entire face flush. "However." He glanced at the letter, still sitting between them on the table, and sighed. "I do not imagine you recognized the potion? No. I thought you would not." He wanted to pace, but could not find the energy to rise from his stool; as a substitute, he drummed his fingers on the table. "It is something of a legend among Potions Masters. I expect Lily did not know the story either; it is the sort of thing rarely committed to print anymore, for it sounds ludicrous on the face of it."

Potter frowned. "What do you mean?"

"The potion in question was created by a Muggle-born, who made his fortune selling his concoctions to pure-blood women who were desperate for a child. He claimed--and got several families to believe--that he had a variant which would allow the woman to conceive a child with more than one father. When he died, ironically without an heir, his notes were given to the Potions guild; the formula for the potion your mother drank was among them, with a marginal note saying only, 'It is possible to alter this potion so that the child may be multi-fathered; the formula is too long to write here'. The full formula was never found. Indeed, it has never even been certain whether the potion works; there are portions which must be brewed with, or preferably by, the woman who plans to drink it, and so it is inherently resistant to double-blind tests." Severus smirked. "That, and it has been illegal to drink for political reasons since a mere fifty years after the man's death, so studying its use has been difficult. It may still be found in some manuals, but even those omit the legend."

Potter was staring at him, wide-eyed. "So--you think Lily found it?"

"It would seem that way, would it not?" Severus cocked his head thoughtfully. "It makes one wonder how many other women have inadvertently brewed the other variation, and it simply has never come to light." He glanced at the letter again. "The legend persisted through the centuries due to several unusual traits which suddenly appeared in certain bloodlines--notably, those bloodlines who had gone to this brewer for assistance conceiving a child. At the time, methods of determining paternity were crude; the child was always shown to be that of the correct man, but the question always remained of whether there was another father somewhere. And so the legend remained as well."

"It figures," Potter said bitterly. When Severus raised a questioning eyebrow, he flushed slightly, looking down. "Nothing ever goes normally for me. It just figures that if my mum brewed a fertility potion, she'd get it ever so slightly wrong, and something weird would happen."

Severus had frequently been heard to complain that if Potter went for a walk, he would discover some as-yet-unknown mortal danger; he was not quite hypocritical enough to dispute the boy's words. However, the boy's comment reminded him of another question. "Am I correctly interpreting your mother's letter in presuming that you are in possession of her brewing notes?"

Potter nodded. "I haven't found them yet, but she says she left them for me." He leaned on the table across from Severus, absently sticking the parchment he still held in his pocket.

"When this comes out--" on Halloween, spelling the end of Severus's life, but he would not dwell on that now-- "you will likely find that those notes are in high demand. If I were you, I would place them somewhere safe now, that no one might think to take them from you by force."

"Great." Potter rolled his eyes. "Another thing I have to keep secret and safe." He rubbed his forehead with one hand; Severus's eyes sharpened, but he quickly realized it was not over the boy's scar.

"Another th--" Severus was halfway through the question when Potter swayed, blinking rapidly and putting out a hand to steady himself. Snape cut himself off and stood, drawing in a sharp breath. Before he could even frame the question in his mind, however, Potter's eyes unfocused and he began to tilt dangerously; Severus knocked over his stool in his haste to get around the table. It was a good thing he did, as he reached the boy's side and grabbed his arms just as Potter finally overbalanced.

Suddenly finding himself with an armful of unsteady, shaky Potter, Severus was forced to wrap his arms around the boy, practically holding him up, to keep him from collapsing to the floor. "Potter?" he inquired sharply, transferring his hold on the boy so as not to bruise the thin arms. "Potter!"

"Ugh," the boy responded just as the adrenaline began to hit Severus's system, leaving him lightheaded with relief. "I--what happened?"

"That is what I was intending to ask you," Snape said tartly.

Potter shook his head, blinking rapidly. "I suddenly--I was standing there, and then everything went silver and sparkly, and I couldn't quite manage to focus on what you were saying." He seemed to be having some difficulty catching his breath.

Alarmed, Severus felt for the boy's pulse, and discovered it was racing. He glanced at the clock, and began to mentally curse himself for ten kinds of a fool--he had been supposed to deliver the boy's new potions at least a half-hour ago; no wonder the child was feeling faint. He hoped he could dose the boy in time to prevent the more--unusual--effects of missing a dose. "Come, Potter," he said, and was relieved to see the boy's eyes flick up to his face; he was at least tracking that well. "Can you walk unassisted?"

"I--maybe," Potter replied, although his tone was dubious. Using Severus's proffered arm to stabilize himself, he pushed away and stood shakily but independently. "To where?"

Still keeping a sharp eye on the boy, Severus waved his wand with a muttered "Alohomora" at the unobtrusive door set in one corner. "I keep a small area for when I must stay over nights," he responded. "I fear you must lie down for a short while, at least until I fetch your potions. You should have taken them a quarter-hour ago."

"I should have?" Potter blinked at him. "I'm sorry, sir. I'll try to do better next time."

"Walking," Severus reminded him, and the boy turned his head--slowly, as if afraid the world might go off kilter if he moved more rapidly--to regard the door. Potter let go of Severus's arm, and took one step towards it, and then it was a good thing that Severus had moved with him, as he stumbled, leaned too far over, and nearly went down in a heap. Only Severus's quick grab kept him from hitting his head on the table.

"Sorry, sir," Potter said, sounding younger by the minute. "Just a moment, I'll get up."

"Allow me to assist you," Snape said, taking the boy's arm again.

To his horror, the boy flinched away from him, thumping against the table leg hard enough to leave bruises. "Please, Uncle Vernon. I'll get up, I promise."

Definitely alarmed now, Severus crouched down. "I am not your uncle," he said, trying to keep his voice soft so as not to alarm the delirious boy further. "He is not here."

"S--Snape?" Potter blinked at him. "What are you doing--where am I? This isn't my cupboard!"

"No," Severus agreed, feeling that questions could wait for later. "It is not." Deciding the boy would not be of any further help, and unwilling to leave him on the basement floor when the boy needed warmth, he swallowed his pride, cast a mild lightening charm on the boy--it would not do if he dropped him halfway--and picked the boy up bodily.

To his mild consternation, Potter went rigid the minute the minute Severus's arms went around him, and curled himself up in the smallest ball he could manage. While it did make getting through the doorway easier, it made holding onto him rather more difficult, and Severus was carefully not considering the reason Potter's instinctive response to being held seemed to be to protect himself.

He shoved the door open with one hip, allowing it to swing shut behind him, and deposited Potter carefully on the cot. Once he had the boy covered with one of the quilts, with warming charms cast on it, he retreated back into his lab to gather the boy's potions. Thankfully, he had not only the newly-brewed ones, sitting neatly to hand in a bag, but also extra doses of the others in a cupboard--against just this sort of eventuality. At the time, he had been imagining Potter managing to pull the table with the potion racks down on himself, or some similar calamity, but he was now glad of his own forethought.

When he returned, a small collection of vials in his hands, he found Potter sitting up on the bed, the quilt wrapped around his body. The boy had wedged himself as far into the corner as he could get, and watched Severus enter with eyes that were wary and suspicious, but also clearly muddled and confused. Severus allowed the door to swing shut behind him; the boy jumped when the latch clicked, drawing his good knee tighter to his chest and hunching his shoulders.

Moving slowly, Severus set the vials on the small table in clear view. "I have brought your potions, Potter," he said evenly. The boy did not reply, eyes tracking the Severus warily. Rather than repeat himself, he reached for the first one, breaking the seal and uncorking it, and held it out to Potter, who watched it suspiciously and curled more tightly in on himself, shaking his head desperately.

Evidently, I shall have to administer it to him. Severus prayed he would not have to resort to force; Potter was clearly befuddled and he doubted the boy was even aware of where he was. Again careful to move slowly, he sat down on the edge of the bed.

The simple act of sitting down on the bed made Potter flinch, and Severus's brows furrowed. "Please, no," he begged in a voice that had Severus freezing. "Please, sir, don't hurt me."

"I will not hurt you, Potter," Severus replied. "I merely require that you drink this."

That seemed to make Potter more wild instead of less, and Severus drew back at the look of sheer desperation that appeared in the boy's eyes. "Please--I'll do anything you ask--just don't make me--" Potter's pleas sounded, to Severus's ears, as if the boy did not expect them to make a difference, but could not help voicing them anyway. "Please--"

Severus schooled his features into a neutral mask before he could frown and frighten Potter further. "Child," he said as gently as he could manage. "This is to help you. Please take it." He held out the vial again.

The boy's eyes tracked it, but then when he did not approach any closer, they flicked to his face. For the briefest of instants, he met Severus's eyes; it was enough to make Severus nearly drop the vial.

--on a bed, small room, there was a man, a bad man, no the man would hurt him, please no, please don't, please don't make me--holding a drink, a drink a bad drink a funny drink, choking on liquid--please no please please please don't--

The fuzzy, muddled memory faded away with an abruptness that Severus had only ever experienced from the Obliviated, but the fear lingered, fear strong enough to have his own heart racing in sympathy. He carefully tucked his impressions of the memory away in his own mind for later consideration, and then held the potion out a little further. "Please, Potter." He moved a few inches closer; Potter's alarm increased more than was commensurate.

