The Lost Son

+++++++++++

James woke to the screaming of the castle wards. That the noise was audible in his rooms was not a good sign. Pulling robes on over his pajamas, he grabbed his emergency bag, a Muggle backpack that his parents required him to keep in his room. With it slung on one shoulder, he'd barely exited the room when his dad stopped him.

"Draconis is attacking the castle, go to the Chamber."

He shook his head, wanting to disagree… Wanting to help. He was, after all, a seventh year, almost an adult, and almost fully trained. But his dad didn't even let him speak.

"No, James. You will go to the Chamber and lock yourself inside. Your father and I will handle this and then I'll come get you."

As James frowned, his dad's face softened. "We love you, and need you safe."

Nodding finally in agreement, reassured with a quick parental hug, his dad was gone down the hall. James exited their suite of rooms, the halls not quite as mad as they could be at this time of night. He waved to his parents as they organized the teachers and Aurors who seemed to always be in residence at the castle these days. Then, slipping around the corner, he set off down the hall.

Sure, term hadn't started yet so there wouldn't be student injuries, but the hospital wing could always use help. He told himself that he was working for the better of them all, just like his parents. The calculating part of his brain persuaded the obedient part that his parents would be proud of his desire to help… right after they finished yelling at him for disobeying.

However, as in all things, life was never that simple.

He felt it when the wards fell and reconsidered his choice not to secure himself in the Chamber as he'd been instructed. It was truly the safest place in the world for him. After all, his dad had killed the only other person capable of opening it. If he'd locked himself inside, having been able to open it courtesy of the gift inherited from his dad, he'd have been perfectly safe until this all was over. But he had that drive towards 'Gryffindor heroics' that his father spent so much time bemoaning.

And it was, once again, causing trouble for the family.

Turning the last corner towards the hospital wing, James froze in the hall, hoping he hadn't been spotted. Luck was not on his side. Two of the current Dark Lord's Fire Drakes stepped out from the shadows just behind him, dropping invisibility cloaks to the ground. From in front, the Dark Lord Draconis stepped forward backed by a dozen more of his followers.

"And once again, the predictable heroics bring the victim right to me."

James glared, his impulse to mouth off overpowering his good sense. "And as usual, the bad guy talks too much."

It was a miscalculation. The most recent Dark Lord in memory stepped forward with an angry stride, swinging his cane until it impacted heavily against the young wizard's stomach. The hit was painful, the silver snake at the top of the cane knocking the breath from him.

James could only gasp for a long moment as he struggled not to bend over and make himself more vulnerable. He knew that he only had to hang on for a few minutes, no matter how long those might seem, and his parents would be there to help him.

"My dad is going to kill you."

The Dark Lord smirked, tossing his head. It caused the long silvery blond braid to fall to his back, only the tip hanging over his shoulder. He tapped the cane against his opposite hand, a mark of arrogance to have not yet drawn his wand.

"Your precious dad took my father away from me… I think this time I'll show him what it's like to lose a son."

James stepped back reflexively at the threat, his fingers having moved from clenching his stomach to clenching the wand secured up his sleeve. He hadn't drawn it, not wanting to lose it to these wizards and trusting his parents to arrive in time.

But now… Now it seemed as if the Dark Lord was more interested in a quick revenge than playing with his victim, as was his usual habit.

James waited, calculating, as the man in front of him drew the cane apart, revealing the wand he'd placed where his father once carried his own. For all the younger man knew, the Draconis had taken to using his father's wand as part of his trip through insanity.

"Avada…"

The spell was not yet finished when it seemed that reality itself bent around them. James recognized the feel of his parents altering the castle's innate magic. His father, as the Headmaster, was tied to the castle in a way that few could understand. But his dad, as one of the most powerful wizards in recent memory, could help direct and control that connection.

James closed his eyes and prayed that whatever they were doing would work. He felt the dizziness, the silence, and then the long, drawn-out breath of reality reasserting itself. Opening his eyes, the hallway was clear.

Confident in the combined efforts and skill of his parents, he was not bothered by the change and grinned. They'd always been there to save the day, so he didn't even hesitate in believing they had done so again. He hurried along the hallway, his emergency bag still slung over his shoulder, and moved inside the infirmary. Any minute the wounded would begin to arrive and if he was busy enough, he could forestall the impending lecture for at least a few hours.

As he stepped inside the doors, he left one propped open and called out, "Madame Bones? It's James, I'm here to help."

There was no immediate reply, so he dropped the bag on a nearby bed and looked around. It felt too quiet. Turning, he stepped to the center of the room. The room didn't look right. It wasn't anything he could point to specifically, more a general sense of unease and discomfort caused by a mild difference that was yet to be labeled.

"Young man, what are you doing here?"

James turned to the hospital-matron-clothed woman who'd stepped out of the back. "I'm sorry, is Madam Bones available? I've come to help."

It never hurt to be polite, especially if his father had added a staff member he hadn't met. He could well remember the verbal flaying he'd received the last time he'd been rude to staff. It had included the phrase 'you will not develop your other parent's deplorable teenaged habits.' While somewhat amusing at the time, he didn't care to repeat it.

The woman simply looked confused. "I am Madame Pomfrey, mediwitch for Hogwarts. How did you get here?"

He thought for a moment, recognizing the name vaguely. But nothing made sense. An inner sense of caution, which really should have been better exercised earlier by doing what his dad had wanted, finally came to the front.

"May I speak with the Headmaster?"

Madame Pomfrey nodded. "I think that best, since students aren't even supposed to be at the school before term starts."

James raised an eyebrow and looked at her in shock. She didn't really expect the Headmaster's son to live off school grounds during the summer when his parents stayed in the castle year-round, did she?

But when she disappeared into her office to make a quick firecall, he hopped up onto the end of one of the hospital beds to wait with patience. Despite his father's occasional imprecations about Gryffindor heritage, he was capable of it. By now, he was almost certain the injured should have started to arrive. Speaking of that, he could not hear the commotion that he should have within the castle itself. And he didn't have that sickly feeling he got whenever the wards were disturbed or his parents were playing with the castle's magics.

It was beginning to give him a deep sense of unease.

That unease deepened when the matron came back out of the office area and stood quietly at the end of the ward. She was sincerely making him nervous. When he heard the footsteps approaching quickly down the outer hallway, he got the distinct sensation of pixies in his stomach. His father was certainly capable of delivering the type of tongue-lashing that made him occasionally wish for a beating instead. However, he'd learned early that neither of his parents believed in hitting their child.

"Father, I…"

He'd turned automatically towards the door when he'd glimpsed a man entering, but he stopped as soon as he'd spoken. This was most certainly not his father, not in those robes and not at that age. He took in the sky blue robes with the dancing silver stars, the long white beard and hair, and the twinkling eyes that matched the robe, with a sense of doom.

"You're not my father." It was perhaps a stupid statement, but he was having some trouble adjusting.

"No, young man, I certainly would have remembered such a thing." Headmaster Dumbledore moved towards the hospital bed where the younger man perched. "Madame Pomfrey, you may excuse us."

The hospital matron nodded before leaving the room, presumably for her office and attached suite. James suddenly noted that he had no idea what time it was, but by the darkness outside the window, she was probably not yet due in the hospital wing for the daily work.

"Now, young man, perhaps you could give me your name and tell me what you are doing at Hogwarts?"

James looked at the older man and felt himself paling. His stomach, knotted as it was, clenched painfully. An echoing soreness reminded him that the Dark Lord had hit him rather hard.

"You're Albus Dumbledore." He couldn't help that his voice shook slightly, even though long hours of training kept his face blank under the stress.

"Yes, I am."

The younger man folded his arms around his middle and closed his eyes for a moment. "Can you tell me what the date is, sir?"

The Headmaster looked confused, but could tell that this person was heavily stressed at the moment. "August the 29th, 1997."

James flinched and then opened his eyes to look at the Headmaster. "I'm not entirely certain I should give you my name, sir."

The twinkling eyes hardened slightly. "Then I may have to call the Ministry, young man. Term has not yet started and you are not a student at this school."

The younger man laughed, the sound having the sharp edge of hysteria. "My father is going to kill me."

"Would you like me to contact your parents?"

The innocent sounding question caused the younger man to laugh again, this time clearly not from humor. The Headmaster noted that he seemed, for someone obviously on the edge, to be holding himself together. It was also clear that this state might not last long.

"I don't believe that contacting my parents would do us either any good at the moment."

The Headmaster was starting to lose his patience. "Then I will be contacting the Ministry."

James recovered himself quickly and reached out a hand. "No, please. I need your help, but I don't know how…" His voice broke and he covered his face with his hands, trying to regain his composure.

"Why don't you tell me what the problem is and we can start from there."

The younger man nodded, reaching behind him to his bag he'd set on the bed earlier. There was one item in it of sentimental value. Everything else contained within had a purpose, a specific use in the event of problems, except this one thing. Reaching in, he pulled out a small leather folding case. Opening it, he looked at the picture for a moment and then handed the open case to the Headmaster.

The Headmaster took the case, slightly confused, but looked at the picture inside. When he did, even the all-knowing Dumbledore froze for a moment. It was incredibly difficult to fake a wizarding photograph and would take far more effort than was worth it. He noticed first that the young man in front of him matched the young man smiling in the picture. The short, gel-spiked black hair atop a slightly angular face with high cheekbones and a stubborn chin. Even the eyes matched, a bright green that seemed to jump out both in reality and in the photograph.

But what was truly disturbing to the Headmaster were the two other men in the photograph. They stood to either side of the younger man in front of him, one arm each around him. The one on the right was clearly Harry Potter, from the slightly longer but still messy hair, to the green eyes he suddenly noticed matched the younger man. The one on the left was the surprise. An older, but definitely healthier looking, Severus Snape.

