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Chapter Text

Severus added several comments to a first year Ravenclaw's essay--supposedly twelve inches on the effects of ingredient preparation in potions--striking out the additional eight inches he hadn't asked for, and waved a hand negligently at the soft knock on his office door. Generally, no one came to his office hours but seventh years and they knew to enter when the door swung open. He looked up to see Granger hovering in his doorway.

"No," he waved his hand again, intent on slamming the door in her face.

Granger shoved her overfilled bag between the door and jamb before the door slammed.

"You can take as many points as you like, Professor, but I'm not leaving until you listen to me."

"If this is about your last essay, Miss Granger--" he started, sighing.

"I don't care about that, sir." She barely avoided stomping into his office and sat heavily in the chair across from his desk, dumping her bag on the floor.

Severus stared. He'd never thought he'd ever hear that from the scholastically obsessed little witch.

"Headmaster Dumbledoor is ignoring my owls and Professor McGonagal is always busy and I heard a couple of Slytherin first years saying that you would actually do something and--"

She practically quivered with determination, hair roughly three times its usual size. He wondered if...no, remain on topic.

"Explain the issue at hand, Miss Granger, concisely." He rubbed his forehead, a headache definitely forming.

"There's a student in Gryffindor who only goes home at the end of the year and never receives anything, except for 50 pence at Christmas attached to a note telling them to stay for Easter hols, too, and to see if they can stay over the summer. Their clothing is in terrible shape and is at least three sizes too big, and their shoes are out at the soles. They came in very small for their age, oddly so, with some bruises...they didn't know anyone saw...and they came back this year even thinner. And they're not a picky eater, at all, sir. I'm worried, especially when they said their family would be happy if they could manage to die when they were badly injured." Granger stopped, swallowing hard.

One or two items from her list would be mildly concerning, but taken in aggregate…and damn Dumbledore and Minerva for ignoring a student's concerns. Again. Mostly because it meant he had to be civil to the puffed up little twit.

"Who, Miss Granger?"

"It's Harry, sir." She lifted her chin and gave him a Look that wouldn't be out of place in a Pureblood family's drawing room. "And I know you don't like him, but I'm coming to you as a student with sincere concerns over another student's home life."

And how Miss Granger had learned those sorts of looks and mannerisms was a question for another day. Of course it was bloody Potter.

"Is there anything concrete, Miss Granger? Aside from your little observations?"

"The Weasley twins and Ron went to get him as he hadn't answered any letters and they were worried. There were bars on his window, five or six locks on the outside of his door, and a cat flap at the bottom. His school things were all locked in the cupboard under the stairs and...they had to break him out, sir. His uncle tried to drag him back through the window, yelling about how he wasn't going back to that freak school. And they'd locked up his owl, as well, not that she could have got through the bars."

"Was there, perchance, a flying car involved in this escapade?" He couldn't help the question.

"I'm sure I couldn't say one way or the other, sir."

The nerve of the chit.

"Harry said his Aunt Petunia would be livid about her flower beds and he knew what he'd be doing next summer."

Severus left off rubbing his forehead and glared at her so suddenly she squeaked.

"Did you say his Aunt Petunia?" Surely Dumbledore wouldn't have...he had more sense than that, surely.

"Yes, sir."

Did Lily have a great aunt Petunia somewhere? Flower names were a family mania. She had to...Dumbledore wouldn't have...he couldn't have.

"He said his mother's sister, once, sir, if that helps in narrowing it down."

Was she cheeking him?

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will bring this to the Headmaster and take the appropriate next steps." He had to concede the need.

"If an adult perspective would help, sir, Mrs. Weasley might have noticed something. The twins said he went from looking starved to half-starved while he was with them. He came back with practically an entire wardrobe of jumpers Mrs. Weasley knitted."

Her mouth twisted and Severus nearly jumped from his seat. He would listen to her, but no one could force him to dry her tears. He went to the door and opened it, mostly for the distance.

"Thank you, Miss Granger. I will make some inquiries." There, a clear dismissal. She could go and weep elsewhere.

He had a momentary and unflattering thought that he never got to wail over the injustices of his life. Like being compelled to speak to the Weasley matriarch, who fussed over everything.

And who still hadn't forgiven him for the advice he'd given her twin terrors on stabilizing certain brews.

Breathing deeply, Severus opened the front door of his home, stepped into the dim entryway, and snapped it shut behind him. He slumped back against the door, reveling in the dim quiet of his home. Once, there were raised voices and fists and the creeping miasma of his mother's depression.

Now, despite the ever present industrial dust (he would have to check the wards...he  knew  he'd warded against it), it served as his haven. He'd spent all afternoon fervently wanting the dim quiet of low lamplight and comfortably worn in chairs. There was one that fit him perfectly  and  a new journal waiting. He had one more or less free weekend a month, and he intended to spend it as indulgently as possible.

And after his afternoon, he certainly deserved his small indulgences. Petunia's voice had, unfortunately, not grown less shrill with age. Nor had she mellowed, not in the slightest. Nor was she of a temperament to see that treating her nephew like a house elf was most inappropriate.