This is getting us nowhere rapidly. They were caught in a catch-22: the boy's current state was most likely due to lack of this very potion, for it had some odd withdrawal effects, but the boy's current state was effectively preventing him from administering it. He could stupefy the boy and pour the potion down his throat, but he was oddly reluctant to do so to a child who was so clearly terrified.

Taking another deep breath and swallowing more of his pride, he made himself as small as possible and softened his voice even further. "Please. Please take it." Potter's eyes were not on his face, but rather watching Severus's hands; he kept the hand not holding the vial relaxed on the bed, away from the boy. "Please, Harry."

As if the use of Potter's given name was a talisman, a minute amount of sense returned to the boy's eyes. "Pro--?" he began, then shook his head in confusion. "I--"

"Please, Harry," Severus pressed, not wanting to lose his chance. "Please drink it." It took force of will to meet the boy's eyes this time, but he dared not look away. This time, no memories leapt at him, and he did not go seeking them. "Please."

He nearly withdrew his hand in surprise, but stopped the motion in time as Harry's hand lashed out and grabbed the vial from him, drawing it back into the boy's protective blanket nest. Potter sniffed it warily, and Severus held his breath; it did not exactly smell appetizing. But after a moment, to his mild surprise, the boy upended it and drank the contents down.

This time, Severus was expecting the sudden release of tension from the boy's muscles as the tranquilizer he had slipped into the potion took hold; he caught the vial as it fell from suddenly-slack hands, the other arm going around Potter to keep him from slumping over abruptly. Even with the potion in him, Potter stiffened as Severus touched him, trying to move away and failing.

Quickly Severus pocketed the empty vial--pockets could be cleaned later--and moved the boy to lie on the bed, releasing him as rapidly as he could. "Lie still, Potter," he told the boy, who was still trying to squirm away from him. "Lie down, and give that a minute to work." He reached out towards the boy's ankle, intending to untangle the quilt from around it, but the foot lashed out and nearly caught him on his jaw. Backing off and standing, Severus decided that perhaps it was best to wait for the rest of the potion to take effect.

Slowly, Potter's tight expression relaxed, terror fading into a general wariness. After a minute, his brow twitched into a half-frown, and he spoke again. "Pro--Professor Snape? Where--what are we doing here?"

Cautiously Severus moved back towards the boy, relieved when the boy did not flinch away this time, although the green eyes still tracked him warily. "Do you know where you are?"

Potter opened his mouth and began to nod, then glanced around in apparent confusion. "Er--no, sir, I don't." His eyes returned to Snape's. "Where are we?"

"We are in a small room I keep for resting between brewings," Severus told him evenly. "I fear you missed your two o'clock potions dose; the results were rather spectacular, and it was necessary for you to lie down."

"Oh." Potter still flinched when he reached for the quilt, but did not otherwise protest Severus untangling it and tucking it back around his legs. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to--"

"You are not at fault," Severus cut the boy off, surprised by how easy it was to admit. "The fault rests with me, as I was responsible for instructing you that a dose was required."

Potter looked at him as if he had just announced that he was the Second Coming of Merlin. "I--er--"

"I fear there are more potions to be drunk," Severus warned the boy, cutting off his stammering. "Do you feel up to holding a vial?"

The boy tilted his head, and held out a hand as if to request a potion. The hand, however, shook like he had recently been subjected to the cruciatus. Potter looked at it in surprise, and then shook his head. "Guess not."

"No matter." Severus retrieved the rest of the vials and moved up the bed to sit by the boy's head. "The first will be the worst, I fear." He slid an arm under the boy's shoulders, which instantly stiffened, and propped the boy up against his shoulder. "Try to swallow it in one go; you may have some water or juice afterwards if you wish."

Potter nodded, glancing up at Severus through the messy hair which had fallen down over his eyes. "I understand."

Nodding himself, Severus uncorked the vial and held it to the boy's lips. The boy gulped, and then shuddered convulsively, coughing and looking like he wanted to spit. Expecting the reaction, Severus offered the boy a glass of water, quickly conjuring a straw so as to avoid spills.

"Thank you, sir," Potter said when he had sucked down half the glass. "And thank you for warning me."

The rest of the potions went more smoothly, and then Severus insisted Potter lie down properly. "You must lie flat and relax as much as you can manage," he told the boy, who kept trying to prop himself up on one elbow. "When you have lain still for fifteen minutes, then you will eat something, and you may sit up somewhat; your blood sugar is likely woefully low."

There was some muted grumbling from the direction of the cot, but Potter turned so he was lying on his back, and began fighting to get the quilt properly situated. After a moment of watching the boy kicking at it, trying to get it in place, Severus sighed. "Stop that," he told the boy sharply.

"But it's all tangled!"

"I am aware of that, Potter," Severus growled. "Patience is a virtue, one in apparently short supply today." Potter shot him a glare, but did stop kicking at the blanket. Once he felt it was safe, that he would not get kicked for his pains, Severus began untangling the boy's feet. Somehow Potter had managed to get the quilt wound completely around both ankles, but in a short span he had it undone and tucked flat around the boy's legs. "Now rest."

When he stood up to glare at Potter, the boy was staring at him oddly, as if expecting him to metamorphose into another person in front of his eyes. "Thank you, sir," the boy said carefully.

"You are welcome, Potter," he responded, returning to the tiny table and chair he kept in the other corner. "Rest." He took up the papers he had been correcting, keeping himself awake by virtue of sheer stubbornness.

It took three and a half minutes--he timed it--for Potter to begin fidgeting. When he heard the boy shift on the bed, Severus opened his mouth to chastise him, but before he could speak, Potter said, "I'm sorry, sir."

When he looked over, Potter was still lying flat; he had simply rolled onto his side and was peering at Severus. "For what, exactly, are you apologizing?" he inquired, feeling a mild sense of confusion.

"I'm sorry I bothered you, and made you lose track of the time," Potter replied as if it was self-evident. "I shouldn't have been a bother, and I should have remembered the time."

Severus pondered how to respond. "To begin with, Mr Potter," he started with a hint of snideness, "I am an adult, and fully capable of making my own decisions." Potter blinked at him, and he elaborated, "If you were a bother, I am perfectly capable of telling you to leave, or even, should the situation warrant, causing you to leave most precipitously." Potter turned red. "Furthermore, it was my responsibility to recall the time; that it was your responsibility as well does not absolve me of mine." He tapped his fingers on the table. "It is my duty to look after you, Mr Potter, even when you are doing your best to distract me from it." He wasn't entirely sure that he was making sense anymore; he was well past thirty-six hours without sleep, but he was also quite sure that the boy would not call him on it if he was not sensible.

"Oh." Potter considered that for a few minutes. "I'm sorry for being a distraction, then."

"Are you still in pain?" Severus asked, changing the topic abruptly. Any more conversation down that particular path, and he would be forced to admit that he was grateful that Potter had come to him with that particular distraction. "How is your arm?"

The boy frowned. "Er, which one, sir?"

"The one you decided to slice open, boy," Severus snapped, then rubbed his face. "I am sorry," he said before the boy could do more than flinch back.

"Er--well--" Potter stared at him for a moment longer, then transferred his gaze to his quilt-covered arm. "I don't know."

"Explain."

"It--it doesn't really hurt, sir," he said slowly, "but it tingles, rather a lot, and the hand keeps twitching." A note of irritation crept into his voice. "And it itches something awful."

Severus relaxed. The temporary lack of potions had not, at least, disrupted the boy's healing; he would not be to blame for the boy losing the use of his hand. "The tingling and, ah, itching is, unfortunately, a side-effect of the nerve re-growing. I fear it may itch for some weeks."

Potter started. "Nerve?"

"Yes," Severus responded snidely. "You sliced one of your nerves clean in two, Potter. You are lucky to have been already on the nerve regeneration potions, or you may well have lost use of that hand entirely."

Now the boy looked scared. "Er--"

"Oh, do not look as if--" Severus cut himself off, reminding himself that reminding the boy of the loss of his mutt was likely not the best thing to do at the moment. "I believe you will recover full use of it," he began again when he could speak calmly. "You may experience some areas of insensitivity, however, especially in your fifth finger."

"Oh." The boy worked the hand in question out of the quilt; as he held it before his face, Severus could see that it was, indeed, twitching very slightly. "No wonder--" He cut himself off, pinching his lips together.

Severus glanced at the clock, and decided that it had indeed been a quarter-hour since the boy had taken the last of the potions. He stood and approached the bed slowly, sitting down on the edge near Potter's feet and feeling under the bed for the box he kept there. "No wonder what, Mr Potter?" he asked as he did so.

"It--" Potter turned his face away, his ears going red. "I couldn't hold my wand," he said into the pillow. "To--to do the other arm."