As he watched the photograph, Harry lifted his hand from the young man's shoulders and raised his fingers to make bunny ears over the young man's head. Severus' arm lifted and smacked Harry lightly on the back of the head, which caused the two older men to turn to each other and share a quick kiss over the head of the younger. The younger simply stood and rolled his eyes, before the entire sequence repeated.

Dumbledore raised his eyes from the photograph when the young man spoke again, "Those are my parents."

The Headmaster nodded, silent for a long moment. "Say nothing more until we reach my office. When we have settled some information with Veritaserum, we will discuss this situation."

James simply nodded, knowing he would accept whatever terms were necessary so that he didn't ruin any possibility of his own existence ever occurring.

Albus looked up, his eyes twinkling again. "I have occasionally wondered about those two."

The younger man smiled weakly and took his photograph back, closing the case and tucking it into his bag.

+++++++++++

The students filed into the Great Hall at the start of term, eagerly anticipating the night's feast, the beginning of the school year, and for the seventh year students, their last year at school.

"Seven years of this, can't we ever eat first?"

Hermione shoved her fiancé in the side. "Really, Ron, you're a bad influence on the younger years."

Harry just grinned across the table at his friends as they settled at the Gryffindor table. He looked around the Hall, noting the returning faces, the slight gaps where some students hadn't been allowed to return. The war weighed heavily on the wizarding world. While he was determined to end it, and successfully for his side, the time had just not yet been right.

"I wonder why the Headmaster is missing… Isn't he usually seated by now?"

The chance to answer Hermione's question was lost as Professor McGonagall stepped up to open the sorting. They noticed that the Headmaster didn't seem to be in the Hall and definitely not in his seat at the High Table. Those on the fringe of connection wondered if perhaps he was missing due to Order business.

They didn't need to wonder for long. The sorting concluded quickly with the smallest incoming class that Harry could remember in recent years. As Professor McGonagall picked up the Sorting Hat and stool, the Headmaster entered from the side with a student who was obviously not a first year.

"Ooh, he's cute."

The comment from Ginny Weasley was a surprise to no one, as she'd found a niche in dating every eligible, non-evil, guy at Hogwarts. Harry just rolled his eyes at Ron, who looked disgusted. As the Boy Who Lived wondered at the Headmaster's whispered exchanged with his Transfiguration professor, which led to said professor leaving the stool and Sorting Hat on the dais, he noted that the new guy was decent looking. Rather like a younger, cleaner, and hip, Professor Snape. Not nearly as tall as the Potions Master, but he had that bone structure.

"He looks sad."

That comment from Hermione caused Harry to look again. The student was keeping his back firmly to the staff table, his eyes scanning the Hall, jumping from table to table in a frenetic and uncertain manner.

Any speculation was cut off when the Headmaster turned to the students and began to speak. "Although the sorting has concluded, we will be placing one more student with a House until such time as his departure is arranged. While he is temporarily with us, I will ask all students to grant Septimius James Nathaniel your best courtesy."

The Headmaster turned to the student, who returned his gaze with a look that said clearly, 'I don't think this is a good idea.' But he did step forward, picking up the Sorting Hat and sitting on the stool. With a last desperate look to the Headmaster, he had placed the hat on his head and closed his eyes.

It seemed to take awhile. Harry noticed the look of concentration and the clenching around the jaw that likely bespoke an argument with the hat. He wondered, idly, just what the other student was arguing about but dismissed his suspicions as Voldemort-induced paranoia.

Finally, the new student relaxed with a gasp of breath and a defeated look. The hat could be clearly heard as it called out, "Gryffindor!"

As his new house clapped enthusiastically, Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff joining in politely, the young man did something unexpected. Taking off the hat carefully and setting it on the stool, he turned to the Headmaster clearly already arguing, low but fierce, about the situation.

Ron turned to Harry with a confused look. "Who wouldn't want to be in Gryffindor?"

Unable to resist the temptation, Harry responded, "Maybe he's heard he'd have to dorm with you."

The faux-injured, "Hey," was lost to the idle noise of the hall as the new student turned with ill grace and stomped to the Gryffindor table. It was interesting to note that he sat at the farthest end from his own area, the rest of the seventh years, and closest to the staff. Intent on his place setting, the young man then proceeded to ignore everyone else in the room.

The latest drama quickly forgotten, the houses fell to their dinners. The Gryffindor seventh years, resolved to worry about their dorm-mate later, concentrated on catching up with each other. It was only as they were dismissed from dinner that they noticed the new student had left already.

He was easily located when the rest of Gryffindor reached their portrait entrance.

"Just let me in, you ill-dressed hag!" The new student was standing at the front of the portrait. After the single sentence in English, obviously not his first to the portrait, he'd begun raging in a language Harry didn't recognize.

Hermione, on Ron's arm between the two friends, looked confused. "I suppose the Headmaster told him where the entrance was…"

Harry nodded, his suspicions from dinner rising again to his mind.

Neville, whose turn it was to pick the password, stepped up hesitantly. He was no longer as painfully shy as he had been, the result of battle-earned confidence, but he was still tentative. "Septimius?"

The new student turned, a flashing glare of anger in his eyes that softened quickly when he noticed he was making a scene in front of his entire house. "I'm sorry, but don't call me that… I go by James."

Neville nodded and then stepped around him, setting the password and letting the others past him and into the common room. The new student slipped in with some of the younger years, still silently avoiding his fellow seventh years. The students, as students will, ignored him when he ignored them first and went about their own usual routines. If one occasionally glanced over and noticed how he was sitting in the window seat, staring blankly outside, they quickly dismissed the thought.

Everyone looked up when the portrait opened and Professor McGonagall entered the common room. "Mr. Nathaniel?"

As the young man got up from his seat and approached their Head of House, the whispered conversations continued. The professor, however, simply led him over to where Ron, Hermione, and Harry were relaxing near the fire. "Ms. Granger, Mr. Nathaniel will be attending your classes while he is with us."

The new student started to protest, "Professor, this isn't a good…"

Professor McGonagall turned a slightly vexed, but serious expression on him. "I understand from the Headmaster that you are not happy about your situation. And while he has not confided the details to me, I assure you that he was most insistent you would take classes with Ms. Granger."

"Potions, as well?" There was a touch of sarcastic arrogance in his voice, a hardening around the mouth and eyes. The Deputy Headmistress stared at him for a moment, an unusual connection occurring in her thoughts.

Ron gathered a little sympathy for anyone new who'd still heard enough about Snape to want to avoid his class. Hermione was scandalized and Harry simply ducked his head to cover the slight tilting up of his lips.

The professor finally shook her head. "During Ms. Granger's Potions lessons, you will report to the Headmaster's office."

There was nothing for the students to do but nod as their Head of House turned and left the common room. James tried to relax his stricken expression, but knew he hadn't managed to blank it as much as he wished when he'd turned back to the other students. Hermione was looking at him with curiosity, noting that he had those same unusually clear green eyes as Harry.

Ron, always tactful, couldn't resist. "What'd you do to get excused from Potions already?"

James turned to Ron and couldn't help the small, instant smile that faded just as fast as it had appeared. "I'm not allowed to talk about that." He turned and left for the dorm room quickly, the one place he'd be assured of privacy this early.

Ron simply shook his head and turned back to his friends. "Strange duck, that one."

Harry and Hermione nodded in agreement, but moved on to their prior topics of conversation.

+++++++++++

After a week had passed, the Gryffindors had become accustomed to their mostly silent shadow. He hadn't really befriended anyone, although several students of multiple years had noted that he had a sharp sense of humor and a willingness to answer questions. Not to mention a range of knowledge that made him an asset when it came time for homework.

As Hermione was going over their day's assignments with him, Ron pulled Harry to the side of the common room where they could observe. "Harry, have you noticed anything odd about the new guy?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Ron, he already told you he isn't after Hermione."

Ron scowled, but continued, "It's not that…"

"Then what is it?"

"It's his clothes. No, don't look at me like that, I haven't joined you on the other side of the fence." Harry raised an eyebrow at Ron's reference to his sexual preference, but waited for his friend to continue. "He has those really expensive looking pajamas, and a school robe that's nice enough to be most people's dress robes, but everything else is more second-hand than my stuff."

Harry looked confused. "No, I hadn't noticed."

"When you don't have any money, you notice things like this…" Ron shushed Harry's awkward attempt to speak, knowing that their different circumstances had caused no small amount of friction over the years. "Not like that… It's like he had to suddenly leave in the middle of the night with only the clothes on his back. Haven't you noticed he doesn't have a trunk? Only that strange bag he won't let anyone near?"

"It's a backpack, a Muggle thing."

Ron nodded. "And that's just it, he doesn't talk like a Muggle. He knows more about them than most purebloods, but he doesn't seem like a Muggle-born."

"Where's this going, Ron?"

"Do you think he's a refugee of some type because of You-Know-Who?"

Harry rolled his eyes at the continued unwillingness to utter Voldemort's name from his best friend. "Has Hermione been trying to increase your vocabulary?"

"I'm serious, Harry."

"Okay, okay." Harry turned and looked, studying the new student. Hermione had obviously moved on to her Potions homework, leaving James reading Arithmancy with a bored look. As they watched, Hermione made a huffing noise over something that obviously confused her and the young man began to enthusiastically describe a Potions concept.

"Maybe his parents were attacked by Death Eaters," Harry finally concluded after a moment.

"And have you noticed… Not only doesn't he take Potions, but he avoids Snape in the halls. He literally turns around and takes another way if he sees him coming. We ran into Malfoy the other day and he started shaking. I think he's afraid because of You-Know-Who."

"Lots of people are, Ron."

"Not like that… Like it's personal."

Harry considered it a moment. "Maybe. I don't know, he either doesn't or won't talk much."

Ron made a small noise of agreement. "I was thinking that maybe we should keep an eye on him. Make sure he's okay."