"Oh, yes, Severus, you knew her as a child! I'm certain she will relish the reunion!"

Sometimes, Severus held that the constant miasma of sugared lemon hovering about Albus Dumbledore had rotted his brain.

Near needless to say, Petunia had  not  relished their reunion. He pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling the headache reliever from an inner pocket of his robes by feel. He downed it, shuddered, and followed it up with a Calming Draught. It only delayed the inevitable, but putting off the shakes for a few hours...he'd never reacted well to thrown crockery. Or adults abusing their authority, no matter how much of a hypocrite it made him in regards to Gryffindors.

And he'd have to somehow convince bloody Dumbledore that the bloody Boy Who Lived to Annoy Snapes In Particular needed to be moved lest he perish due to neglect. No properly run household included a room with that many locks on the outside of a bedroom. Or a bedroom that looked like  that.

"Sssssseverusssss."

He nearly dropped the vial. That voice...he hadn't heard it since...no.

No.

Fuck no!

There was no possible way the Dark Lord was in his sitting room. Potter had reduced him back to a wraith not six months ago.

Ergo, the only reasonable conclusion was that he'd gone utterly and completely barking mad. Given his proximity to  Petunia  that afternoon, it remained the strongest possibility.

"Ssssssseverusssss, sssstop lurking in your foyer and  do not  even think of running off, young man."

Severus froze with his hand on the doorknob.

What the actual bloody fucking hell?

The Dark Lord did  not  scold like a peeved Top. He Crucioed first and potentially asked a question once the writhing stopped.

"Do not make me come get you."

Right. Severus mentally pulled his socks up and strode into his sitting room, face as implacable as he could manage. He folded his hands, allowing the long sleeves on his outer robe to hide their shaking.

And that was definitely the Dark Lord on his settee, snake-faced in all his bastardy glory.

Severus pulled himself up to his full height and stared down his nose.

"My Lord," he began.

"Oh, sssstuff it, Sssssseverusssss. I'm not entirely clear on what happened, but I went from being a perfectly happy Sssssslytherin houssssemassster to being ssssurrounded by a bunch of panicking Purebloodsssss, looking like thisssss, and hisssssing every sssssss."

Severus blinked for a moment, decoding the irritated sibilance.

"Pardon?" he managed, finally, fingers twisting in his designation band.

He didn't have a Top's plate to click, and his own had been replaced with a Hogwarts blank when he started working there. So the band, a bit ragged with age now, had to suffice.

"I think I may have had a heart attack."

That made things not a whit clearer.

"I wasss in my quartersss and felt a pain radiating from my arm. All went black, and next thing I wassss sssssurrounded by a bunch of Pureblooded idiotsssss in a panic. All sssscreaming 'It'ssss gone! Gone!'. I booked it ssssssoon assssss I could, and…apparated here. Had to come after you once, when you ran off..." he trailed off, raising his hands as he shrugged. "It wassss the one place I could think of and you generally keep your head in a crisssisss."

Severus took a moment to look at the inside of his left forearm. He coughed, wheezing at the unblemished skin where once a scarred Dark Mark lay. His knees buckled, and he locked them, reaching blindly for the back of the closest chair. He gripped it convulsively, carved wood groaning under his spasming fingers.

"Merlin, lad!"

And the figure that haunted his nightmares stood and crossed to him, prised his hand off the chair, and took him gently by the arms to lead him to the settee.

"Breathe, lad, breathe." He soothed.

Severus dragged air into his shock-constricted lungs, the spots dancing before his eyes clearing as he finally got enough oxygen. His foggy brain simply wouldn't comprehend concern creasing the Dark Lord's reptilian features. He looked down at his clenched hands instead and tried to steady his breathing.

Merlin, he was just so  tired.  He rubbed a trembling hand over his face.

He massaged his aching temples; headache potions were no match for the sheer number of shocks he'd absorbed, from the truth of Potter's home life to a disturbingly affectionate Dark Lord waiting for him.

Or not the Dark Lord. He needed several hours in a dark, quiet room so he could gibber to his heart's content.

Because some stupid  sod  had obviously meddled in magic beyond their ken, leaving him the clean up the mess.

Again.

He took a few moments to compose himself. No use in having hysterics. And he might as well go along with it, just to cover all possible angles. He thought, a bit mournfully, of peace and quiet and solitude, and wished, not for the first time, that he hadn't been such a colossally bigoted idiot of a teenager.

"Have you any idea what happened to pull you here?" he asked, finally.

"A ritual, I believe." He pulled a bundle of parchment from the sleeve of his robe. "I, er, nicked the parchment on my way out."

Severus took the bundle and flicked through it, eyes widening in disbelief as he read.

"They created a new  body  for you?"

The complexity of the ritual...they'd have had to spend hours working in concert...although the visualization portion of the ritual explained the appearance.

"They created an abomination. I mossst sssssertainly do  not  look like thissss." He sounded like a sulking third year.

"And it looks like an intense period of meditation on your part can correct your appearance." Severus handed the relevant section over. "And...oh, bloody  fuck!  "

"Language!"

Severus cringed at the immediate scold.