Something in Severus's gut clenched at the boy's admission, and he abandoned the box he had half-out from under the bed, sitting up to stare at the boy. Cutting one arm that deeply could have been a momentary stupid impulse; to try to cut both... And certainly, if the boy had managed, he would not now be lying on the cot in front of him. The thought bothered Severus more than he cared to admit; he could barely even admit to himself that it scared him. "Why did you attempt to do so?" he asked softly.

"I--" Potter had pulled his face slightly out of the pillow, but was still speaking to the wall. "I just wanted it not to hurt anymore. I figured--I figured if I did both arms--I thought maybe I'd get to see Sirius again." He glanced furtively at Snape. "I know--I know he was a right bastard to you--but he cared about me." He buried his face in the pillow again. "And I was tired of hurting."

"I see." Severus leaned over to pick up the box he had retrieved. It was, perhaps, the one redeeming characteristic of the mutt; it had also been his downfall. "There are others who care about you," he pointed out carefully. "And--have you spoken to Poppy about--the other? She would not deliberately leave you in pain."

"I don't--" Potter paused, then continued reluctantly into the pillow, "I didn't mean that kind."

"Ah," Severus responded carefully. "That...does make it more difficult to relieve." He opened the box, and then the tin inside it. "Have a biscuit."

The boy stared at him; Severus resisted the impulse to put a hand to his head to check for horns or other sudden growths. After blinking several times, the boy managed to squeak,"Excuse me, sir?"

"You require food, Potter, to raise your blood sugar," he growled, holding out one of the buttery items. "Take one."

Potter worked the other hand out from the quilt and accepted the biscuit, although he looked at it as if he expected it to bite. Severus narrowed his eyes at the boy, who flushed and nibbled on it carefully.

Watching the boy out of the corner of his eye, Severus took one of his own. Absently chewing on it, he waved his wand over the table; a tea set materialized a moment later. "I fear that long exposure to the Headmaster has accustomed me to tea with my biscuits," he said wryly. "If I help you to sit up, do you promise not to move except to drink your tea?"

Potter nodded after a moment. "Please," he said.

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Remus stepped out of the fireplace in Headquarters and turned to assist Albus Dumbledore, who was right behind him. "I swear, the floo system gets grimier every year," he grumbled as they brushed soot and floo powder off their robes.

Albus gestured for him to turn around, and began trying to get the soot of his back. "I suspect it does," he said tiredly. "I cannot recall the last time their department got even half the funding they requested." They traded places, and Albus shrugged. "Every year, I warn them of the dangers of under-funding critical infrastructure, but--" He shrugged again.

"That'll be interesting if Harry is confirmed for the Potter Seat," Remus said thoughtfully, but with a bit of sardonic humor. "Isn't the Potter Seat the traditional chair of the Conclave budget committee?"

Albus nodded, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "I will admit to the occasional happy thought of the day he takes his Seat," the older man said with a chuckle.

"Best not count our owls before they hatch," Remus warned. "If James wasn't confirmed, Harry may not be either."

Albus shook his head. "I expect James's problem will be no issue at all for Harry," he said obliquely.

Remus shook his head too, more at the Headmaster's typical cryptic response than the subject matter. "Speaking of whom--I wonder where he is, this time of day." He checked his pocket-watch. "Dinner won't be for at least another hour...he's probably with his friends." He looked up, a wry expression stealing over his face. "I'm sure he won't appreciate being checked up on, but..."

"But you would feel better if you did so anyway," Albus completed with a smile. "I believe I would like to see the young man myself." He winked at Remus. "I am sure there is something we have forgotten to tell the young man."

"Of course," Remus agreed with a smile. "They're probably either in Harry's room or the library. Might be upstairs with the girls, I suppose."

They turned down the corridor leading to Harry's room and the library. Harry's door was closed, and there was no response when they knocked; Remus shrugged at Albus and they continued down to the library. As they neared, however, they heard the sounds of a low argument.

Ron and Hermione were standing in the middle of the library, arguing in low tones. The witch had her arms crossed, and the young man was waving his wildly.

"Hermione? Ron?" Remus frowned at them, not angry but mildly alarmed.

The worry grew when they both turned and immediately looked relieved to see the two men standing there. "Remus! Professor Dumbledore!' Hermione greeted them. "Do you know where Harry is?"

Remus blinked at her. "That's...what I was about to ask you."

"No, we don't," Ron said, glancing mulishly at the young woman next to him. She glared back, and Remus tried to control the corner of his mouth, which had started twitching.

"When did you last see Harry?" Albus asked the pair.

"Er." The two looked at each other. "After lunch, actually, sir," Hermione replied, biting her lip when she finished. The teens exchanged another glance.

"Well," Remus said. "Did he say where he was going?"

"Up to study, he said," Hermione responded. "He said he wanted to be alone for a bit, so we didn't go looking for him until just now."

"So you haven't looked very hard." Remus's shoulders relaxed a little.

"No," Hermione said sheepishly. "We've been in Ron's room, mostly. We just assumed he was in his room or the library, but no one's here, and no one answers when we knock there either."

"Then perhaps we should check other likely locations before we worry," Albus suggested calmly.

"Er--" Ron began, glancing at his witch friend. "That's--that's what we were arguing about, sir. Whether we should look at all."

"What do you mean, Mr Weasley?"

"Er...well...He said you'd made him promise...well, if I was him, I'd be p--upset if you went looking for me. I think I'd reckon you didn't trust me at all."

Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "I can see your reasoning, young man." Ron turned red. "However--" He glanced over at Remus. "Surely, if we have something to tell him, he will not be upset with us."

"I think we should look for him anyway," Hermione said stubbornly, making them all turn to look at her. Her cheeks turned pink, but she continued, "I think as long as we don't yell at him when we find him, he won't mind. And if it were me, I'd want someone to look for me. I think I'd feel like nobody cared if I disappeared the day after I--hurt myself--and nobody went looking."

"She's got a point," Remus pointed out to Albus. "We should at least check likely locations. And if he's upset with us anyway..." He shrugged. "I think I can live with that."

Albus nodded decisively and turned to the teens. "Where would you recommend beginning?"

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Harry sipped at his tea, watching his professor warily. A large portion of his mind was screaming at him--the scene was so surreal as to be unbelievable. He was drinking tea and eating biscuits with Snape of all people, all while tucked neatly (his mind shied away from the word caringly) into the man's cot. He was under the man's quilt for God's sake. A green-and-grey one, to be sure, but his mind was just struggling with the idea of Snape keeping a quilt around.

Snape glanced up at him periodically, but spent most of his time frowning at the papers he was reading, or writing on them in what appeared to be bright red ink. Harry couldn't figure out what on earth the man was doing--it was the middle of the summer; surely he couldn't have grading left to do.

Finally his curiosity won out. "Sir?" he asked cautiously. The black eyes flicked up to his, and he had to look away. "Er--if you don't mind me asking, sir...what are you doing?"

The man looked down at his hands. "Correcting papers," he replied. Harry blinked and opened his mouth, but Snape smirked and he closed it again. "Not for school; I help review papers for an American potions journal when I have the time, and I find writing on them aids my memory later when it comes time to write my responses."

"Oh," Harry said in mild surprise. "Er--how many do you have to do?"

Snape gave a half-shrug. "Not too many--five at the moment, I believe."

"Er--are they very long, then?" Harry asked, glancing, startled, at the visibly-thick pile.

"Not too long for their genre." He flipped through the stack quickly. "I believe the current lot average fifteen standard American pages."

"Oh," Harry said again, frowning slightly. "That's, uhm..."

"Roughly eleven and a quarter feet apiece, not including the conversion factor since these are typeset and not handwritten."

"Whoa," Harry commented. "That's...a lot. D'you review a lot of them? I mean--how long will it take you to finish those?"

"Not so many," Snape responded, voice somewhat absent as he frowned at the page in front of him. "It is roughly equivalent in total length, all together, to perhaps one and a half fifth-year essay assignments." He made a mark on the page, then looked back up at Harry, one dark brow lifting. "Considering a career as a journal editor, Potter? I fear your academic abilities may require polishing if so."

Harry flushed a little. "I'm sorry, sir. I didn't mean to pry." Snape muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'rather late for that', and Harry frowned. "I'm sorry, sir?"

Snape glanced up again. "I do not require an apology. You are not being intrusive at the moment."

"Oh." Harry realized he was still holding a biscuit and nibbled on it; wordlessly, Snape handed him another. "Then, uh...why an American journal?"

"Pardon?" Snape lifted his head, frowning slightly.

"Why are you reviewing for an American journal? Why not English or...or European? Are they better or something?"

Snape shook his head. "No, although I thank you for the compliment. Rather, the American journals are...rather more strict about remaining apolitical than the European ones."

Harry frowned. "Huh?" Snape looked up again and raised one eyebrow just as it penetrated. "You mean...they won't let you work for them because of--" He waved his hand at his left arm, tracing a sinuous pattern on it.

"Precisely," Snape said darkly. "They will not so much as return my owls. The Americans--who also, it must not be forgotten, have the insulation of a large ocean between themselves and our politics--do not care what is on my arm so long as I am competent."