The conversation broke off as a pair of third-years shoved past on their way up to the dorms. Harry and Ron moved away from the passageway and settled at the table on either side of Hermione. They caught the last bit of an explanation in regards to the legalities and relative moralities of Veritaserum and its derivatives.

"I'm guessing you took Potions wherever you went to school?" Ron's question was curious, but pointed. He'd had enough of not knowing and was prepared to grill the new guy in his own way. Harry rolled his eyes at his friend's lack of subtlety, but was listening all the same. Hermione made a sound of annoyance and tried to concentrate on her homework.

James considered his answer for a moment before replying, "Of course, it's always been a required course… and my father's a Potions Master so he rather expects me to be at least competent."

Ron looked curious. "What does your mother do?"

The other young wizard looked amused. "My dad works for our Ministry."

It was Ron's turn for confusion. "The Ministry employs Potions Masters? I thought they couldn't afford them."

James chuckled. "No, my father is a Potions Master, my dad works for the Ministry."

It was obvious that the paths were not connecting in Ron's head, and Harry interrupted, "Are you adopted?" He realized that the question, out of nowhere, probably came across a little rude and continued, "I'm sorry, I just hadn't met anyone with two wizards for parents."

James looked at him for a moment, his face truly blank. Then, almost as if intentionally, he allowed himself to smile slightly. It was pained around the edges. "I wasn't adopted, my parents went through a lot of trouble to have me."

Hermione looked up from her homework and nodded. "I've read some about wizarding same-sex couples being able to have children, but it's very rare."

Harry looked shocked, like it was an aspect of magic he'd never considered before this day. Ron, after a glance at his best friend, smiled. "There you go, Harry, you might be a poof but you can still have a family someday."

The Boy Who Lived reached over Hermione and smacked Ron, none too gently. James watched with poorly concealed humor. Hermione, not distracted by her male cohorts, was still curious. "Do you know how they managed it?"

James nodded. "Father developed a new variation of Polyjuice and then I was delivered by surgery."

She seemed to consider that for a moment, then turned back to her homework. Ron was still slightly awed by the thought. "That must be very comforting, knowing that there was no way you were an accident… That they really wanted you."

He smiled, but it was bittersweet. "Yeah…"

Harry shook his head, looking for some way to break the suddenly declining mood. Ron may suspect that the other student had lost his parents, but he didn't know how it felt. And to grow up with them and then lose them? Harry knew they couldn't continue down this path of conversation. "I don't know, sounds like a very uncomfortable thing to do."

James looked up, an evil grin lurking around his eyes, as he spoke, "Dad always says that if Father wants any more, he'd better grow the next one in a cauldron because he's not doing it again."

Hermione and Harry looked at James, trying to determine if he was joking. Ron, well familiar with a mother who had many things to add about child-rearing, not all of which were repeatable in mixed company, burst into laughter. It was joined shortly by his two friends and James looked more relaxed than he had since he first arrived.

The table was quiet for some time as they worked on homework. James seemed to be casually reading through the Arithmancy text. It was true that none of the professors seemed to expect him to work too hard. Dumbledore had apparently made it known that they expected him to be able to leave soon.

When he stood and stretched, the others barely looked up. "I'm starving, does anyone want something from the kitchen?"

Hermione looked disapproving. "It's after curfew."

James just grinned. "I'm not worried about that."

He left the room, heading for his dormitory. Harry and Ron, with a quick glance at each other, saw their opportunity to gain more information about the enigma that was the new student. Hermione simply rolled her eyes as the other two young men stood and followed James towards the dorm room. When they reached it, he'd already grabbed his bag and was digging with his arm deep toward the bottom.

"Ah ha!"

Pulling free a pile of silky grey-ish cloth, James let it puddle on the bed as he rezipped the bag and warded it again to be opened only by him. He hadn't noticed the other two boys enter the room and didn't realize he was being watched.

Ron recognized the material faster than Harry did and acted on his instinctual protection of his friend. He had always been quicker to anger and judgment than the more reasonable Boy Who Lived. "What are you doing with Harry's cloak?"

James turned, setting his bag back at the end of his bed. His wand in hand, warding barely done, he wasn't able to grab the cloak from the bed before Ron had grasped it in his right hand and was shaking it at him.

"We're trying to be friendly and you steal from your dorm-mates?" Ron sounded both indignant and incredulous. Harry, meanwhile, was just confused.

"Are you spying on me?" The question in answer came across as more hurt than defensive. Neither of them in the exchange had noticed that Harry had moved to his own trunk and was moving things around in the opened top.

"I'm supposed to just think that you come here with nothing, but happen to have an invisibility cloak?" Ron's shaking of the cloth had flipped it up over his right arm, making that arm disappear. He looked expectant, waiting for his answer.

"My parents gave that to me, I didn't take it."

Ron seemed ready to keep on the subject, but was stopped by Harry's voice from behind him. "Ron?"

The redhead turned, surprised to see Harry holding an invisibility cloak in his outstretched hand. Chastised by the truth in front of him, he took Harry's cloak in his left hand.

"Oh…" It seemed to take him a moment to formulate an apology.

James saw him moving the cloaks closer together, noticing the similarities. It looked as if he might pass them off as a result of the development process, but then Ron did something with totally unexpected results.

He touched the cloaks together.

The resulting boom of displaced air and the flash of light temporarily blinded and deafened the wizards. Ron was knocked from his feet, while Harry and James flinched back. When their heads had cleared, they noticed that there was only one cloak remaining… In Ron's left hand.

"My parents are going to kill me." It wasn't the first time James had said such a thing, and he definitely meant it each time.

"What the hell happened?" Ron was trying to get to his feet, still disoriented from the magic. There was the sound of moving feet as the other students approached up the stairs.

"What happened? You destroyed my dad's cloak, that's what happened." Angry and unable to explain, James stalked across the room, slamming the door to the seventh year dormitory open. It barely missed the students who'd been coming to check out the noise, but the scowl on his face cleared the path before him.

Harry and Ron exchanged confused glances as he left and Harry took his cloak back. His quick examination showed no defect or injury to the object and he put it back in his trunk quickly, before it caught too much attention. They ignored the questions from their classmates and hurried back to the common room, trying to catch James.

Hermione, still at the table with her homework, looked up. "What did you do now, Ron?"

As the two sat, Ron exhaled noisily. "I didn't do anything!"

Harry explained what he had seen in a quiet voice, the three heads brought close together over the table. When he'd gotten to James' leaving the room, he waited for Hermione to see if she wanted to add anything.

Ron wasn't patient enough to allow her what she considered a sufficient time to respond. "Well? What do you think happened?"

Hermione turned an annoyed look on her fiancé. "I think I need to look some things up before I can say anything."

+++++++++++

Hermione's dedication to research took a back seat to the starting weeks of classes, as the professors seemed determined to make their seventh years understand the importance of the upcoming NEWT exams. She was loaded with work, to say the least. As she was also semi-monitoring Ron and Harry to make sure they didn't get too far behind, it was a busy two weeks. When she finally had a chance to settle in the library with a stack of books, she looked across the table at Ron who had just entered. He was looking down a series of tables at James.

Since the incident in the dormitory, the new student had avoided both Ron and Harry. Even though he was required to share classes with Hermione, she could barely get two words out of him in a good day and those were always directly class related. It was obvious to her that his family was masters of the sulk, as she assumed he was definitely holding a grudge over the loss of his possession.

Ron sighed heavily and looked back at Hermione. Taking pity on him, but eager to have help with this new project, she gave him the top book off her stack. "He's still not talking to you?"

The redhead shook his head. "Won't say a word to either Harry or me."

Hermione glanced over again. It seemed that James was trying spells out of a variety of texts on a folded piece of parchment in front of him. "It's not like Harry's around a lot to talk to, but have you tried apologizing?"

"Apologize? For what? I don't even know what happened."

"Maybe he does."

Ron rolled his eyes. "And once again we're right back to the 'he's not talking to us' problem." Opening the cover of the book, he sighed heavily. "What am I looking for, exactly?"

"I don't know, really. References to things disappearing? Reactions on items touching?"

They both started to skim the books, Ron with a desultory motion, Hermione focused and intent. It wasn't long before Ron was chatting again, keeping his voice low so as to avoid the attention of Madame Pince. "I wish Harry could help out."

"This training is important, you know that."

"Yeah, but hours on end with Snape? He's going to end up begging You-Know-Who to kill him just to make that stop."

Hermione glared at her fiancé. "Really, Ron, grow up. Professor Snape isn't that bad. It's not like they're having tea, or anything. He's making sure that Harry's ready to kill someone. It can't be easy on either of them."

Ron quieted, solemnity on his features. "Do you think Harry can do it, Mione?"

"For all our sakes, I hope so."

Neither wanted to admit their depth of concern for their friend and what was asked of him. Harry had confided the secret of the prophecy in them. It was a heavy weight to carry, but they were glad he wasn't trying to bear it himself.

A flash of purple light came from the far end of the library, accompanied by a slight 'whompf' of displaced air. As this was followed shortly by James' ecstatic, celebratory, "YES!," it was relatively easy to identify the culprit. Ron and Hermione watched as an irate Madame Pince led the visiting student out of the library, loudly declaring his possible fates at the hand of the Headmaster for the disruption and unsupervised experimental spellwork in the library.

When they'd cleared the area, Hermione quickly went for the now vacant table and snatched the books he'd been using for her own research. As she looked them over, Ron concentrated once again on his own text.

Less than ten minutes later, he was looking up at the shocked gasp from across the table. As he watched, it seemed that he could literally see the blood draining from Hermione's face. She whispered, still staring at the page, "It makes so much sense."

Ron was getting heavily worried as the moments passed. Not known for his patience, he couldn't help his question. "Mione, what'd you find?"

She looked up and met his eyes, then looked back down at the page in front of her. It was rather startling when she closed the book and quickly gathered several from the stack in front of her and the remaining books from James' table. Ron could only sit there, confused, as she rushed around.