"I apologize for my intemperate language, my Lord." And how long had it been since...well, never, really, but the words still fell automatically from his lips. "It appears that the wraith's mind was so shattered that they went on to attempt a Gathering Ritual."

"And with a consciousnessss sssso shattered, Magic reached for the next available...version, for lack of a better term." Voldemort concluded.

"It seems the most likely interpretation for your sudden personality change." Severus rubbed a hand over his forehead again. "You're not the you who existed here. You're a you who had a completely different life."

"Sssstill know what done looksss like on you, lad, different life or no. Do you have a room I can ussse for meditation?"

"Yes, my Lord. Upstairs." Severus rose and crossed the small sitting room to one of the bookcases lining the walls.

He found the carved runes and pressed on them in the correct pattern. A section of shelving swung open, revealing a narrow staircase. He rarely allowed anyone beyond the sitting room, but instinct screamed trust at him, an unfamiliar sensation.

"I'd recommend ssssleep, Sssssseverusssss. Your headache never resssolvesss until you give in and ressst."

Severus jerked to a stop halfway up the stairs, unused to anyone knowing him so intimately. He swallowed on a sharp retort, curiosity burning in his veins.

"Of course, my Lord."

He practically felt the eyes rolled at his back, but led the Dark Lord upstairs. He'd converted his childhood bedroom into a study, but it held a daybed and nothing terribly personal. He gestured, opening the door.

"Will this suffice?"

"Thank you, Ssssseverusss. The room will work well."

"The w.c. is the next door. I'm at the end of the hall." He hovered uncertainly, hating himself for a moment. Why wait to be dismissed in his own home?

"Thank you. Pleassse go ssssleep, lad. You look done in. Lock me in here if it helpsss."

Severus blinked for a moment. "I don't believe I need to, my Lord. I shall take my leave."

He wasn't retreating, he told himself as he shut the door to his bedchamber. He simply needed rest. It wasn't that the unusual concern for his well being had him flustered.

But perhaps he should ask  one  of his questions?

As Severus settled under his eiderdown fifteen minutes later, he mourned the loss of his quiet weekend. He had so wanted two days of reading while toasting his feet on the fender of his stove. He wanted to sup on a full English at midnight, stirring beans on the hob in his shirtsleeves, and in general behave like an unsociable gremlin. But, as with most of what he'd wanted, it went to hell in a handcart.

He drifted into sleep, the last words from the Dark Lord echoing in his brain.

"Who was I to you, my Lord, that you would come here for shelter?"

"You were mine, Sssssseverussss. You were mine."

Chapter Text

Severus woke to murky darkness and a blessedly pain-free head. He debated burrowing back into the delicious warmth of his duvet and sleeping through the night, but a grumbling stomach and overwhelming curiosity nagged enough to keep sleep at bay. That and the ever-growing list of things he'd need do. 

To whit: keep Albus Dumbledore out of the loop until he'd figured out a way forward.

Because he hadn't quite gone to him as he'd told Granger. He had, unfortunately, gone just a titch rogue. And if there was one thing Dumbledore loathed, it was rogue Slytherins. Given the man's reaction to the Potter whelp's headfirst dive into magical heroics, he'd done an end-run around him. He was a Hogwarts staff member with distinct concerns over the safety at home of a Muggle-raised child. The child's friend had reported her suspicions, supporting his case. Ergo, he had all the authority needed to investigate before bringing in a higher authority.

Especially as the higher authority in this case was likely to skin him alive. 

Now he only (Only! Ha!) needed to figure out how to circumvent Potter's placement without delivering him into the hands of, for example, the Notts, and deal with a newly returned, hopefully-not-as-dark lord. 

The duvet had never looked more inviting.

To be fair, death by smothering had never looked more inviting.

Unfortunately, part of himself looked at the whole thing as a grand and exciting experiment, like a half-baked potioneering attempt about to explode. Right now he had about six madly-bubbling cauldrons to balance and roughly one weekend to set as many plans as possible into motion. The mad scientist he usually managed to suppress, the one who liked to poke at obvious danger, fairly cackled with glee.

He shoved that maniac back into the box where it was safest for all if he lived and rose, crossing to his clothes press. Opening the doors, Severus let his fingers caress the clothing within as he decided. He dressed carefully, not in his usual Mastery robes, but in the trailing robes he kept for weekends and summers away from students. It felt...right, somehow, meeting the hopefully less Dark Lord dressed as he planned -- thoroughly traditionally, based on Type and age of Family.

The underclothes came first, looking much like a Muggle man's swimming costume from the early 1900s. Soft silk knit combinations hugged his torso as he did up the buttons, the full-length legs taking most of the chilly Autumn damp away. They were the one constant in his wardrobe, especially after his fifth year. He ran fingers under the shoulder straps, evening out a bit of twisting, and checked behind to make sure the drop seat remained fastened at the small of his back, before he reached for thick socks. Slytherin green, sinfully soft, and imbued with the most wonderful warming charms, they were a gift from Mrs. Weasley the first year he'd taught her twins. 