"But--you were acquitted!" Harry protested. "Dumbledore himself vouched for you."

Snape set down the quill momentarily and stared at him. "Surely you, of all people, would appreciate the distinction between 'acquitted' and 'innocent'," he said finally. Harry blushed slightly and shrugged. "Although--there were still a very few places I could publish, on the Continent, before Albus spoke on my behalf. Now they will not consider me because of my link to him." He let out a soft sigh and picked up his quill again. "Hence--the Americans."

Harry finished his biscuits and slowly sipped his tea, trying to make it last. Snape mostly ignored him; he stared into his teacup as a return favor, thinking hard. I don't understand Death Eaters, he concluded after a few minutes. Why would anyone--other than Bellatrix, anyhow--voluntarily join an organization that's going to get you shunned throughout the Continent?

He eyed the biscuit tin. Snape was distracted and he was still somewhat hungry; did he dare take another? No, he'd better wait until dinnertime.

"You may have another if you wish one," Snape said without looking up, making Harry start badly enough to slosh the tea over the edge of his cup onto himself. Swearing, he blotted at his shirt; Snape calmly picked up his wand and vanished the stain. "You may have as many biscuits as you wish," the man continued evenly, turning back to his papers, "providing that you do not consume so many as to be unable to eat your dinner later."

Cautiously, watching Snape for any hint of a negative reaction, Harry reached for the tin. Snape did not so much as move; boldly, Harry took two. Snape raised an eyebrow, then, and he guiltily dropped one back into the tin. He glanced back up to see if Snape looked less irritated; the man was watching him and their eyes met. The other man suddenly frowned, a dark, angry expression, and instinctively he dropped the second biscuit back in and drew his hands back to his chest, steadying the teacup when it began to quiver on its saucer.

Snape sighed slightly; after a moment his expression smoothed out to neutral blankness again. Harry relaxed slightly, enough to sip his tea, although he could still feel the man's eyes on him.

"Potter." The silky voice made him glance up again; the black eyes that met his glittered strangely. "Go on."

He blinked in confusion, and realized Snape was holding out a hand. Resting in the palm were the two biscuits. "Are...you're sure?"

Snape nodded curtly, tipping the pair into the hand Harry reached out uneasily. "Do you wish more tea?" the man asked abruptly.

"Er--" Harry glanced into his teacup, debating with himself.

A hand closed on his teacup, making him start again. Thanks to Snape's steadying grip, the cup barely rattled. "I shall take that as a 'yes'," the man informed him. Taking the cup out of Harry's loose grasp, he filled it but then set it down on the small table instead of giving it back. "You must take more potions shortly; you will want this to remove the taste afterwards."

"Waste of good tea," Harry complained as he accepted the first vial from the potions master.

Snape tapped his wand. "There is more where that came from."

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"Any luck?"

The Headmaster shook his head. "He is not downstairs in the kitchens or the dining room, and Molly has not seen him since lunch."

Something in the Headmaster's voice made Remus stop and look at him harder. "Is something the matter?"

"Harry's disappearance is insufficient?" Albus raised a hand and sighed, his other hand coming up to rub his forehead, before Remus could reply. "There were a number of Order members in the kitchen; I gathered that they had something of a confrontation with Harry over breakfast."

Remus groaned. "Just what he needed."

Albus nodded shortly. Just then the two teenagers came around the corner; they shook their heads in unison as they spotted Albus and Remus. "He's not in the attic, not unless he's hiding in a crate or something," Ron said.

"He is, similarly, not downstairs in the kitchen or dining room," Albus reported. "I even looked in on the old kitchen--Severus's laboratory--but he was not there."

"Did you ask if Snape had seen him?" Remus asked, thinking of his request to Harry the night before.

Albus shook his head. "The door to the room he keeps was firmly closed, and he was not in evidence; I presumed he was asleep and chose not to wake him." To the two young people he said as an explanation, "He was up the night brewing Harry's potions."

Remus nodded. "He's not in any of the bathrooms either," he said. "Again, at least not unless he's hiding from me. Charlie is showering in the one on the eastern fourth floor, but I would assume he isn't in there either."

"Now what do we do?" Hermione asked after a moment.

They all looked at Albus, who stroked his beard. "Perhaps...he had reason to be somewhat upset, correct? Perhaps he is in one of the unused rooms, working it off via cleaning."

Ron looked dubious, but Hermione nodded. "It's possible," she said. "Er--sir? Could it be possible that he's in his room, but just not answering the door?"

Remus and Albus looked at each other, and Remus's heart sped up at the reminder of finding the boy the previous night. "I shall check that possibility presently," Albus said after a moment. "Meanwhile...if you would start at the top, and work down? I imagine he would wish to be as far away from the kitchens as possible at the moment."

Remus nodded, and turned to escort the children upstairs to begin searching anew.

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Harry felt a little better after having his potions, despite their nasty taste. The minute he'd swallowed the contents of the last vial, Snape had pressed the cup of tea into his hands; when he'd grimaced at the bitterness of the tea after the bile flavor of the last potion, Snape had taken the teacup from him and replaced it by a glass of pumpkin juice without a word. Harry was trying very hard not to reflect on how good that small gesture had made him feel.

"Sir?" he asked cautiously. "I'd like to ask you something--but I just want to say, first, that if you want to tell me it's none of my business and to bugger off, I'll understand."

"And what is this offensive question?" Snape asked drily when he paused for breath.

"Um. I was wondering...why do people join the Death Eaters, sir? Or...why did they?"

Snape regarded him, dark eyes inscrutable. Harry gazed back, hoping the man could read the sincerity of the question in his eyes. "It depends on the person," Snape said after a minute. "Was...is there a person in particular that you were wondering about?"

"Er...not...really," Harry mumbled, cheeks flaming.

Snape nodded, one corner of his mouth twitching. "I see. Well...many of the original Death Eaters swore themselves to him in the days when he was merely Mister Riddle, the junior--and very conservative--councillor from the West Midlands."

"Er--the what from the West Midlands?" Harry stopped him to ask.

Snape frowned. "Heaven help us if you are Seated," he said cryptically. "A councillor is one of the members of the lower legislative body of Wizarding Britain."

"Oh," Harry said. "Like...like the House of Commons?" It occured to him that he knew next to nothing about Wizarding government--not even how the Minister for Magic was chosen.

Snape nodded. "Just so. In those days, he ran on a platform calling for the increased separation of Muggle and Magical worlds, including the formation of additional wizard-only areas and mandatory wizarding adoption of Muggle-born babies who manifested their power within a certain time after birth." Snape's eyes were unfocused; he appeared to be staring off into midair. "He was quite popular with the lower classes and small-town wizards, who tend to have a more difficult time hiding their...activities."

"It...that actually sounds somewhat reasonable," Harry said, earning himself a sardonic smirk from Snape. "So...when'd he go, uh..."

"Dumbledore had just defeated the Dark Lord Grindewald at the time, and had a great deal of political power and influence," Severus continued his story. "He managed to block, or more usually moderate, all of Riddle's more...extreme proposals. Eventually, Riddle was reduced to near-impotence as his colleagues began to believe that his name on a bill was, alone, enough to get it killed in the Conclave--the wizarding version of the House of Lords." Snape sighed slightly. "His constituency felt he had failed them, and he was not re-elected to a third term. Riddle came to feel that he could not make his voice heard from within the government, and turned to other methods of achieving his goals."

Harry nodded slowly. "He...he was right, in a way, wasn't he? Was that when he became Vol--" At Snape's sharp glare, he amended himself, "When he changed his identity?"

"You are probably correct," Snape said, "about the first. The majority of the country was enjoying post-war prosperity, and had no patience with his ideas. In fact, many laws decreasing the separation of the two worlds were passed during that time, often over his nay vote." He shook his head. "Riddle and his followers continued to work openly for a time, trying to convince the people that the Muggles were dangerous and would bring the ruin of the Wizarding world."

"So--when did he become the Dark Lord we all know and love?" Harry asked sarcastically.

Snape leaned back, steepling his fingers and tapping them together. "As they grew increasingly marginalized, they grew increasingly radical. Eventually they went underground for a few years to begin preparations for a new plan. Riddle had become convinced--and had convinced his followers--that the only way to prevent the destruction of the wizarding way of life was to enact a violent revolution and install him in power. After a few years he resurfaced under his present name--and the first war began."

"Oh." Harry thought that over. "And--the ones who joined after that?"

"The Dark Lord still promises a return to the old ways, a renaissance of wizarding culture, and safety from the Muggles and Muggleborns," Snape replied softly. "It is only upon achieving entrance to his inner circle that one realizes that his movement is more about power and immortality for himself and his closest followers--and the indulgence of a love for cruelty--than about ideals." His hand had crept down to cover his left arm as he spoke; Harry wondered what he was remembering.

"Oh," Harry said softly again. "Don't...doesn't it bother them, ever, the things he does?"

Snape shrugged slightly. "Those who join the Death Eaters are well-aware that they are joining a group devoted to the overthrow of the current government through militant, violent, and subversive tactics. It is, however, one reason he has so many un-Marked supporters--they are able to convince themselves that if they do not actively participate in his more extreme activities, they are not at fault."