When she passed close enough by him, he reached out and grabbed hold of her arm. "Hermione… What's going on?"

Her eyes were worried, shock still lingering around the edges. "I can't tell you. I need to talk to the Headmaster first."

Ron let go of her arm, unsure. "You'll tell me when you can?"

She quickly nodded, hurrying from the room. He looked down at the book in front of him and then back towards the library exit. Closing the text, he looked at those books still on the table and tried to remember which she had put away.

Barely noticing when Harry came in and sat down across from him, the redhead only looked up when his friend spoke.

"Where'd Hermione go hurrying off to?"

As he looked up, Ron's eyes widened. Harry was plastered with sweat in a manner reminiscent of the Quidditch practices that wouldn't even have started yet. "I thought you were training?"

Harry shrugged his shoulders, then winced. "Yeah… Physical combat now. I think he uses it as an excuse to kick my ass with Dumbledore's permission."

Ron smirked. "He's a git, what do you expect."

Another shrug and Harry had dropped the subject. He wasn't going to try and explain to Ron that Snape didn't seem like such an unreasonable git anymore. "What was up with Hermione? She bumped into me and blushed worse than I've ever seen."

His best friend could only return the shrug. "No idea. She said she had to see the Headmaster."

+++++++++++

When Hermione reached the Headmaster's office, she paused for a moment. If she was wrong, if her assumptions and conclusions were incorrect, she was really going to look like an idiot.

Saved from having to guess the password when Madame Pince came out, Hermione simply smiled at the librarian and ducked into the stairway. As she moved forward inside, she caught the tail end of a conversation.

"They may know where I am, Headmaster, but I still wanted to remind them that I need to know when I can go home. This…" a long pause, then a heavy sigh, "is very difficult."

"I know, my boy."

Hermione had stepped up to the doors when she heard Dumbledore speak again. "Ah, Ms. Granger, come in."

When she pushed open the door, James was sitting across from the Headmaster, looking at her with the blank face he'd been wearing so often lately. She stared at him for a moment, his features only making her suspicions and assumptions stronger in her own mind. When he stood, running a hand through his hair in a way she'd seen many times before, but not on him, she was almost completely certain.

"I should go, Headmaster."

"No, wait." Hermione flushed slightly at her insistence, but turned to the Headmaster. "Sir, I came to speak with you about James. I think it's important."

The Headmaster looked at Hermione for a moment, then gestured to a seat. James turned an annoyed look on the older man, but was also motioned to sit down.

"And why did you need to see me about Mr. Nathaniel, Ms. Granger?"

Hermione took a deep breath and then decided to dive right in. "Because I don't think that's his real name, sir."

That statement actually made the Headmaster pause for a moment. The suddenly tense mood in the office was broken when James started laughing. They both looked at him in concern, but he was doubled over in his seat with his face covered.

"It's not, is it?" Hermione continued, not really wanting to make all the statements.

"What would cause you to say such a thing, Ms. Granger?" The Headmaster was careful in his comments, but there was a surprised twinkle in his eyes.

"Because he has Harry's eyes…"

"Certainly eye color is not enough to make you doubt someone's identity?"

Hermione hesitated. "No, I thought it was a coincidence. Until the situation with the cloak. It's a basic of temporal magic. Any item cannot occupy the same space as itself without being subsumed by the original."

James leaned his head back on the chair, blocking out both his currently fellow seventh year and the Headmaster. "Father always said Gryffindor's salvation was sorting a Ravenclaw into the house."

The Headmaster snorted in a manner that might have been disapproval, or an attempt to forestall his amusement. "Since Ms. Granger, you seem to have come to some dramatic conclusions, perhaps you should share the rest with us."

She took a deep breath, then added the end of her conclusions. "I think we should be calling him Mr. Snape."

James turned in the chair, leveling those unnaturally green eyes on Hermione. "Potter-Snape actually. Neither of my parents was comfortable with the idea of either of their family names ending."

It was one thing to have made the deduction, another to have it verified so casually. She sucked in a deep breath, accompanied by the Headmaster's slight frown of disagreement.

"Are you certain about this, James?"

He looked to the older wizard for a moment, recognizing that glance that said he'd hate to obliviate a student but would. "I need someone who knows. I don't fit in Gryffindor, but Slytherin wasn't safe. And the hat wouldn't consider either of the other houses."

"How did you get here?" Her question was slightly incredulous, a hesitancy present in it that wasn't usually in her speech.

He just grinned. "A combination of accident and intention, I'm sure. Designed wholly to save my neck from a Dark Lord."

Hermione grinned. "I have so many questions I'd like to ask you."

The Headmaster broke into the short conversation, interjecting a note of seriousness. "I believe that James should still not answer many questions, but I will leave most to his judgment. You must understand, Ms. Granger, that his identity should remain in the strictest confidence.

After her enthusiastic nod, they'd found themselves shuffled out of the office with sweets and salutations. Standing in front of the now closed statue moments later, Hermione could only look at James and shake her head. "Okay, I thought I was right… But, wow… This is a shock."

James shook his head and chuckled. "I understand that sentiment so much better after my little vacation here."

+++++++++++

As the days passed, James became edgier. Hermione tried her best, she really did, to get him to confide in her. It seemed, though, that he wasn't totally comfortable with that idea. All he would say was that he needed to know when he was going home.

Ron became troublesome. With Hermione and James chatting in corners and whispers that ended when others approached, his natural paranoia came to the front. On more than one occasion, Harry had grabbed his arm just as his redheaded temper came to the front. Finally, his best friend appeased him with the suggestion that James was probably no more interested in girls than his parents were. When Ron accepted the idea quickly, Harry just rolled his eyes and refrained from commenting on how ridiculous it was that his friend would accept that without any supporting evidence.

Harry's own attempts to find out what exactly was going on between Hermione and the new student were thwarted by his training regime. Occlumency had led to physical defense, which led to physical offense training. Most days, his arms and shoulders were so tired from learning how to properly wield Gryffindor's sword that he could barely lift his class books.

That his mind was busy trying to rationalize the greasy bastard git of years past with the focused intense instructor of his private lessons was only adding to his lack of sleep. When asked, he wouldn't really say that he and Snape were friends. It was more an edgy tension that he didn't totally understand, combined with conversations that didn't always stay within the professor and student dynamic.

Three days before Halloween, James finally demonstrated that he had inherited a lack of patience for planning. "Merlin's Balls! Why can't they just get me a letter? Something… Damn writing on the wall, or burning bushes?!"

The outburst caused a moment of silence in the common room that settled back into easy chatter. The vast majority of Gryffindor had grown accustomed to ignoring the new guy, as he ignored most of them. Harry and Ron looked up from their chess game a table away. Harry was surprised to see James exhibiting the emotional equivalent, for him, of a tantrum. Ron just wanted to make sure that Hermione was all right.

Hermione leaned in across the table, forgetting her homework in favor of this new possibility for some information. "They couldn't really send you a letter, could they? How would they deliver it? What if it was found by the wrong person?"

James sighed and shook his head. "I have no idea. I just can't take this not knowing." He continued, in a softer whisper, "And no one here would understand if I actually expressed this stupid kid need to hug my parents."

Her eyes softened as Hermione reached a hand across the table to grasp James'. "It's going to be alright." He smiled slightly in response, but it was more an effort of thanks than any real happiness.

As they both moved back to their homework, the air in the common room began to grow tense. It wasn't the tense of emotional silence, for the general chatter had continued. It was that feeling right before thunder and rain of the atmosphere shifting. Seconds later, with a sound like a house-elf's disappearance, a letter popped into existence between James and Hermione on the table.

James startled back in his seat, reaching for his wand on an instinct bred into him. "Bloody great timing… I wonder if they do it on purpose."

Hermione reached the letter before he did, picking it up and turning it. It began to shake lightly and smoke at the edges and she dropped it quickly. "Should it do that?" She assumed, as James had, that it was for him. A suspicion reinforced by the elegant scrawl of his name across the front.

He just looked at it, then went with his first instinct and pulled his wand. "I think I could do without information if it means Father sent me a howler."

She looked at him incredulously, trying to wrap her brain around the idea of the repressed Potions Master sending a howler to his son. It was amazingly easier than she first thought.

"It's green. Howlers are red." Ron's addition to the conversation was their first warning that his and Harry's attention was now on the table.

"Father would never send a red anything." It was said with some amount of irony, but James was already leveling his wand towards the envelope. "Incendio!"

The spell had no effect on the envelope, other than to create some nice green sparkles. "Uh…" Hermione, for once, did not sound like her usual literate self.

"I've seen the Headmaster ward letters. His put off purple sparkles." The addition from Harry was out of nowhere, but caused James to look at him with a sense of that situational irony. His voice, when he spoke, seemed to be tense from either incipient laughter or tears. "Father likes green."

With few choices, and really wanting the information inside, James reached out to the letter. At the first touch of his finger, it unfolded with a flourish and floated in front of him. The voice that came out was, as he expected, his father. It was older, cultured, but still had that sharp edge…

"SEPTIMIUS JAMES NATHANIEL PO…" The voice tapered off into muffled yelling, as if it had been stopped, not by lack of words, but by outside influence.

The voice that came through, different than the first, was not quite as deep and had an edge of rasp to it. As if the person had been injured at some point in time and hadn't entirely healed. "Full names are a bad idea, he won't be opening it in private."

James groaned and began to bang his head on the table. Howlers had to be recorded with Dict-O-Quills… And, he knew from personal experience, that was a bad thing with his parents. The inquiring glance from Hermione was ignored, as they would all know soon enough the source of his dismay. The common room had stopped, as most gatherings of children usually do, to watch the embarrassment of a fellow.

"And why wouldn't he open it in private?" The first voice was back, obviously infuriated but controlled.