He pulled a sleeveless silk and wool blend under-kirtle on over his combinations, the full, heavy skirt dropping to the floor when he released it. He ran his hands down his front, smoothing the finely woven fabric, and did up the catch that held the high winged collar up. It would sit much like an old-fashioned stock collar under the high collar of the kirtle. 

He couldn't help the small smile that graced his lips at the softness of it next to his skin. It was only his skill with potions  that kept him from regularly coming up in a rash from the coarser materials of his teaching garb. He shook himself out of his woolgathering and lifted a soft green kirtle off the shelf next.

He pulled it on over his head, bouncing in place to let the tightly fitted heavy fabric work itself down his chest. He batted the long, full skirt off his head and gave a jump to situate the kirtle skirts over the under-kirtle. High collared, with sleeves tight to the wrist and skirts just as long as the under-kirtle, but of a much finer cloth. Silk and wool again for warmth, but in a satin weave with a soft lustre. 

He closed the lines of buttons with the ease of long practice at both throat and wrist, arranging the under-kirtle's collar to sit comfortably, with only a moment to wish for a Dominant's breeches and under-tunic. The rights to those would have made his life so much easier. The long skirts swished around his legs, and he found himself relaxing further, despite having a veritable stranger in his home. The weight of the fabric grounded him, warm and soft...and itch-free. Dressing like this felt like coming home.

A finely woven woolen tunic in pale gray came last, fitted through the body along the same line as the kirtle, the wide skirt falling in graceful folds, the embroidered hem at calf length. The wide sleeves showed off the many-buttoned sleeves of the kirtle. He girdled his hips with a narrow, pale green silk sash, arranging it to lay flat, ends trailing down at his left hip. The wide collar, cuffs, and hem, embroidered with twining ivy, matched the kirtle and sash exactly. He ran a brush through his hair and bound the length of it back with a pale green tie...the one Narcissa had included to match the ensemble.

Technically, he could walk through Diagon Alley without causing any breach in propriety, far less, really, than he generally did walking through garbed as a Master of Potions and Defense. In actuality, there were some things he wished to keep only for himself and a select few, and looking like the pampered Sub of an Old Family numbered first on the list. He slipped his feet into house slippers and trailed out of his room, hurrying once he got to the stairs and smelled bacon.

Severus stopped in the kitchen doorway and goggled. A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at his stove, poking at a frying pan with a dish towel slung over one shoulder. The few dishes Severus had used that morning stood drying in the draining board, and overall the kitchen felt lighter and cleaner than it had in, well, decades. 

"There you are, Severus." He turned, smiled, and Severus gripped the doorway.

The formerly reptilian features were gone. Severus found himself faced with a tall, powerfully built man in what looked to be his early forties. He recognized the haircut as a short back and sides, and a lock of wavy, deep chestnut hair fell over his forehead. And he'd apparently raided the charity boxes Severus never quite gave away. One of Tobias' old shirts stretched over his chest and shoulders, straining the buttons, the trousers short in the ankle.

"I wasn't certain of your warding, and didn't wish to alert the Ministry if yours were patchy." He gestured at his clothing.

The warm, deep voice didn't help matters any, nor the aura of power that fairly crackled around him. Severus collected himself, shaking his head a bit. If their Voldemort had looked and sounded like that, there wouldn't have been a war.

"I'm fully warded," was all he trusted himself to say.

"I've been horrendously forward and made us dinner." Not-Voldemort continued, turning back to the stove. "You had the makings for a full English, and I made tea. I hope...I do hope I haven't trespassed…?"

"No, my Lord. A meal and tea would be most welcome." Severus moved to the hutch, intent on setting the table.

"You can call me Tom, Severus, since I'm being horrendously ill-mannered and taking liberties." He flashed a quick grin over his shoulder.

Severus nearly dropped the plates. "I do not object to you using my given name. Sir," he concluded. His brain categorically refused to process calling the man Tom, not when long-buried instincts flared in his presence.

"I suppose 'sir' is about as casual as I'll get from you." Riddle sighed. "How do you like your eggs?"

"Soft-cooked, sir, or poached," Severus answered quietly, laying flatware beside the plates. "Soft-cooked aren't traditional, but…"

"We could all use a bit of comfort food this evening." Riddle agreed, starting the flame under a small pot. "Would...would it help if I gave you a precis of my life so far?"

"That would be helpful, sir. Perhaps we should compare timelines and come up with a plan for your sudden appearance, as well." Severus' hands shook minutely just thinking about all the bother he'd been landed in.

"I would welcome any assistance you feel comfortable giving me. I rather landed you in it, didn't I?" Riddle rifled through the breadbox. "Toast alright, instead of fried bread?"

"Yes, thank you." Severus' mind whirred as he ferried delicate teacups to the table. He could have used the sturdy mugs he'd bought for use in his lab, but he couldn't resist the lovely bone china.

"Was your Tom Riddle Lord Voldemort?"

Severus almost dropped a teacup. "Balls!" he hissed.

"Severus?" Riddle prompted.

"I have been informed that the wizard calling himself the Dark Lord was Tom Riddle at school." And if Dumbledore ever found out he'd gone to give Walburga Black his condolences on the loss of Regulus, he'd be trebly skinned alive. She'd appreciated the tea and had perhaps been a touch more loose-lipped than usual.