"Oh," Harry said yet again.

"Of course, not all recruits have ideals in mind," Snape went on, distantly. "Many join because their families are supporters, or because their friends all joined, or simply because they want some respect for once..." he trailed off, then looked up suddenly, catching Harry staring at him. "More tea?"

"Er, yes please," Harry responded bemusedly.

Snape nodded and poured, his hands not quite steady on the teapot. Harry kept his eyes on his cup even after it was handed back. "You must lie there for a few minutes more," Snape said after they had both sipped. "But you may go up to dinner shortly."

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Remus turned as someone came into the room he was searching. "Albus," he said in greeting. His stomach fell as the man's grim expression penetrated. "What--did you find him?"

"No," Albus said quietly, "but I found his potions." Remus frowned, and the man elaborated, "He took the two morning doses--but the afternoon ones are untouched."

Remus stared at him, heart beginning to race painfully. "You don't...what do you think could have happened? You don't think..."

Albus shook his head. "The wards are intact, and there is no sign of him crossing them. I...I hope he is merely somewhere in the house, having been incapacitated somehow--a fall, perhaps."

Remus swallowed. "If he couldn't reach his wand..."

Albus nodded. "I hope that it all it is."

They turned to complete searching the room. For once Remus cursed the spells that allowed wizards to pack more space into a given exterior volume; no London townhouse should have this many rooms, and no room should have this many nooks and crannies.

They leapfrogged the room the teenagers were searching. Albus had told them to use magic if necessary so the four could split into two groups and search faster; if the teens got into trouble for it, he had said, he would make it right with the Ministry.

Together he and Albus forced open a pair of very old French doors to a walk-in closet. As they moved together into it, wands held at the ready, Remus finally put his finger on what was worrying him.

"Albus," he said tensely, "Harry's promise, last night...he said he'd tell someone before he acted. Suppose...suppose he thought he could...do the job...by simply not acting--by just not taking his potions."

Albus stopped dead in the middle of the closet, looking rather sick. "Dear Merlin," he said softly. His eyes met Remus's, and they both shivered in unison. "We had...simply better make sure we search thoroughly."

Remus nodded.

They searched another closet before the Headmaster spoke again. "Harry does not own a pocket-watch, does he?"

Remus shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

"Suppose..." Albus frowned. "It has just occured to me that it is difficult to tell the passage of time, in these back rooms." He looked over at Remus. "Suppose he simply...missed the time for his next dose, not deliberately but accidentally."

Remus nodded slowly. "What would happen?"

Albus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "The first dose he missed was the two o'clock. If he did so by accident..." His voice trailed off, and he looked back up from where he had begun studying the carpet. "One of the first symptoms would be confusion and disorientation, followed by a regression into the past. He could very well have attempted to find some place he would have felt safe when he was younger." He looked around the room. "We should be sure to search all the cupboards."

Remus stared at him, horrified. "You mean--it's true, about the cupboard under the stairs?"

Albus nodded slowly. "I fear so, my boy."

They both looked around at the number of places a boy, believing himself to be a small child and feeling safe in small, dark places, might hide himself. Remus groaned. It would be just Harry's luck to be eaten by some Dark creature while hiding as a result of having accidentally missed one dose of potions. "I should go next door and warn the teens," he said. "They should know to check all the small, dark spaces."

Albus nodded.

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There were a few moments of absolute panic and terror when they came upon the boggart hiding in a closet.

Remus had opened the doors and thrust aside molding clothes to reveal Harry, lying still and silent, eyes open and staring, on the closet floor.

His choked gasp brought Albus running; he stepped aside to allow the Headmaster to see, whereupon there was a muffled crack and suddenly Harry was lying in a slowly-spreading pool of his own blood. Remus drew a shaky breath and closed the closet door firmly, nearly in Albus's face, before collapsing against it. "Just a boggart," he said unsteadily. "It was only a boggart."

Albus was staring blankly at the closed door. "Dear Merlin. You are sure?"

Remus nodded. "Before you got here, he was just...lying there. The blood only showed up when you did--and didn't you hear the crack?"

"Dear Merlin," the old man repeated, rubbing his face with quivering hands and leaning against the wall. "I thought...I thought..."

Remus nodded. "Me too," he said. "Well. We'd better keep looking."

They'd cleared another two rooms when Remus's stomach rumbled; surprised, he looked down at his watch. "Albus," he said slowly, "it's nearly seven."

The old man didn't look up from where he was shining wand light around yet another small closet space. "Is it?"

"Harry would have missed his second dose of that brain-healing potion fifteen minutes ago."

Albus stood slowly and turned around. "Is that so."

"Albus...how long can he survive without it?"

The Headmaster's eyes clouded. "I...I do not know. I would need to ask Severus--or Poppy."

They looked at each other. "I think maybe it's time to wake him up and ask him," Remus said finally. "And I think we'd better get more people in on this search--this is taking too long."

Albus nodded. "Should I go now, do you think?"

Remus nodded back. "I think you'd better. You weren't there when he dropped off the new formulation last night--he checked Potter over, and then said something like 'six or eight hours without it, and he'd have only minutes to live if he's lucky'."

Albus paled, and they both checked their watches. "You are, of course, right. I shall go."

"I'll finish checking this room, then collect the kids and meet you downstairs," Remus told him. "Go on."

The Headmaster nodded and went.

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"You will likely be exceedingly dizzy when you first sit up," Snape warned.

Harry stopped trying to push himself up and frowned. "I will?"

"You must give your heart time to adjust," Snape went on, standing up from his seat. "Thus, when I said 'you may sit up now', I did have in mind you waiting for appropriate assistance."

"My heart?" Harry blinked at him. "But...I sit up all the time."

Snape smirked. "Then, by all means, do."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man, but begun shoving himself up anyway. He got his torso perpendicular to the bed and grinned triumphantly. "See? I told you..."

Snape's hands caught him as his world went abruptly grey and he slumped sideways. "You were saying?" the man asked snidely, easing him back down onto the pillow.

"Er. Nothing." Harry put a hand to his chest, feeling the racing heartbeat. "Ugh."

Snape's face tightened. "Are you in pain? Any trouble breathing?"

He shook his head 'no'. "Just really dizzy," he said after a moment, "and my heart feels like it's going a mile a minute."

Snape pulled Harry's right hand off his chest and felt the pulse point. "Not dangerously fast," he said after a moment, "and the pressure feels good. You must lie there a minute, until it slows again, however; then you may try sitting up again, this time with assistance."

"Yes, sir," Harry said, leaning his head back and closing his eyes. "Sir? What's wrong with me?"

Snape gave a slight snort. "To enumerate would take years, Mr Potter. Among other things, you did attempt to kill yourself."

"Yeah," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes at the man. "I know. But...I meant, what's wrong with my heart?"

Snape did not answer for a moment, and then he let out a sigh. "When you were initially injured, Potter, at your relatives' house, your magic kept you alive. By all rights, the blood loss alone should have killed you, never mind the trauma, yet here you are. It...is not my field, but my understanding is that it did so by deferring the damage--by essentially borrowing healing from your future. It did the same thing last night, when again, you should have died."

"Oh," Harry said. He seemed to be saying that a lot today. "So...now I'm kind of...paying back that debt?"

Snape nodded. "You were paying back the original debt, which weakened your reserves and thus your heart and lungs." He paused, surveying Harry, and added, "You stopped breathing twice last night as a result. By the symptoms, I would venture your uncle attempted to strangle you."

"I stopped breathing?" Harry had had no idea just how close he had come to achieving his goal. "Really?"

"We...Lupin and Poppy performed Muggle CPR on you," Snape said distantly. No wonder my chest hurt this morning. "So you are, now, laboring under the healing burden of all your injuries, as well as the magical debt owed due to keeping yourself alive not once but twice in the past month. The result is a weak cardiopulmonary system--your heart and lungs." He refocused on Harry. "If you still desire to die, it should be quite simple. Simply forego the plum-colored healing potion two or three doses in a row--overnight should do it--and then run up a flight of stairs. I promise, your heart will stop and you will be quite dead before anyone can do anything about it. In fact, I doubt the stairs would be necessary; you would likely not wake to see the day."

Harry swallowed tightly, his eyes caught by Snape's intense gaze. "Er. Oh," he replied incoherently. "I promised Remus and the Headmaster that I wouldn't, though."

Snape nodded, the tight lines of his face softening slightly. "How is your heart doing?"

Harry put a hand to the vein in his neck. "Er, well, it's slower anyway."

"Hold out your right hand," Snape ordered, and he complied.

"Sir? How is it that you know so much about...healing and stuff?"

"The Dark Lord sent me for emergency medi-wizard training when I was first recruited," Snape answered, taking Harry's wrist. He took out a pocket-watch and opened it, putting it on his knee in easy sight, then settled two long fingers over Harry's pulse point. "Albus supplemented it when I began working for the Order, and then Pomfrey as well; they assure I keep up-to-date, although between the Dark Lord and the Order I do not lack for practice. I am, now, a fully-certified basic medi-wizard in my own right, with a concentration in medical potions." He released Harry's wrist and put the watch away. "It should be safe for you to attempt sitting upright again, provided you allow me to assist you."