"He just doesn't." The second was reasonable, with an edge of humor.

"Septimius," the first started, but was cut off by the second's interruption.

"James."

The first cut back in, growing more irritable, "I will address my son as I choose, you abominable pest."

"I let you name him Septimius; you agreed to call him James. Do so."

A growl from the first voice and Ron looked at Harry and then they both looked at James. "Those are your parents?"

James simply banged his head on the table some more in response.

The first voice began to speak, an edge of control forcing it into a tight, fierce whisper rather than an enraged shout. "James…" A pause, then it continued, "Although your other parent likely wishes to encourage this display of traditional Gryffindor idiocy, I am placing you on notice that if you arrive home with a hair out of place, your punishment will be of such severity that even your selective memory will not be able to misplace it."

A snort of laughter from the second voice, then what sounded like a shove. "Good job, I can see it now, Witch Weekly's Wizarding Parent of the Year award goes to Se..." This time it was the second voice that was cut off with the muffled sound of physical interruption.

"As I am certain that his reckless behaviors were learned in the womb, from yourself, you have no room for commentary."

"It's not all my fault, he's always been a Slytherin."

There was a gasp from across the table as the second voice spoke. Of course, none of the interruptions from the common room had any effect on the voices in the recorded message.

"Although he may be of my House, he has clearly demonstrated Gryffindor heritage."

A sound that no one wanted to identify, but many suspected was a quick snog, followed. "You're so sweet."

That growl came again from the first voice and James stopped banging his head to wince in pure mortification.

"James. On our Anniversary, at the time of your birth, in the Great Hall. Be Slytherin, my son. Be Gryffindor. Despite our concerns, and your impending punishment, we adore you."

It sounded like an end to the message and James had the hope that for once it was actually. But, no, the second voice spoke again. "Now that's taken care of… Want to go work some stress off?"

A chuckle from the first voice, "Insatiable Gryffindor."

This time the noise was audibly a snog, judging by the quick moan and indrawn breath a very passionate snog, and James resumed banging his head on the table. "Learn to turn the bloody quill off!!" His yell was partially muffled by the table, but was shortly followed by the letter ripping itself into shreds and dissolving into dust.

He raised his head and met Hermione's eyes. Their faces were an identical shade of dark red.

"So… Those are your parents?"

James refused to look over at the other seventh year when he answered the question from Harry. "Yeah."

Ron began to laugh softly, then louder. At the sound, the room dissolved back into its usual chatter. James felt that Ron was safe to look at, and did, with a questioning rise of his eyebrows.

The redhead shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you…" James continued to look at him and Hermione turned as well. Between his gulps for air, he explained, "That first voice sounded really familiar… But… It's just crazy."

James stood with a slam of his books. "I'm so pleased that my problem is amusing someone." The sentence was a half-whispered hiss of displeasure and dark cynicism before he slammed from the common room up towards the dormitories.

+++++++++++

Even when James practically slammed from the room, Ron didn't stop chuckling. Hermione scowled at him fiercely as the others in the room went back to considering their own business.

"Ron, that was really rude."

The redhead took a deep breath, controlling himself. "Come on, Mione… It's just… His father sounds a lot like Professor Snape. And, the thought of him…" He shivered with a look of disgust on his face.

"You're a pig, Ron." Hermione sounded incredibly put out and Ron began to clue into his future in the doghouse.

"Don't be like that. You can't tell me that you can handle the thought of the greasy git reproducing."

She shook her head before responding. "I'm not attracted to the professor, Ron, but that doesn't mean you have the right to mock James' parents."

"What's with you? Why are you so intent on defending him?"

The girl huffed in frustration, her point not getting through to her fiancé when Harry piped up in a calm and unemotional voice.

"Because it's an act, Ron. He's spent our entire lifetimes living a lie in order to stop Voldemort and the Death Eaters."

"But he's a prat!" The voice was outraged, the redhead not yet willing to drop his prejudices.

Harry stood, gathering his things, face and voice still level. He wouldn't get through to his friend with a misunderstood emotion. "I think almost two decades as a spy, with your life on the line every minute, would make anyone grumpy."

Ron watched with some level of confusion as his friend left, and turned at Hermione's voice. "Ron… You may want to try to think better of Snape."

"Snape?!" The outrage was still present, if slightly muted.

"For Harry's sake."

As his fiancée stood, gathered her homework, and disappeared towards the girl's dormitory, the redhead was left with a sickening suspicion and a lingering look of disgust, but he was at least considering the idea.

*****

James had begun to accustom himself to problems at his time of waking. He'd gone to sleep after receiving the letter from his parents in his dormitory four-poster.

He woke to a cold stone floor and the word 'Enervate' still echoing in the room. Automatically feeling for his wand, his hands met only his pajamas and the stone. Lifting his head, he found himself looking at the only furniture in the otherwise empty room. It was a chair, a rather nice and comfortable chair, occupied by the seventh year Harry Potter.

"Bloody hell." James was not encouraged by the sight of this particular student.

Harry shifted in the seat and revealed that he had his wand in one hand and James' in the other. Gesturing with his, a fire sprang up in the fireplace on the only wall that wasn't blank. He hadn't spoken yet, but turned back to James with a blank look.

Curling himself into a sitting position, James put his face into his hands and wished the room away. A nightmare would be nice in trade; he'd even take one about Draconis, as long as he didn't have to face this.

"I think we need to talk."

Harry's statement was calm, cold, and reverberated in the empty room. There were multiple reasons that castles used wall hangings, after all.

"Yeah?" It was a question and entirely unhelpful, but James could plead stress.

"I think it's time you answered some questions about who you are and where you came from."

James shook his head and replied simply, "No."

The smile that Harry returned in answer was predatory and made James remember for an instant that in less than a week, this teenager, this young man who would someday, hopefully, be his parent, would be killing one of the most powerful Dark Lords in history.

"If you refuse to answer my questions, I'll be required to persuade you."

A shared look between green eyes and James lowered his head back into his hands. "Bloody hell." It wasn't nearly strong enough for what he was feeling. "You're threatening me with Unforgivables, aren't you?"

Harry just shrugged, no answers on his blank face. It seemed that his training with Snape was going very well. "The Ministry has authorized the use of Unforgivables on Death Eaters."

James jumped to his feet, angry at the implication. "I am not, and never will be, a follower of any Dark Lord."

The opposing green eyes glinted with a moment's satisfaction but the two wands never wavered from their target. "Then who are you?"

"I can't tell you!"

"Why couldn't your father say your full name?"

"I already said, I can't tell you!"

"How are you a Slytherin, but enough of a Gryffindor to be sorted into my house, and no one has ever heard of you attending Hogwarts?"

James wanted to scream in frustration. He resorted to that same blank face that was being used on him and took a deep breath to control his temper. "I… Can't… Tell… You…"

Harry didn't accept that answer and stood, taking a step forward from the chair. It was obvious, in this isolated moment, the resemblance between the two young men.

"Lahashethet Silllissiar?"

James threw back his head and clenched his jaw as he replied, "I can't tell you."

Harry stopped, frozen in some surprise, despite having planned on trapping the other student. "How did you know what I said?"

The newer student looked up, shocked. "You asked me my name."

"I asked it in Parseltongue."

James' face dropped, his features slackening at his own stupidity. "Bloody hell." It was nowhere good enough of a curse, but he wasn't tempted to use stronger considering his dad would recall this conversation after he returned.

"How is it possible that you are a Parselmouth?"

Giving in, wanting to give in, James supplied the easiest answer he could in the situation. "I got the talent from my dad."

The young men stared at each other for a long moment before Harry stepped back and dropped into the chair. His face was white, the blood having drained away.

"Was Ron right about the voice he thought…?" Harry couldn't even finish the question.

"I didn't stay to hear his opinion." James' answer was slightly harsher than necessary. But, as he stood there, he wondered. Would this destroy things? If it did, would he simply blink out of existence? Or, since that would cause a further paradox, would he be destined to live where he was now, watching his family not occur, his birth not happen? Wouldn't that, in itself, be a paradox? Did it mean that everything would be fine, simply because he existed?

The silence stretched, not even broken by a sound from the silent, magical fire. James shifted, uncomfortable, but Harry was totally still. It was as if he was considering everything before he spoke. When he finally did, it was not the expected.

"Are we happy?"

James looked at him with a sharp gaze, noticing the odd combination of hope and disbelief crossing the face of the Boy Who Lived.

"Yeah." Resolved to think that enough had been revealed that he would be safe in saying more, James continued, "I'm risking my entire existence by anyone knowing this."

Harry looked at him, still connecting the dots on the information he'd been given. "How do you know that my finding out wasn't a necessary part of your existing?"

James shook his head. "I don't. It's a risk for me… Until Halloween, I won't know. If I go home, then I know. If I don't…" His voice faded out, but they both knew the answer. If no one showed to rescue him on Halloween, then he didn't exist in that life anymore.

Harry stood, offering James' wand to him. The other young man took it, not meeting the matching green eyes. After another long pause, they both moved towards the door. Stepping out, James noticed that they'd been in the Room of Requirement. He had only long enough to recognize the hallway and door behind him before a voice came out of the darkness.

"What are the two of you doing out after curfew?"

James turned, not ready to face the Potions Master in full wrathful point-taking mode. He stayed silent, not entirely sure that his emotions could handle any further confrontations tonight. Keeping his eyes down, very aware of how talented an Occlumens the professor was, he let Harry speak.

As it turned out, Harry didn't have the chance to speak. With his eyes down, James missed the look, but Harry didn't. Newly aware to possibilities that had seemed before either ludicrous or fantastical, he caught the hard, hot, lance of jealousy cross his professor's face as he observed the two seventh years and came to the wrong conclusion.

The voice that spoke was tight with anger, "Return to your dormitories. Fifty points from Gryffindor for your behavior, Mr. Potter." Even in the height of rage, Snape knew that the Headmaster would not allow points taken from the temporary student.