"That's probably one of the biggest points of diversion. We had a dark lord calling himself Voldemort, but we...at school, Voldemort was a fantasy we used to keep the lower school in line. We'd played a game, trying to find the scariest 'Dark Lord' name from the letters of our names. Mine, Lord Voldemort, was judged the best. He'd get you if you didn't tidy away your socks or whatever. In the 1970s, though, a dark lord came on the scene as Lord Voldemort. He called his followers Death Eaters. I was traveling in India at the time, so I don't have as much context."

"The Dark Lord rose in the 1970s for us, as well, but it was Tom Riddle. Most of the Slytherins, including me, wound up marked as his followers. Given your appearance, and the complete disappearance of the Dark Mark, I think he is finally gone."

"The name is…names!" Riddle froze for a moment, quickly deposited eggs into egg cups, and strode out of the room.

Severus, despite curiosity burning in his veins, composed himself and poured tea for them both. He checked and plated their food, rescued the toast from the grill and buttered it, and ferried plates to the table, egg cups bobbing behind him. He arranged plates and egg cups neatly, straightening silver and brushing lint from napkins. He finally sat, arranging his skirts comfortably, and sipped his tea. He could absolutely wait.

Riddle strode back into the room, fairly crackling with power and brandishing the sheaf of purloined parchment.

"It's the names, Severus! The names!"

"Sir?" Severus quirked an eyebrow at him.

"It was older wizards doing the ritual, that much I remember. But if you look at the arithmancy done for the ritual, they used Tom Riddle. The wraith they forced into the shape of Tom Riddle wasn't him. Or didn't identify as him any longer. The wraith was the remains of Voldemort. When it shattered and they attempted to Gather it back, they called for Tom Riddle and Magic gave them me." He smacked the parchment, looking triumphant.

Severus blinked for a moment. "I feel as if I should have something to say."

"There's no going back for me, obviously, but at least I know why. Now, why don't we eat, and you can tell me a bit about yourself. Still the youngest Potions Master?" Riddle sat, wincing a bit at the pull of too-tight trousers, and unfurled his napkin into his lap.

Severus stared for a moment before the manners drilled into him by Narcissa bounced back. "Er, yes. I completed my Mastery at twenty."

He probably ought to have resized the clothing for Riddle, but Severus decided that if he wanted his trousers fixed then he could do it himself. And if he took a bit of vicious pleasure in the constriction, then it was all Riddle deserved for upending his bloody life even further than Potter's spawn had managed thus far.

"And, er, you, sir? What did you study?" he enquired politely.

"My primary was in Defense, but I did secondary study in Runes and Arithmancy. And, er, History." He flushed a bit at the last. "I was a bit of a swot, and Uncle Martin and Auntie Ro encouraged it."

Severus sighed, but internally. Trust his luck to have found a previous generation's answer to Hermione Granger. "An Aunt and Uncle?"

"The Sinclairs. They were a tertiary or quaternary branch of the Gaunts. Uncle Martin only found me because I quite literally ran into him in Diagon Alley. I was working as a runner for one of the law firms. Uncle Martin had a whole litter of kittens when...well, we'll just say that he had words with the staff of Hogwarts." Riddle chuckled at the memory. "Which reminds me, would you be willing to accompany me to Gringotts tomorrow? I'm going to need to exist in this universe, and the goblins are least likely to fuss."

"I have an appointment with the Weasley parents in the morning, but will be able to accompany you in the afternoon, sir." Severus neatly sliced his toast into soldiers and took the top off his egg.

"That'll be brilliant. Thank you." 

Severus felt his cheeks heat at the delight fairly emanating from Riddle. Tops generally didn't find him delightful in the least. Usually, no one found him delightful.

"Anything wrong with the Weasley children?"

"Another student, a friend of the family," Severus hedged. "Stayed with them briefly over the summer. What will you tell the goblins?"

"Oh, they'll get the full truth. I'm hoping they'll be able to help me set myself up as my own son, or something of the sort. I, um, took a few years off settling into this body." Riddle looked a bit sheepish. "I'm hoping there'll be a vault I can access as I'll need a new wand and wardrobe."

"If you'd prefer it, I can assist with a stop in Diagon Alley before the bank." He offered it impulsively. "The goblins might not care what wizards wear, but it helps to be comfortable."

"Thank you, Severus. I fear I've turned your weekend away on its head, and it's only Friday evening. I'm sorry."

"Thank you," Severus murmured, applying himself to his meal to hide his flushed cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time someone had actually apologized to him.

"And on the subject of Gringotts, I'm going to ask an impertinent question again. Do you have a Dom's disc?" 

Severus bit his lip at the question. Trust that one to come roaring up.

"No, sir." He answered, voice quiet. "No one trusts a spy, and the Headmaster prefers all Professors to appear Neutral."

"When was the last time you were in the bank, Severus?" 

"Shortly after I received my Mastery. Lucius Malfoy chaperoned." Because the thrice-damned goblins wouldn't allow an unchaperoned Sub into the bank. "He didn't exactly appreciate that I'd been a spy for Dumbledore."