Harry nodded. "What do you need me to do?"

"Relax, remain calm, and try not to flinch," Snape said evenly as he threaded an arm about Harry's shoulders. "I will raise you, and then move the pillows. You must relax against my hold, and tell me instantly if your chest hurts or if your vision begins to cloud again."

It didn't, and Harry relaxed back into the conjured pillows as Snape released him and sat back. "Will--how long will I need help sitting up?" he asked fretfully.

"Not long," Snape assured him. "After your next dose of potions, you should be able to sit up slowly without worry; by tomorrow afternoon, you should have no difficulties. It is the confluence of the missed dose and your low blood-sugar levels which are causing the bulk of the dizziness."

"Oh, okay," Harry said. "Er...thanks."

"Sit there, quietly, and do not move until I tell you it is all right," Snape cautioned sternly. "I should not care to explain to the Headmaster how it came to be that you fainted and hit your head falling out of my bed."

Harry snorted. "Yes, sir," he replied.

"Good." Snape appeared to be about to say something, but someone rapped urgently on the door, and he stood with an expression of mild irritation. Whoever it was knocked again as Snape circled the table, and Harry snickered a little, remembering Ron that morning. Snape shot a look at him. "Very still," he reminded Harry, and pulled open the door.

On the other side was Headmaster Dumbledore, his fist raised to knock again. The man's entire body radiated tenseness, and Harry wondered what on earth could have happened to put that expression of profound worry on his lined face. His own heart sped up in answering concern, and he concentrated on remaining absolutely still. Whatever had happened, now was clearly not the time to fall over and hit his head.

"Severus," Dumbledore said tautly, "how long can Harry survive without his potions? We cannot find him, and he has missed several doses."

Snape stared blankly at the Headmaster. "Albus--"

Dumbledore went on as if he had not heard, speaking rapidly and urgently. "He did not touch any of the afternoon doses, starting with the two o'clock. We are searching for him, but it is taking time, and so I must know--how long does he have? Is there a chance, any chance, that he is still alive?" He tensed even further, like a man expecting a painful blow.

Harry realized he was sitting in shadow; the man had clearly not seen him. "Professor Dumbledore?"

The old man's eyes widened, scanning behind Snape. They fixed on Harry, sitting upright in the corner, and all the tension left the Headmaster's body with an explosive sigh; he caught himself on the doorframe. "Harry. Thank Merlin." He put out a hand and gently moved Snape aside, eyes never leaving Harry's face, and moved half-blindly forwards. "Thank Merlin," he repeated, groping for the edge of the cot and sitting on it. "We feared...we feared the worst." Gently he took one of Harry's hands, simply holding it in both of his.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, flushing a little. "I--I didn't think, Professor. I'm sorry."

Abruptly, Dumbledore pulled Harry forward into a hug, holding the boy tightly against his chest and stroking his head and back as if he were a cat. The man took a shaky breath; Harry could feel the man's hands quivering and awkwardly wrapped his own arms around the Headmaster. "I am simply glad to find you well," the man said, his hand tightening where he was holding Harry's shoulder. "So very, profoundly glad. So you have been here the whole time? What are you doing in bed?"

"He came down to speak with me," Snape said; they both turned their heads to look at him. He was half-sitting on the edge of the table, watching them. "We both were distracted and missed his two o'clock dose, whereupon he became weak and disoriented; I made him lie down whilst he recovered."

Dumbledore released Harry and held him away enough to look at him. "Are you feeling better now, my boy?"

"Better than I was ear..." The movement and sitting up under his own power, combined with his surprise at being hugged, had apparently been too much; a dull ringing flooded his ears and he trailed off as the edges of his vision went grey. He swayed, suddenly dizzy.

Dumbledore caught him, holding him again, and Snape stood up from his perch fast enough to nearly overturn his ink bottle, also reaching for Harry to steady him. "He is indeed better than he was," the potions master said to Dumbledore; it sounded to Harry like the man was speaking from much further away than just near his shoulder. "However, you see why I have had him lying down all afternoon. The missed dose put additional strain on his heart."

"Will he be all right?" Dumbledore asked worriedly. "What can we do for him?"

"He will be fine, in time," Snape reassured the man. "He needs a good meal more than anything--I have been feeding him biscuits, but his blood-sugar levels are woefully low; he must not have eaten much lunch."

"Not really, no," Harry confirmed. "It was...rather awkward."

Dumbledore's face hardened slightly. "I heard about that, my boy. I will have words with them." To Snape he said, "Molly should be serving dinner about now, if you think he can get upstairs and sit for dinner. I should go reassure Remus and the children, in any case."

Snape nodded and addressed Harry. "We will assist you to stand; once you are upright, you must hold onto us until the dizziness passes, do you understand?"

Harry nodded, and allowed the man to pull up upright. He clutched at Snape's arms, aware of Dumbledore hovering behind him, until the sparkles faded from his vision. "Okay," he said, a bit shakily. "I'm okay now."

He was able to walk out of the room and to the staircase without much difficulty, it all being on the flat, but he had to lean on the Headmaster to make it up the stairs. Snape followed behind, hands at the ready should Harry fall.

At the top of the stairs they paused for Harry to catch his breath, then continued out into the hallway. There they came upon Remus, Hermione, and Ron, all in a tight huddle near the main staircase. He could only see Remus's back, but the two teenagers looked tense and scared.

"Remus," Albus said quietly.

The werewolf spun, revealing an expression of abject terror; apparently, Harry thought, the Headmaster wasn't the only one who had feared he was dead, or worse. "Alb..." His breath trickled out soundlessly as he spotted Harry. For a moment he just stared, but then he crossed the hall in three long strides and caught Harry up in his arms, hugging the boy tightly. "Harry," he said into Harry's hair. "Thank Merlin!"

"Mate!" Ron's voice said next to his shoulder; when Remus released him slightly he looked over to find both the red-head and Hermione grinning widely at him. "You're all right!"

"I'm so sorry," Harry told the three of them. "I didn't...I didn't realize how worried you'd be. I'm sorry."

"Do not apologize, Potter," Snape said from behind him; Harry felt Remus stiffen. "You are not the one trained in medical potions; you could not have known that a minor delay would result in trapping you with me for the afternoon."

"You've been downstairs this whole time?" Remus asked, then laughed quietly. "Well. Now I feel rather silly."

Albus shook his head. "He was doing what I encouraged him to do; I should have considered the possibility."

Remus shook his own head ruefully. "I encouraged him, too." Ron and Hermione looked a little lost; Harry mouthed 'later' at them. "Still, better safe than sorry, I suppose." He chuckled quietly, the sound one of sheer relief, and hugged Harry tightly again.

"The boy needs food," Snape reminded them in his best bored tone. Reluctantly, Remus released Harry as Snape went on, "Be careful--the mishap this afternoon put additional strain on his heart."

Thus it was that Harry entered the dining room flanked by Dumbledore and Remus, with Snape looming behind his right shoulder and his friends close behind. Conversation cut off as the entered; Harry swore he heard someone giggle quietly, but for the most part the faces watched him warily. He wondered if it was him, or if it was all thanks to his escort.

They took their accustomed seats, with Remus and Dumbledore assisting him into the chair at the end of the table before taking their seats to his right. Snape hovered until Harry was safely settled, then swept past them to claim a place next to the man from that morning--Gage, Harry recalled after a moment. He suppressed a snicker as the man edged his chair away from Snape.

They all sat there for a moment, looking at each other, before Mrs Weasley rose and waved her wand at the dishes on the table. "Dinner is served!" she said with forced cheer.

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As they were all finishing up the main meal, Dumbledore, who had been quiet through most of it, spoke up. "If Order members could please remain after pudding," he said, not loudly, but it cut through all the low conversation like a sharp knife.

The Order members shot each other looks of mixed apprehension and concern; the rest of the household exchanged looks of curiosity. Harry looked over at Ginny to find her raising an eyebrow at him, and shrugged back, but it reminded him of something.

"Professor," he said quietly to Dumbledore, who turned from where he had been exchanging a few low words with Remus. "I don't know if anyone mentioned it to you, but I had a...sort of vision this morning."

"No, they did not," Dumbledore replied, sounding interested. He leaned forwards slightly. "How do you mean, 'sort of'? And is there a reason you did not report this in the usual manner?"

"Er, well, I fell asleep after breakfast," Harry explained. "I think I got sucked into one of his nightmares. Hermione has the whole thing written down, I think."

They both looked over at the witch, who blushed slightly and nodded. "He was mumbling in his sleep, so I took down everything he said--after we realized what was going on, anyhow--and his description afterwards."

"Excellent thinking, my dear," Dumbledore complimented her, making her blush harder. "And--why, if I ask, did you not use the vision call?"