James flinched, but turned to head back to Gryffindor. He had taken a few steps when he paused, realizing that Harry hadn't come with him. Looking over his shoulder, he noticed that Harry seemed to be locked in a stare with the Potions Master. With a deep breath, he continued on back to the common room.

+++++++++++

The staring continued between the two wizards, both exercising their willpower. Finally, through an odd sort of coordinated twist of fate, they both whispered a single word, "Legilimens."

The mental link flared to life, the joint attack causing an entrance into the minds without defense as they had been lowered for the attack. There was free rein to delve into the thoughts and memories, but what each was focused on was much more recent than most recollections.

Harry, finding what he wanted to know, was the first to withdraw. His mental signature dragged against the psyche of his professor, leaving a shudder in its wake. Snape continued his assault moments longer, not having found the details he was looking for… what precisely the two Gryffindors had been doing. As he withdrew, his exit as deft as his talent with potions, he sneered and stepped forward. Harry retreated a step, backing almost into the door of the Room of Requirement.

Snape's voice was low, a satin and steel lash of sarcasm. "And why would the two of you be needing such privacy at this time of night?" The implication in the question was clear and Harry's cheeks heated. Not from guilt, but from the emotion behind the question that he had seen just a few moments prior.

As the professor stalked closer, Harry was backed into the wall next to the door. As a slightly stained hand grasped the knob, the other grasped the neck of his robe. "Let us see precisely what your needs were, shall we, Potter?"

The door opened and Harry found himself being thrust inside the room. It wasn't, however, the same room he'd been in minutes earlier with James. No, this room was decidedly different, driven by the needs of the persons outside.

Heavy black silk brocaded hangings covered the formerly bare stone walls. The fireplace was still present, filled with a crackling and warmth-giving flame, different than the silent ferocity of the previous flames. Above the mantel was now an intricate façade, the carvings unclear from their vantage point. The only other feature of the room was a platform, raised one step above the floor. It appeared to be entirely occupied by a large posterless bed, covered in green velvet and gold silk blankets and pillows.

"Would you care to decry your innocence now, Mr. Potter?"

Harry goggled at the room a moment, but then a very Slytherin grin came over his features. "This isn't the same room, sir."

Snape's eyebrow darted up, voicing both his disdain and his disbelief. The mere action caused Harry to leap to his own defense. "This wasn't what James and I wanted, or needed. The room gives you what you want, after all."

"Are you implying that I generated this setting, Mr. Potter?"

Not even the cold slap of words could sway Harry from his task. He stepped closer to the professor, inspired by a new confidence and willing to take a very Gryffindor risk. "What is it you want?"

A cold sneer and a quick lash of the arm caused the button on Snape's left cuff to bounce across the room, pinging on stone. With a yank, the white linen tore and the glaring black of the Dark Mark was revealed. "I want my freedom, Potter!"

Harry reached out and traced hesitant fingers over the magical mark. It buzzed slightly at his touch, an echo of sensation from the Mark itself and his connection to Voldemort. "I will give you that, if I can."

Black eyes narrowed in suspicion, the closed off face revealing little.

The seventh year looked up into his professor's eyes and shook his head slightly, reading the glance. "I will do it because I have to, not because I will require anything from you in repayment."

Snape turned his glance to the room, a different type of emotion heating his gaze when he looked back at the irritant in front of him. "What is it you want, Potter?"

Harry took a deep breath and laid his soul bare. "Security, stability. Somewhere," an unspoken echo of 'someone' was clearly heard by both wizards, "that I can be Harry and nothing more. Flawed, imperfect, and content."

The lash of words had turned into the graze of rough silk. "A tall request." Snape had stepped closer at some point; Harry could feel the heat from the man and now understood how he could live happily in the chill dungeons. He raised emerald eyes to meet obsidian depths.

"Is it too much to expect that someone will be able to understand what I will have to do in order to stop this war?" By an unspoken agreement, he did not mention the Dark Lord's name. In this strange room, the tension washing over them both, they'd fallen back into the oddly candid routine they had adopted in his extracurricular training.

"If there was, would you be willing to accept them?"

Harry could hold that gaze now, a feat he wasn't capable of even six months before. "Yes." It had a slightly extended sibilant ending wrenched from him by Snape taking that last step closer that brought their robes and bodies into an ephemeral contact.

The voice came this time directly into his ear, accompanied with a spine tingling ghost of air and moisture, in a mocking, sarcastic whisper. "What about love?"

His response was to that oddly tempting pale neck, barely revealed by white linen and black wool. "All my life I've been a burden, a friend, a tool, a publicity figure." His chuckle was self-mocking. "How would I know love? I would be happy with stable companionship."

Harry shuddered, as a path of moisture appeared across the curve of his ear before the voice spoke again, a hand coming out to steady him at the waist. "Does this dream come with a vow of celibacy?"

He refrained from answering verbally, giving his response in the light pressure of his lips against that interesting curve where a sharp jaw melted into a smooth column of neck. Gratified by the unexpected moan of pleasure, he increased the pressure and let his tongue begin to explore the intriguing taste of this intense man.

Snape seemed to glory in the touch for a moment, before pushing the younger man away from him until their eyes could meet. "Potter… Harry. Do you want this?"

Harry was slightly dazed by the sudden changes in his life, but aware enough to realize that this man was offering the one thing he'd typically been denied… a choice. Loosening his hand from where it had been clenching tight in the black robe, he ran his index finger lightly over the barely parted thin lips.

"Can you want me in return?"

It was the first time Harry had seen the older man's expression soften from rigidly controlled to pleasant. "Someday, we must do something about this ridiculously low self-esteem of yours."

More than the statement, it was the implication of someday that had Harry smiling in return. Hesitantly, as if concerned his advance would be denied, Severus lowered his mouth to tease lightly at the younger man's.

Harry's response was swift and sweet as he entered the embrace with all the enthusiasm and pent-up affection of his life. Their movement was stumbling slow, an unsteady path that led them to the center of the room. When Harry's foot hit the slight rise, he tripped. Only the strong arms of his companion, lifting him from his standing position into a carried embrace, prevented his fall.

Severus met the wide green eyes with a slight smirk, no trace of nasty persecution present in his visage. He dropped the younger man the few inches down to the bed. His pajama top rucked up at the movement; Harry wiggled as the texture of the velvet duvet met the skin of his back.

At the sinuous slide, the Potions Master leaned over to brace his arms on either side of the prone head. His lower body was pressed tight to Harry's legs where they hung off the bed. Despite his inexperience, Harry could recognize the hot imprint of the man's erection against the inside of his thigh just above his knee.

"Say yes, Harry."

Looking up at the desire written in the intensity of Severus' face, the younger man could only gasp out his agreement in a low voice. "Yes, please."

In the space of a heartbeat, wandless, wordless intention had driven their magic. The barriers between them disappeared and Harry could only inhale sharply at the shocking full-length touch of skin upon skin. There was no fragile hesitancy in his reaction as his hands moved restlessly to caress and stroke, learning his companion by touch.

Their mouths locked in a passionate frenzy; the mindless friction of touch drove Harry further onto the bed. It was his grasping hands that encouraged Severus to lower his weight down onto the younger, smaller man. Harry needed that desperate pressure to anchor him to this reality as his mind and will dissolved.

Moaning and whispering their pleasure, the two men were a combination of pale limbs and ready flesh spread across green and gold. Their cries echoed in the room; Harry the first to surrender to ecstasy. He came back to himself, panting for breath, searching his lover's face for any sign of regret or displeasure.

Severus simply smoothed the rampantly stray hairs from the youthful forehead and the famous imperfection. They'd done no more than rut against each other like beasts, but he found in himself a new tenderness towards his young companion. Seeing the hesitancy now spring to life in the verdant eyes, he met them with concern.

"You may leave if you wish, or sleep now."

Harry cleared his throat, his voiced reply breaking on the first attempt. He never let go of the even flesh of his lover as he coughed and tried again. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No."

Sighing, the hesitancy disappeared only to be replaced by a silent plea in those eyes. "Then I don't want to leave."

Severus shifted until his weight was mostly alongside the younger man, his still unsatisfied prick prodding the covers rather than the firm thigh. "What do you want, Harry?"

"Everything?"

"Everything?" Severus' repetition of the word contained doubt and confusion. He was willing to set aside his own needs to make this young wizard so often fashioned as a tool by the wizarding world feel complete as a man.

When Harry's hand slipped from his shoulder down his torso and grasped firmly the protrusion at his groin, he gasped desperately. "I want to try everything."

Sliding himself in the slightly callused grip, Severus groaned. He missed neither the shiver, nor the returning arousal, at his vocalizations. Teasing, he forced levity into his passion-roughened voice. "What you desire could take all night."

"I don't know if I'll ever have someday… Can you give me tonight?"

Looking into those green eyes, Severus saw the plea. They said to him, 'say yes,' and he was unwilling to offer a denial. Lowering his head to tease once more at the juncture of head and shoulder, his tongue traced along the smooth neck as Harry writhed beneath him. Lifting his head slightly, he gave his answer in a barely audible agreement directly into the ear. His moist breath brought another shiver to the body caught under him. "Yes."

As they continued to move together, flickering light of the fire guiding their way, the smooth surfaces of the bed that suited their needs cushioning their bodies, the Room of Requirement continued to meet their other needs. And when Severus entered his lover, Harry simply begged for more, with no sign of his destiny lurking in the shadows of his eyes.

+++++++++++

When Hermione, one of the earliest risers in Gryffindor Tower, woke in the morning, she found James curled into a chair in front of the fire in the common room.

"James?"

The face he turned to her was streaked by tear tracks, and the anxiety was visible. "I'm still here."

She nodded. "You will be until Halloween, you said that was the day."