"And there was no one else?"

"The only quarter left for me...after...was Hogwarts. And the Headmaster doesn't precisely approve of Typing." Severus willed himself not to flush miserably. Their meal, although delicious, sat in his stomach like a rock.

"Albus Dumbledore has never liked others having things he couldn't. Would you wear my disc tomorrow, Severus?" He produced one apparently out of thin air, sliding it across the table. "I transfigured it earlier, but it should do."

"I will, sir. Thank you." Severus clicked the Hogwarts crested placeholder out of his band and picked up Riddle's disc. He paused. "Sir, would you?"

"Thank you, Severus." Riddle rose and rounded the table. He took his disc from Severus's finger and knelt, a bit awkwardly with the ill-fitting trousers. He took Severus's hand in his larger one and paused. "Severus Snape, will you wear my disc tomorrow, putting yourself under my protection and my rule? I'm a strict, old-fashioned man, but I will do my best not to be an overbearing arse."

Severus swallowed. As a younger man, he'd allowed himself a few dreams of a Top who would stand between him and the world. Who would look at him as something precious. Maybe it was only for a day, but he couldn't help the tiny flare of hope in his heart, that perhaps he wasn't too far gone for any Top to want.

"I will, sir. I'll do my best to…" he faltered. "To mind you, and to behave appropriately." Oh, it was a blow to his independent ego to make that promise, but the words were a salve to wounds he barely admitted to.

"I'd expect nothing less from you, Severus. Thank you." Riddle clicked the disc into the housing, frowning at the state of the band. "We'll see about a new band for you, as well. This looks like the Ministry one sent with your letter."

"It is." Severus stared at the floor. "There never seemed a point…"

"Well, there is a point. You honor your Type and Class by showing the world that you care for yourself. We'll rectify this travesty tomorrow and find you something resistant to Potions accidents." He poked at a hole in the strap where a stray drop of something acidic had eaten through.

"Yes, sir." Severus acquiesced, squirming a bit at the stern tone. 

"Good lad." Riddle praised, easing up off his knees. He squeezed Severus' hand before going back to his seat.

Severus swallowed down on complicated feelings, and went to fetch the teapot from the counter. He poured more for both of them and set it on the table, sinking back into his chair. 

"I...would you…" Severus stopped, frustrated. "Would you prefer I dress more like this tomorrow?" He'd never gone to Diagon Alley dressed traditionally, but something in the weight of the disc on his wrist made him want to try.

"I would prefer that you are comfortable tomorrow. If you would like to dress traditionally, then that would be acceptable. It might do to remind everyone just how old your family is, lad." Riddle smiled warmly at him from across the table.

It was only for a day, Severus reminded himself as he smiled hesitantly back. Just a day. But perhaps, just perhaps, someone would wish to keep him, even if it wasn't Tom Riddle.

Chapter Text

His hands shook as he did up the long line of buttons on his coat. The superfine wool lay smoothly over his chest, not a line or wrinkle to mar the expanse of black. Buttons done, he slipped a couple of fingers into the high collar and pinched, pulling the collar of his fine linen shirt to peek over the black, softening the unrelieved black. For teaching, he wore much sturdier fabrics, but for meetings with parents, he clung to the armor of impeccable tailoring and expensive cloth.

He'd learned his lessons well.

Each button, each layer, steadied his hands and steeled his spine. His Mastery garb went on like armor, his outward demand for respect. His boots gleamed under the perfectly correct break of his trousers, setting off the drape of the fine wool. He twitched his shirt collar into slightly better position and reached for his robes. The heavy drape of them finished the job--Severus Snape, Potions and Defense Master, replaced Severus Snape, complete bag of bad-tempered nerves.

He took a few deep breaths and reinforced his Occlumency shields. Not that he expected an attack, but the deep foundation of his mind palace steadied him to deal with the outside world. And it wasn't like deep breathing had ever hurt anyone, in any case. He tucked his pocket watch into his watch pocket, and a handkerchief into a cleverly concealed pocket at his waistline. 

He headed for the door, stopped, and crossed back to his dressing table. He slid open a drawer and extracted three extra handkerchiefs. He buttoned those into one of the hidden pockets in his wide robe sleeves and turned on his heel. 

One never knew, after all, with Weasleys.

Severus stepped out of the Floo into the Burrow's kitchen. He clamped down on the eye twitch that always threatened when faced with so much cheerful and chintz-ridden domesticity, and bowed gracefully to his host...ess.

"Good morning, madam."

"Oh, good morning, Professor! Have a seat and I'll bring some tea over to the table. Have you had breakfast?" Mrs. Weasleu bustled at him. 

"I have, thank you." He sat with as much gravitas as one could muster with one's rear planted on a cushion embroidered with happy, dancing breadrolls.