Harry raised his eyebrows at Hermione, who nodded and answered. "We did," she said simply. "I hit it as soon as it became evident that it was a vision and not just a nightmare. I was trying to write down what he said, so I used the mode requesting someone come upstairs, and then sent Ron out into the hall to wait for them. No one ever came."

Ron, who had looked over at the sound of his name, nodded. "I didn't even hear anyone on the stairs," he said.

"Anyway, once I woke up, Hermione took it all down, and then it didn't seem worth bothering anyone about," Harry explained further. "I figured we could just tell you later. It wasn't even an interesting nightmare."

"Standard being-chased nightmare, combined with social anxiety," Hermione confirmed, and he nodded. "I'll copy it all out neatly for you, but I don't think it's a surprise to anyone that Voldemort fears you, sir, and wants the prophecy."

"We did learn that he's asleep at half past ten in the morning," Ron pointed out, making them all turn to look at him; his ears turned red. "It's another piece of information about his daily schedule."

"Very true, Mr Weasley," Dumbledore said approvingly, making Ron flush further. To Harry, he went on, "I am disturbed that the call was ignored; I shall have to get to the bottom of that."

Once pudding--a most excellent chocolate cake--was cleared away, the younger members of the household stood and prepared to leave. Remus hovered near Harry in case he should need help, but Snape had been right: with a full meal inside him, Harry only had to lean on the table momentarily for balance.

As he turned to follow his friends out, Dumbledore put a hand on his arm to stop him. "Would you please wait nearby?" the man requested quietly. "I shall wish you to come back in perhaps ten or fifteen minutes; it would be more convenient for both of us, I think, if you did not wander far."

Harry nodded, slightly startled but agreeable. "There's that office just down the hall," he suggested. "I could wait there."

Dumbledore smiled. "Perfect."

Harry nodded again and left; Remus closed the large double doors behind him, and as he turned, he saw them sparkle briefly with some sort of spell. His footsteps sounded slightly dead as he turned back, and he realized it must have been some form of soundproofing ward.

Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were waiting for him in the hall, and they all trooped together into the office, leaving the door open. "So you were with Snape all afternoon?" Ron asked immediately.

Harry nodded. "Yeah," he admitted.

"Doing what?" Hermione asked curiously.

"Er." He looked between his friends, debating with himself. He thought ruefully of Ron's temper, especially where all things Snape were concerned, and decided that now was not the time. "I...can't really tell you right now. Maybe later. I think maybe I need to talk to Professor Dumbledore first," he added, thinking of the numerous cautions he'd received. "But...in short, my mum left him a letter to be given to him if--" when-- "she died in the war."

"Oh," Ron said, frowning. "How'd she know he'd still be on our side, or even still alive?"

"She didn't," Harry replied patiently, "which is why she left it for me to give to him, if I wanted to."

"Oh," Ron repeated. "And you can't tell us what it said?"

Harry hesitated, then shook his head. "Anyway, what were all of you up to?"

They all looked up in surprise as a faint roaring sound penetrated the room from the direction of the dining room. "My god, was that Remus yelling?" Ginny asked incredulously after a moment.

"I didn't know you could overwhelm that ward," Hermione said, blinking. "Anyway," she went on after a few seconds of silence, "Ron and I spent most of the afternoon in Ron's room." She glanced at Ron and blushed slightly. Ginny smirked. "Then, about half past four, we started getting worried because we hadn't seen you, and we went to look for you."

"Remus and Professor Dumbledore showed up while we were ar--while we were in the library," Ron went on. "None of us had seen you, so we all started looking. We figured you were just off somewhere br--reading or something, at first."

"But then Professor Dumbledore discovered your afternoon potions were untouched, and we got rather worried," Hermione picked the story back up. "So then we really started searching for you."

"Mind you, nobody bothered to find me and ask me to help," Ginny said irritably, frowning at the other two. "I spent my day reading, none the wiser."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Hermione told the other witch sincerely. "When I looked in that first time, you were so deep in your book that I didn't want to bother you, and then when we started to really worry, I just...didn't think of it. I'm sorry. We could have used your help."

"D'you have any idea how many rooms this place has?" Ron added, shuddering. "And all of them creepy!"

"Lots of spiders," Hermione explained to Harry as an aside. "Anyhow, whoever put the expansion charms on here must have been really powerful--there are way more rooms than should fit in the exterior volume."

"Look," Harry said, feeling he should apologize for their useless search, "I really am sorry I worried you. I really didn't mean to wind up confined to Snape's bed all afternoon."

"Snape's bed?" Hermione raised both eyebrows.

"Yeah--he keeps a little room down there with a sort of cot thing--it's even got a quilt, can you imagine? Anyhow, when I kind of collapsed, he made me lie down on it. He mostly corrected papers," he said, wrinkling his nose. "Very boring. D'you know, he helps review papers for an American potions journal?"

"An American one?" Hermione's brows rose again.

"Yeah, that's what I said," Harry responded, nodding. "But he said--"

Remus appeared in the doorway, making Harry stop as they all turned to look at him. "Harry, if you could come with me, please?" he requested politely. "The rest of you, stay here."

They all looked at the irritated expression on the man's face for a moment. Hermione appeared like she wanted to protest, but Harry shook his head at her and followed Remus out.

Remus knocked on the doors leading to the dining room, which were no longer glowing. A moment later, there was a click; Remus opened the right-hand one and waved Harry through, following him in and shutting the doors behind them before recasting the ward.

Albus Dumbledore was standing at the end of the table, hands on the back of the chair Harry usually occupied. He appeared stern and also somewhat unhappy--maybe even a bit angry, an expression Harry had rarely seen on the man's face. However, he smiled kindly, if still somewhat unhappily, at Harry, and the boy relaxed somewhat. Whatever was going on here, it appeared that the Headmaster at least wasn't angry at him. "Thank you, Remus," the old man said, waving both of them over.

Harry approached cautiously, looking around at the assembled Order members. They appeared, nearly universally, rather unhappy; the sole exception was Snape, who merely looked murderous. Dumbledore stepped aside slightly as Harry reached the foot of the table, allowing him to hold onto the chair back for support. Remus came up behind them, stopping behind Harry for a moment to put his hand on the boy's shoulder before continuing back to his seat.

"Harry," Dumbledore said evenly, but with a hint of steel underlying the words, "I believe the Order has something to say to you."

"We're sorry, Harry," the assembled adults chorused, sounding rather like a class of chastised primary school students. Harry blinked at them; there was a moment of awkward silence, and then Gage stood up.

"Mr Potter," he said formally, "I wish to apologize for my conduct this morning. I had no right to question you so, certainly not so rudely, and there was no excuse for calling you unbalanced.

"As a group, we want to apologize for putting you in a difficult situation, and for yelling at you. It was absolutely unconscionable of us to call you selfish, being untrue, uncouth, unkind, and most uncaring." Heads nodded around the table. "We also want to apologize for our treatment of you during lunch, which piled rudeness on disrespect. Lastly, we want to apologize for the incident of your...vision call. We should not have allowed ourselves to miss that, whatever the distraction." Apparently finished with his speech, he dropped back into his seat, inching it further away from Snape, who was studying Gage like he was a particularly troublesome potions ingredient.

There was another short, awkward silence during which most of the Order tried to watch Harry without actually looking at him. He looked to Dumbledore after a moment, but the older man simply raised an eyebrow at him, and he realized they were waiting for his response.

"Er," he said uncertainly, and blinked as everyone grew very still. "D'you all feel like that? I mean, his speech, it goes for all of you?"

Everyone but Snape, Remus, and Dumbledore nodded. "Yes," they chorused, a handful bemusing Harry by adding "sir." He wondered what on earth Dumbledore had said to them.

"Well, er...thank you for the apology," he said. It appeared to be an acceptable response; they sighed or leaned back in their seats, and seemed generally relieved. "Sir?" he asked Dumbledore. "Did you need anything else?"

"No, thank you, Harry," the man replied with a nod. "You may go back upstairs, if you wish."

Harry wondered what would happen if he didn't wish and insisted instead on staying, but right now the Order was creeping him out a little, and he was awfully tired. "Thank you, sir," he said, and turned to go, stumbling a little over his own two feet.

"Remus?" Dumbledore said, reaching out to steady Harry. "Would you assist Mr Potter? He has had a long day."

"Wait," said Mrs Weasley suddenly as Remus started to rise. "I'll do it." Her husband rose as well, and she amended, "We'll do it."

Dumbledore looked at Harry, who shrugged and nodded. "Very well," the older man said. "We shan't be long; Remus can tell you later if you miss anything of importance." They nodded and came around the table; Dumbledore nodded to Harry. "Good night, Harry. Remember, about my door."

Harry nodded to him. "Good night, sir." He nodded also to Remus and Snape before turning to leave.

The two adults followed him out, pausing as he told his friends good night. The two Weasley children took one look at their parents' faces and said nothing, simply nodding; Hermione said a quiet "good night" to him in return.