He turned back to the fire, silent for a moment. "Maybe longer."

Concerned now, she hurried forward and leaned on the chair, dropping a hand onto his hair in a comforting gesture. "What happened?"

Shaking his head, he refused to answer the question she had asked. He didn't look up, but she did, when the portrait opened and Harry stumbled in, looking exhausted. There was the slightest hint of color around his neck, a betraying satiation in his eyes.

"Harry?" Hermione was heading towards deep shock. "Where have you been?"

Harry looked across the room towards a clock. "Damn, it's later than I thought."

"It's morning, Harry. Don't you mean earlier?"

He didn't answer, turning towards the dormitory stairs with a silent trudge of tired feet.

Hermione glanced down when James spoke, the faintest trace of a smile coming onto his face. "You're right, until Halloween."

When he rose from the chair and headed to the dormitory himself, Hermione was left to glance into the fire. Her face was hidden by the reflection of the fire, but betrayed her knowledge in its deep flush.

+++++++++++

James was awake before anyone on Halloween. Dressed and pacing the common room, it was no surprise when Hermione was the next up. He ignored her for a few minutes and continued his pacing. It didn't take long before she was absolutely unwilling to tolerate his nervous behavior.

"James?"

Buried in his own little world, he didn't even hear her the first time.

"James!"

Looking up, he caught the annoyed look and wondered how he had missed several other Gryffindors who were now in the room. With a sheepish shrug, he dropped onto the end of a couch across from Hermione. She wasn't surprised when he didn't apologize for his pacing, just sat there quietly.

"What time were you born?"

He turned slightly to look at her, momentarily confused. "Around four in the afternoon."

Hermione leaned and smacked him on the arm. "Then stop worrying. You have all day. Settle down and relax."

+++++++++++

The morning classes had gone well, even if Hermione was continually left to get James' attention back on the professors. His mind was wandering, and she could understand that, but she was relieved when lunch came and they could both take a break.

Harry was absent as they dropped into seats across from Ron. Hermione was tempted to circle the table and sit beside him, but realized that she was too tired to bother. She wasn't too tired to be curious, noting that Professor Snape was also absent.

"Where's Harry?" Her question tried to be innocent, but there was a certain edge of teenage gossip to it.

Ron barely paused in his shoveling of food to respond. "Headmaster's office, something important."

James looked up from where he was tormenting a piece of chicken. "Did they say what?"

Shaking his head, the redhead continued to eat. James went back through his memory for a minute, recalling the specifics he'd learned in History of Magic even if his parents had refused to talk about details of the time period.

Leaning into Hermione gained him a narrow-eyed stare from Ron, but he just turned his face to whisper into her ear. "Voldemort." The single word was all that was needed.

She leaned back in confusion and simply looked at him. The serious set of his features, combined with Harry having been dragged into an important meeting, caused her to blanch. "What's going to happen?"

Her voice was just as low, but not as restrained. The babble of voices in the hall and the absence of any nearby seatmates was still probably the only thing keeping the question just to their little group of three.

"He's going to attack the school."

James' words caused Ron to flinch and pause in his eating with a muttered, "Bloody hell."

Hermione didn't even bother to ask him how he knew.

In that second of scared realization that the war was likely to come to a head, there was also a screaming noise of protest from the castle's wards. The sound caused all chatter over lunch to halt and Professor McGonagall, the only teacher at the High Table, to jump up in concern.

"Isn't this just sweet?"

The drawl from behind him caused James to freeze, fear draining the blood from his features. The comment was followed shortly by a sharp pressure at the back of his neck that ensured his stillness. Not being able to move his head kept him from knowing if it was just the one man, a bad enough situation, or if he had backup to make it even worse.

"Wouldn't Daddy be proud? His golden child associating with Mudblood and the Weasel."

The sneer in the voice was obvious and James closed his eyes, wondering if he was going to die before he had the chance to get home.

"No, don't move, Mudblood, or I kill him."

Hermione halted her reach for her wand, nervous at the close proximity of the blond man with the wand in one hand and dagger in the other. That same dagger which was point against the back of James' neck.

"Who are you?" Her voice was soft, an unusual circumstance for the usually direct young woman.

The dagger point jiggled, causing a sharp well of red blood. "James, why don't you tell the Mudblood who I am?"

James took a deep breath and tried to drown his temper behind a mental barrier. It worked and kept him from saying what he wanted to say in response, which would have likely led to his being injured. His delay, though, caused the point to be pressed harder, bringing another bright spot of blood.

"Draconis."

The fear was obvious in James' voice, even in just that one word. The other students had been stilled by the sudden appearance of a man in an area presumably blocked from Apparition and kept that way by the blatant threat he posed.

Professor McGonagall, however, was tasked with keeping order and had approached. "Who are you and what do you think you're doing?"

Draconis turned with a sneer. "Evacuate the hall, or I will kill a student."

She halted her approach for a moment in shock, but continued forward after a moment. "How dare you threaten us, sir!"

The dagger didn't move as Draconis leveled his wand towards the Hufflepuff table. "Avada Kedavra." No one really had the time to react before a third year, whose name many hadn't known, fell dead.

"Evacuate the hall, or I kill another student."

The Deputy Headmistress had stiffened in shock, but now clearly understood the threat being presented. With the other professors in a last minute meeting about Voldemort, she was alone to face this man and protect the students. At the moment, the only thing she could do was what he demanded.

"All students, exit the Great Hall through the main doors." She watched as some stood hesitantly and some rushed with panicked exclamations. A death among them was hard to handle, even for children growing up during a war. "Quickly now," she hurried along the stragglers.

"Go on, Mudblood, Weasel, little James doesn't need your help here."

Hermione and Ron edged away from the table, casting desperate looks at the pair before leaving. The professor stood, alone in the Hall with James and the unknown man. The doors stood open, a scattering of students still peeking curiously around their edges.

"Out, old woman."

McGonagall scowled and remained still.

"Persuade her, little James."

James winced at the pain in his neck, but looked to the Deputy Headmistress. "Please, Professor. It will be all right."

Draconis chuckled at that, but watched in satisfaction as she turned and left. With a wave of his wand, the doors slammed behind her. Knowing that she had likely gone immediately for Dumbledore, he twitched the knife again at James' neck.

"Stand, slowly."

James began to rise, hands on the table to steady his progress. As he did, he catalogued his environment and his likely chances to delay injury until someone could get into the Great Hall. Curling the edges of his fingers under his plate, he ducked, leaning forward as he stood, swinging the plate around to impact the knife.

The resistance to his orders should have been expected, but oddly enough, wasn't. Draconis lost his grip on the dagger and it was knocked by the impact under the Ravenclaw table. James stepped back quickly, dropping the plate, empty-handed now against a Dark Lord armed with a wand. He could feel the warm trickle of blood down the back of his neck and kept his face blank as he continued to back away.

+++++++++++

Minerva slammed the door to the Headmaster's office open, moving at a pace that few expected to see from a woman of her advanced years. Harried and slightly out of breath, she was at least still able to form full sentences. "Albus, we have a problem in the Great Hall."

A large portion of the Order of the Phoenix looked back at her as the Transfigurations Mistress gained the Headmaster's attention. It was odd to her, when she noted that both Albus and the young Mr. Potter looked at the clock first.

With a note of confusion in his blue eyes, Dumbledore stood from his chair. "What has happened?"

"The disturbance in the castle wards. A man appeared and is threatening Mr. Nathaniel. He has killed Mr. Williams from Hufflepuff and demanded the evacuation of the Hall. There was nothing else I could do but leave Mr. Nathaniel with him."

The collected members looked disturbed at the news and many began to shift and rise from their chairs. Not the least of whom was Harry Potter, who jumped up with an exclamation of "James!" and began for the door, wand already out.

"Mr. Potter!" The Headmaster's voiced paused the Gryffindor's movements, and in that moment there was another screaming protest from the castle wards. Dumbledore's mouth twitched into a grin. "I do not believe such haste is required, Mr. Potter. Please have a seat."

The group looked at the elder wizard, trying to figure out once again if he was brilliant or barmy. Harry, never one to accept such things easily, hesitated, "But, sir…"

The Headmaster shook his head. "We have an intruder in the Great Hall, yes. However, Professor McGonagall indicated he was alone there with Mr. Nathaniel." He waited for the confirming nod from his Deputy before continuing. "And now Mr. Nathaniel's backup have arrived. I do not believe your presence would be a good idea."

Harry's expression shifted into one of less desperation and there passed a moment of understanding between the oldest and youngest wizards in the room. He was silent as he resumed his seat; the others now started to demand answers.

Dumbledore, as always, shared only that information he desired to share. "Please resume the meeting, Voldemort will not delay his attack if he has set himself to the course."

Stepping around his desk, he stopped to lay a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder. "I will ensure that Mr. Nathaniel has come to no harm and that he leaves safely."

Harry nodded, an odd look on his face. "Sir, could you tell him…" His voice tapered off, slightly choked. "Just tell him…" Again, he couldn't continue, his chest tight with an emotion that was hard to explain and even harder to deal with in the slightly bizarre circumstances under which he lived his life.

The Headmaster nodded. "I understand, Harry."

As the elder wizard left, the others resumed their plans for combating Voldemort. There were none too few inquiring glances towards the Boy Who Lived. Some wondered exactly what his relationship was with the temporary student. At least one knew that he would be demanding answers to this enigma later, an unexpected spurt of possessiveness giving rise anew to jealousy.

+++++++++++

Approaching the Great Hall, Dumbledore found the halls empty of students. It was amazing, in a distant way, the fact that the students would sometimes obey an imperative and sometimes ignore it. Though, he was pleased that today they were cooperative.

Nearing the doors, he did not, as he had feared, hear the noises of a pitched battle. Instead came the distant echoes of a conversation.

"What did I tell you about having a hair out of place?"