Severus stomped on the urge to turn tail and escape straight back into the Floo. Green faded from the flames and the fire crackled, adding to the coziness of the kitchen. Sunlight, weak and late-autumnish as it was, streamed through the sparkling windows, highlighting the tumble of potted herbs on the windowsill and freshly whitewashed walls. The worn but well-scrubbed counters held the detritus of a morning's baking session, and Mrs. Weasley's knitting needles clicked briskly, hovering over a rocker in the corner and nearly in time with the clock, as they turned out a finely-knit knee sock. A crochet hook knocked up cobweb lace at the other end of the table.

Not for the first time, Severus marveled internally at the casual display of magical power and control Molly Weasley exhibited. He wondered, briefly, what would happen if one managed to get her working in concert with Narcissa Malfoy and Augusta Longbottom. Total world domination, most likely.

"Well, tea then. And maybe a biscuit? Arthur's had to go in today, something about a rash of nibbling sugar tongs? He asked me to give his apologies for his absence." 

She cut into his musing, looking so crestfallen that she couldn't stuff him up to the back molars with breakfast that he agreed to tea and biscuits.

"Now." She set a sturdy mug before him and a plate of ginger newts between them before she sat with her own cup of tea. "I know it's not the twins, or you'd have stormed through the Floo immediately."

She seemed to be poorly concealing her amusement.

"That, madam, was a one-time event precipitated by your twin menaces." In hindsight, it was a bit amusing.

"Yes, well, it's a wonder I ever got Ginny out from behind the settle, you storming out of the fire with a face like thunder. It's likely not Ron or Ginny, either, because Percy would have written, and it's never Percy, so who's been in trouble?"

He briefly considered concocting a tale of Percy in trouble, but discarded that idea immediately. He had a job to do, and he would discharge his duty to the best of his ability.

"It's not one of yours, Mrs. Weasley. You hosted Mr. Potter briefly over the summer, I believe?"

"Did Headmaster Dumbledore send you, finally?" She sat back, a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "I've written so many letters, Professor, and I'm about ready to send a Howler."

"You wrote the Headmaster?" Severus asked, voice hollow. Did he know and not care? Did he send another child back into hell?

"Yes, about Harry, and the state he arrived in." Mrs. Weasley sighed and wrapped her hands around her mug. "I'm going to guess that he didn't say anything to you?"

"Another student brought concerns to me. I've spoken to his family, but I'd like an outside perspective, as well." Molly Weasley wielded motherhood like a claymore, he mused. Perhaps she would be an ally.

"He...his clothing was little better than rags, and he was so thin, much too thin. And small! He looked like he'd barely eaten since the Leaving Feast, and I doubt he'd fit clothes Ron grew out of years ago. Fred told me that they'd been feeding him a tin of soup a day, and he was sharing with his owl. Harry would only say that his family didn't care for magic."

"He didn't complain to you at all?" He would never admit to not minding conferences with Molly Weasley, even under threat of never receiving another of her ginger newts. 

"Never breathed a word of it. And he was so sweet, too, up early to see if he could help with breakfast. He said he was used to doing the cooking, and then tried to cover that up by saying he was used to helping with the cooking. He was very keen to help, but not in a...not in the way happy children will. Do you know what I mean?"

Unfortunately, yes, he knew. Severus repressed the urge to sigh.

"I do. Is there anything else? Any other impression of him?"

"He was extremely skittish with Arthur, less so with me. And he soaked up attention, but not in a bad way. I taught him a few little household spells since he was so keen to help, and he paid close attention and did very well with them. He didn't seem used to an adult telling him he'd done well. He worked right alongside my boys without any complaints, and, well, the planting beds have never looked so tidy. He's no idea what to do with his arms when he's hugged, though. And he seemed worried that one of mine would be annoyed I was paying him attention." She worried with the rim of her mug. 

"I see." Severus took a long sip of his tea, thinking. One or two of those observations alone would point to, perhaps, some anxiety, but taken together, with Granger's worries and having met with Petunia, the slowly growing picture of Harry Potter's home life was a grim one.

"And…" she stopped, looked down at the table. "There were bruises. Around one of his wrists and an ankle. His shirt collar slipped one day, and he had bruises on his shoulder, too. I didn't ask, didn't want him to feel like he needed to lie, but I left bruise balm and instructions for him."

Her voice trailed off, twisting a bit, and Severus fingered the button on his emergency handkerchief pocket. But, in true Molly Weasley fashion, she pulled herself together. That, he reflected, was the benefit of Prewett blood. Solid, practical people, the Prewetts. 

"I'm sorry for being so soppy." She sighed. "It's just that he's very like Lily. Looks like a miniature James, but the personality is very much Lily. If anyone is asking, we'd love to have him as much as he'd like."

"I'll make certain it's known, if it comes to that."

"And...I don't wish to overstep, but ask the other Professors about his schoolwork? He got everything I showed him right off, but if Ron was about he...he almost gauged his own work against Ron's. They did their summer work together, as well, and Harry's essays could be better. Ron's a good boy, but he's a bit lazy about school, and it seemed like Harry didn't want to challenge him."

"I hadn't realized," Severus trailed off, thinking. "His aunt suggested the boy was just dim, but underperforming makes more sense. Thank you, Mrs. Weasley, for meeting with me." Severus brushed ginger newt crumbs off his fingers onto his plate, set his napkin neatly on the table, and made to rise.