Mrs Weasley took Harry's arm as they climbed the stairs, Mr Weasley following close behind the pair. Their silence was starting to make Harry nervous, but when they paused on the landing for Harry to catch his breath, Mr Weasley said quietly, "We aren't angry at you, Harry." Mrs Weasley nodded emphatically, and he was able to breathe more easily. "We just...would like to say a few things to you in private, that is all," Mr Weasley continued, smiling at Harry. "Got your breath back now? Shall we keep going?"

When they reached his room, the two adults entered and then shut the door firmly behind Harry. He nervously took a seat on the bed, glancing between them expectantly.

Mrs Weasley lowered herself into the chair by the side of the bed with a sigh, and Mr Weasley went up behind her and put his hands on her shoulders. "I...I wanted to apologize to you privately, Harry," the witch said after a moment, covering one of her husband's hands with her own. "I'm sorry for how I acted this morning."

Harry noticed for the first time that her eyes were red-rimmed and her cheeks more blotchy than a simple flush could account for. He nodded to her silently, eyes widening slightly. Has she been crying?

"I shouldn't have let Gage draw me into that stupid argument," she said after a moment. "I shouldn't have presumed to tell you what you did and did not do, and I never should have put you on the spot like that. I'm so sorry, Harry."

He nodded again, too bemused to say anything.

"And then, once I'd forced you to say 'yes' in front of everyone...I'm sorry for what I said to you. I shouldn't have said it, and I shouldn't have let everyone shout at you either." She sighed. "I--" Her husband shifted slightly, and she amended, "we are terribly sorry for that."

"Er...okay," Harry said slowly. "Er...thanks."

They looked at each other. "Harry," Mr Weasley began hesitantly, "We...we love you like you were our son. Like you were our seventh son." Harry blinked at him blankly, and they exchanged looks again. "It seems Albus was right," he said quietly to his wife.

"It's okay if you don't understand," Mrs Weasley said after a moment. "But we do love you, and it terrifies us to think of losing you." She began to cry again, blotting impatiently at her eyes. "And...oh, it's no excuse, but when I'm scared for one of my children, I tend to either yell or cry. Or both," she said, chuckling through her tears. "My...the rest of my children understand that, because they've lived with me all their lives, and sometimes...sometimes I forget you aren't used to it."

Harry sat dumbly for a minute, and finally said quietly, "Mrs Weasley...what I don't understand is...you wouldn't even look at me during lunch."

She and Mr Weasley both sighed. "It's no excuse," she repeated, "but the Order...we were all having a bit of a fight. Some of them...they thought that if you couldn't be convinced to keep yourself a-alive for your own sake, you should be...shamed into doing it for ours." She grimaced. "I'm afraid that's also why we missed your call--we were all too busy shouting at each other about what was good for you that we never noticed you needed us. Anyhow...I'm ashamed by it now, but they had me convinced, and I was afraid if I said anything to you, I'd blow the whole thing. That, and I was afraid I'd start bawling again," she added belatedly, sniffling slightly.

"Er...I see," he said slowly.

"I should have known better!" she burst out suddenly, making him start. "You have to be the least selfish teenager I've met--just look at how you risked your own life on a gamble to try and save--" she cut herself off, then went on, "and Ginny is only alive because you went after her into the Chamber."

"They were sort of right, though," Harry confessed in a small voice. "I was only thinking of myself. I didn't think...I didn't think any of you would miss me, really."

They both stared at him for a minute, open-mouthed, and then Mr Weasley said quietly, "Dumbledore was right. I swear, I could murder those Muggles with my bare hands were they here now."

Mrs Weasley began weeping in earnest. "Oh...I'm sorry," she sobbed. "I'm just...so glad you're...Harry, may I give you a hug?"

He nodded nervously, thinking he had been hugged more in the last few hours than he'd been hugged his entire life with the Dursleys, but that one more wouldn't kill him. She rose to sit next to him, pulling him against her chest. "I'm so glad you're alive," she said into his hair.

"We both are," Mr Weasley added.

He sat there, letting her hold him and cry on him, until finally she gave a little hiccup and released him, giving him a smile that was only slightly watery. "Now--is there anything you need to help you get to bed? Do you need help undressing?"

Harry's cheeks flamed. "Er--"

"We've raised six boys," Mr Weasley said with a smile. "I promise, we've seen plenty of boys in their underpants."

"Well--er--I could use a hand with the trousers," Harry mumbled, embarrassed.

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Severus sighed and rolled his shoulders tiredly. It was so good to be back in his own quarters, within his own wards, one of the few places he felt safe. He sipped at his drink. What a very, very long day it had been.

Someone knocked on his door; he glanced at the clock as he spoke the words that would release the wards and allow the Headmaster entrance. Ten minutes earlier than I guessed. I must be slipping.

"A knut for your thoughts, Severus."

He turned from where he was studying the fire burning in his small grate through the tumbler of amber liquid. "You would find you had overpaid, I fear, Headmaster."

"Why don't you allow me to be the judge of that?" Albus Dumbledore leaned against a bookcase and watched him with calm blue eyes. In those pink robes, when he looks like that, it is easy to forget one is speaking to the most powerful wizard on three continents. He tried to remind himself of it regularly.

"Potter," he answered finally, setting the tumbler on the mantle. "He brought me a letter today, claiming to be from Lily. He showed me a parchment purporting to support the letter's claim that I am--among with several other Death Eaters--the boy's father." He raised an eyebrow. "I am given to understand that you were aware of this."

"Harry told me when he found out," Dumbledore replied softly. "Are you all right, my boy?"

Severus raised a shoulder and allowed it to fall again. "I knew--knew from the instant I did not prevent Regulus from calling in the Order--that this day might come. And yet, I find myself unprepared."

"How do you mean?"

"I find myself at a complete loss, Albus. Apparently, I have a son. What do I do? Now that we both know the truth..." He trailed off, unable to articulate how he felt.

"Yes. Things will change as a result of this," Albus said softly. "I do not think it will be easy on any of us."

"I find myself frightened for the boy, Albus. I fear what losing another parental figure, even one so...inadequate as myself, will do to him." His hands tightened into fists. "You know it has been a long time since death was something I feared on my own account. But now, here, when the end begins to take shape before me...it is odd to find myself fearing it on account of another."

"What do you mean?" Visibly alarmed, the Headmaster pushed off the bookcase and came nearer. "Has--has something happened with Tom?"

Severus shook his head. "Nothing you do not already know." He regarded the Mark on his arm, bared to the air here in his private quarters. "He ceases to trust me, you know. He grows even more suspicious that I am passing more information your way than his, that I am ceasing to be properly obedient." He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Today Potter asked me why I didn't return to the Dark Lord--said if I'd just do as I'm told, he'd be easier on me than the Order is."

Albus swallowed. "Are they treating you badly again?"

Severus went on as if he had not heard. "I did not tell him that I doubted I would be allowed to return to being just a Death Eater--no longer a double-agent." He covered the Mark with his hand. "What use is a spy with nothing to spy on, Albus?" He looked up then, met the man's eyes. "I doubt very much that I will live to see December. I will be lucky to live to see Halloween night end."

Albus sucked in a breath, eyes going wide. "Severus--forgive me. I had thought of how Halloween would affect Harry, but not how it would affect you."

"There is nothing to forgive," Severus said hollowly. "Indeed, I only find myself concerned by it due to how it will--as you put it--affect Potter." He drew a breath and dropped his hand from his arm. "I must see to it that he sees the occasion as one to rejoice."

"If you believe he will do so, I believe you do not know Harry Potter very well," Albus told him quietly.

"No." Severus picked up his tumbler from where he had set it on the mantlepiece. "I fear very much you are correct." He took a swallow, then glanced over at the other man. "The bottle is on the table if you want some."

The Headmaster shook his head. "It is late, and I have an early meeting with Fudge. But thank you for the offer."

Severus nodded. "How did the business this morning go?"

"She is safe--for now." He sighed. "I fear that safe-house may be compromised, but I cannot work out how it is possible."

Severus rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I will have to give it some thought. It is an interesting mental puzzle."

"Well, in the meantime, no one was harmed." Albus yawned. "I fear it is approaching this old man's bedtime. Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Headmaster." He watched the old man let himself out the way he had come in and sighed. What to do about Potter?

The Mark etched into his flesh twinged and then began to burn. Cursing, he set down his drink and went to find his robes.

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Author's Notes: I could use your help with something. If you could give me suggestions for fun powers Harry might end up with, it'd be great.

I've already got a small list going, but I'd like some completely wacky powers just to throw into the mix of plot-important ones. Drop me a review or PM or note (if you know me from dA) or email (fanfic at kalany period celestrion period net) with suggestions for crazy powers you'd like to see him get. Serious ones are okay too, of course. grin

As always, thanks to all the reviewers; however, I would like to ask those who review to please limit your use of slang, as frequently I have no idea what you're on about. For example, I have no idea what a "big toon" is, nor why Severus would be one.

Lastly, I'd like to mention that I like to deliberately throw in allusions to historical figures and other works; if you notice something you think you recognize from somewhere, you probably do. If you want to drop me a PM or review and ask if you're right, feel free! I love it when people pick up on my inside jokes.