"Stop, he's safe now."

As Albus carefully opened a side door that was set to allow only the Headmaster entrance, he caught a sight that he would remember for the remainder of his years. There were two dead bodies on the floor of the Great Hall. One, the unlucky student who'd earlier been used as a demonstration. The second, a blond man sprawled facedown in still smoldering robes. But it was the three living figures that carried his attention. The youngest, James, was seated at a student bench, his head bent forward as a cloth was dabbed against the back of his neck. Behind him, an older Severus Snape fussed in a decidedly paternal fashion. A mature and distinguished Harry Potter paced around them both, looking both mildly concerned and proud.

"We would not have had to assure his safety if he had complied with you in the first place."

A roll of the eyes was the only response from pacing man, who stopped suddenly and focused on the side of the Hall.

"Headmaster."

Snape flung the cloth on the table with a huff, "Fine. I will cease my lecture, Minister."

Harry forestalled the rest of the rant with an amused smile. "Not you, git. Albus."

The oldest of the time-displaced wizards froze, his whispered answer barely carrying back to the ears of the current Headmaster. "Harry… I can't…"

The Headmaster watched as Harry ran his fingers lightly across the turned away face and then laid his hand on the shoulder. "It's alright, Severus."

He waited as the younger man then came walking towards him. It was odd to watch this older version of the boy on whom they'd laid so much. Although he did take comfort that the experience had not apparently damaged his ability to relate to others.

There was a momentary hesitation when the younger man reached the Headmaster, then Dumbledore found himself smiling as he was pulled into a strong hug. "Albus, it's good to see you again."

The older wizard chuckled and returned the hug. "May I reassure you then that young James is off home well enough?"

Harry smiled. "Yes, you will."

As the two watched, Severus eased a groaning James up from his seat with a warning. "Gently, James. Cruciatus is tiring on the system." His son wavered for a moment, but stood with a tight grip on his father's arm.

Dumbledore's eyes dimmed slightly with his question, "What happened here?"

Harry shook his head. "Just another Dark Lord, Albus. You can pass it off as a Death Eater attack. After all, he was one once."

The Headmaster nodded in understanding. Harry turned to him and gave him another quick hug. "We'll be taking his body with us. I'll need you to leave the Hall so Severus can open the portal."

The elder wizard nodded his understanding and turned to go. He was surprised when Harry pressed a piece of paper into his hand with a quick wink, but pocketed the item to look at later. As the door closed behind, he could feel the castle responding to a request and shifting its magics to comply.

In moments, all was still again.

+++++++++++

As Dumbledore approached his office again, he opened the paper he had been handed. Reading through it, he was unsurprised to find it a short note in Harry's obviously still messy scrawl. A summary of the progress of the coming battle, including notations as to when and where Dumbledore would prove particularly effective.

Most compelling was the after note. Harry, it seemed, wanted to spare his mate a lifetime of survivor's guilt and was willing to risk the future to do so. It seemed that they had seen Dumbledore fall in the battle, stepping in the way of a killing curse destined for his Potions Master. With curt descriptions, Harry had specified the situation and written a final note of his hope.

'I may be changing things, Albus. I want you to trust me in this risk. Severus has never been truly happy thinking that his life was purchased with yours.'

+++++++++++

As dusk fell on Hogwarts and the Halloween Feast would usually be commencing in the Great Hall, instead, a sense of anticipatory fear had overcome the castle. The lower level students had been locked in their dormitories, warded behind the strongest spells with which their professors could guard them.

Most of the seventh year students, those who hadn't disappeared earlier that day to face them from the other side, stood slightly apart as the adults mustered in the Great Hall. The cheerful decorations were disregarded, the tables merely a place to rest before a long evening ahead.

Harry stood on his own, neither a part of the student conversation or the last minute Auror and Professor planning. He gazed silently into the fire, settling with himself the task in front of him. Tonight he was supposed to finish this war… And although they would all be fighting, he would ultimately carry the burden. He looked up when Dumbledore called the room to order and moved to join the other students.

When the last minute instructions had been given, Harry took a deep breath and turned to face his best friends. "I would feel better if I knew you were safe inside."

It was a half-hearted statement; he knew they'd never agree. Ron simply grinned, not even bothering to respond. "The DA have their instructions. We're to keep you and your adult partner clear until you can find your target."

Harry nodded. "Voldemort…" His voice tapered off and he noted that the students in front of him no longer flinched. It seemed pointless to flinch when you were about to go into battle against his forces.

"So, mate, who's your bodyguard?" Ron's question was chipper and Harry marveled that his friend could keep calm in the face of this. Of course, he'd had a great deal of practice around Harry for the last seven years and this was just tactics… Ron had always been good at tactics.

Dragging his wandering mind back, Harry answered the question with a slightly ironic smile. "Professor Snape."

Ron blanched slightly, but nodded. Headmaster Dumbledore had thrown a mature and dignified version of a hissy-fit earlier when both Aurors and students had objected to the presence of the now publicly acknowledged spy and former Death Eater. The other students edged away slightly as the subject of their conversation joined the group.

"Potter." A slight nod to Harry before dark eyes skimmed over the gathered young witches and wizards. "Let us hope you taught Defense better than the incompetents hired to the position."

Harry had the chance to grin before they were all being directed to the doors and the approaching enemies outside.

+++++++++++

As battles went, it was both anti-climatic and terrifying. The only thing to differentiate this conflict from the prior skirmishes between the sides of light and dark was the scale. This time, rather than a few Death Eaters and maybe their Master, they faced the combined efforts of all dark wizards, witches, and creatures that were free to fight.

It was a cacophony of noise, echoing across the surface of the lake and bouncing from the towers of the castle. The glow of hexes and curses cast at times lit up the darkening sky to noon-bright, glazing the surfaces in an eerie light. Tension was in the air as spellfire brought a level of heat across their skin to play at odds with the cool of the Scottish evening. Those who lost their cloaks either intentionally or through damage did not feel their loss as they would on a calm night. The constant whine of the castle wards at so much dark magic being cast in close proximity was only punctured by a deeper thrum when a misdirected spell impacted the walls and wards.

The DA stood strong. A shifting mass of trained and loyal wizards and witches kept the majority of the threat away from their targets. Harry and the professor used their distinct links to the Dark Lord in order to locate him, guiding the group closer. When they'd approached as far as they could, the students laid down a covering fire of curses and hexes to allow the two a clear run.

Once they'd finished that task, though, the students were drawn into the random chaos of the rest of the combat.

+++++++++++

There was no one who could really say when the battle started to go their way. The tide was definitely turning, even before the Death Eaters screamed the loss of their Dark Marks. But after that point, it was a matter of wrapping up. Not that this was an easy task, but it was one taken with more hope.

When there were no more threats to fight, the process of listing the injured and the dead began. People clumped in groups, helping those less fortunate than themselves. Quarter was provided to injured on both the sides of light and dark. After all, when this was finished, they would be expected to live as a whole society again. It was not unlike any revolution that had ever taken place.

The hospital wing was overflowing with patients; the least injured being triaged in the Great Hall. Ron, guiding a limping Hermione, checked among the dead first, then the injured, seeking their friend and savior.

Gathering information as they went, they finally made it to the infirmary. The main ward was filled with Aurors. Exposed to the fiercest parts of the battle, it was not surprising that they sustained most of the serious spell and physical injuries.

They were stopped there by the Deputy Headmistress who was leaning heavily on her cane, little seen since the days of Umbridge. "What are the two of you doing up here?"

Ron and Hermione simply looked back at her with the slightly blank faces of people who would deal with things in the morning. The question was on their faces as they spoke one word together. "Harry?"

The older witch nodded and pointed towards a private room at the back of the ward. "In there."

They tried not to hurry too visibly, thanking her quickly. When they reached the back, the door to the room was shut. Suddenly unsure, they knocked first and then entered slowly. There was a tension in the room they entered.

A figure tucked into a hospital bed was flanked by the Headmaster in a chair and a bloodied young man with one hand on the bed and the other curled around his head as he hunched over. They could both clearly hear Harry's sobbing breaths, even as he physically attempted to muffle them with his own body. Dumbledore, for once, looked as if he hadn't the faintest clue what to do and wouldn't have the energy to do it if he had.

When the two entered the room, it didn't seem to even register with Harry. Dumbledore stood in somewhat of relief. "Please sit with Harry until I'm able to return."

They nodded their acceptances as the Headmaster hobbled slowly out of the room. Ron seated himself in the now vacant chair, not knowing what to do. Hermione moved towards Harry, reaching out a hand.

"Don't touch him." The voice was hissed out in a fierce whisper. Hermione's head darted up, surprised that the figure in the bed was awake and aware. What she'd previously assumed to be an unconscious professor was in fact a very observant Potions Master glaring in her direction.

"But, sir, he's…" She waved her hand slightly at Harry, indicating his emotional distress.

Snape's response was cold and sarcastic, but betrayed his concern. "Enjoying the first chance in his life to vent perfectly natural and acceptable emotions under a rather necessary silencing spell so dunderheads like yourself cannot disturb him?"

Hermione flinched back and Ron leapt to her rescue, verbally, as he'd now seen what the professor could do in an unrestrained fight. "You can't speak to her like that!"

The cold black glare moved to the redhead. "If she disturbs Harry, I will not only speak to her in that fashion, I will eviscerate her."

Both of them stopped in shock, but then Hermione smiled. "You called him Harry."

That piercing gaze moved back to her and she hesitated for a moment. Then, confident, she looked at Ron. "Come on, we should wait outside."

Ron looked confused and was rapidly looking between the other people in the room. Eventually, he nodded as he agreed, "Yeah."

The two stepped to the door and it closed behind them. Peering back through the crack as she eased it shut, she saw that a long-fingered and slightly stained hand had already moved from Harry's grasp and was softly petting the perpetually messy raven hair.

Finis

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