He stared for a moment at the frolicking daisies embroidered in the napkin's corner. Dear Merlin. 

"You might as well start calling me Molly, as I said last time you were here." Molly smiled at him. "You're through the Floo so often for Fred and George it might as well be one of those revolving doors Arthur goes on about."

"Then thank you...Molly." He managed to unbend enough for her given name, despite an internal Narcissa shrieking about manners. "If you wish, you may call me Severus."

He'd ignored her request last time, but it looked like he wouldn't be able to keep his distance. That was the problem with the Molly Weasleys of the world. They drew one in with warmth and kindness and exceptional baked goods and suddenly one found oneself enjoying linens embroidered with skipping forks and knives. And being hugged.

Thankfully, she didn't even try to hug him. Instead, she pressed a large tin into his hands. 

"I made a batch of the ginger newts just for you, since they seemed to be your favorites last time. You're a bit too thin, too."

The assessing look she gave him quelled any snarled or snapped reply. He cleared his throat instead.

"Thank you, again, for you hospitality and your assistance." 

And, wrapping his somewhat tattered dignity about himself, he escaped via the Floo.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Narcissa stared down at the unfolded letter before her. Such an innocent thing - just parchment and ink - but she barely dared touch it. Narcissa rather wondered which friend had found out, for it was signed that way...From, A Friend. She tapped a finger on the polished cherry wood top of her escritoire and made a decision. Standing, she picked it up and folded it, slipping it into the generous pocket of her skirt.

And wasn't it true that any skirt wishing to be called well-made must include large pockets? She smoothed down the fine pale silver wool and straightened the matching waistcoat. 

Glancing down at the delicate watch suspended from the Malfoy crest pinned to the breast pocket of her waistcoat, she strode from the morning room. This matter required not the soft and gentle surroundings of pale gray watered silk walls and pale blue velvet furnishings, but the definite and purposeful Study. And it earned that capitalization, even in her own mind. It was her demesne, even through that cursed decade of illness. She reached the tall, paneled doors, boot heels clicking on marble tiles, and pressed her palm flat against the brass door guard. 

The family magic surged to her, and the door clicked open. She let out the breath she would never admit to holding. What if...well, given the contents of the letter, she had worried the Malfoy Magics would reject her claim.

She had failed in her duty, brought low by duplicity. As weak as the aspidistra now laying limp in its pot on her windowsill. Well, she would rise to the occasion. It was all she could do.

Narcissa entered the Study, bolstered by the hush of the space. To her, it gave welcome respite. She crossed, skirt swishing over the expensive carpet as she walked straight for the Malfoy Desk. Each Family Head had used the Desk, back to before recorded Malfoy history began, presiding over family meetings and working out accounts and plans. Only the inlay on the current Desk's top remained of the original, but it imbued the whole piece with the solid steadiness of generations. She trailed her fingers over the dark wood and felt the soft thrum of centuries of accumulated magic. Grounded by the welcome, she turned to the wall behind the Desk.

A wall safe shimmered into existence, popping open when she pressed her palm against the door. The Malfoy wand and signet lay inside, the symbols of the office she'd deserted in her weakness. That she could still reach in and remove both, that the Family Magics still swirled about her in warm welcome, spoke more to her as victim than as one derelict in her duty. She slid the signet onto her left ring finger and secreted the wand in her wrist holster.

Before making another move, she reached back into the safe and brushed fingertips over two of the runes etched there. They glowed briefly and a short blade popped out of the wall. Smiling at the accommodation, Narcissa nicked her fingertip and pressed the welling blood into the runes. As she removed her hand from the safe, her fingertip healed and a pile of wands appeared in a clatter.

Smiling glacially, she closed the safe. Once she had Lucius secure, she'd return the spares to their hiding spots about the Manor. Narcissa schooled her features into something hopefully less terrifying. She'd learned in girlhood to present a calm and smooth face always (the one the Prophet likened to 'the remote and disquieting beauty of a glacial field'), but the sheer unquenchable well of cold rage freezing her veins left her looking less than composed. 

"Malfoy elves, attend!" She commanded.

All fifteen of the House Elves bound to the family popped into the Study. They stood, quiet but alert, and waited.

"Before I say anything else, I wish to thank each one of you for continuing your work in our family whilst I was so ill. Without your dedicated service, the Malfoy family would have fallen into complete disarray." Narcissa spoke quietly, but each elf straightened proudly at her words.

"We have, however, been cruelly misused this last ten years. Mifrit?" She named the Head Elf.

"Yes, Mistress?" And elderly elf stepped forward.

"Is Consort Malfoy in?"

"He is being in the Library, Mistress." 

"Good. I have recalled all Malfoy wands to the safe. Kerrik, please remove Consort Malfoy to the Consort's Chamber. He will have no contact with the world outside those four walls. From this day, Malfoy elves will answer only my summons and orders. No other shall command you." She felt the shift in the bonds immediately, and by the murmur, the Elves felt it as well.

"I is seeing him in the Chamber, Mistress." Kerrik disappeared with a pop.

"There will be changes in this House, starting today. For now, you are dismissed." 

The elves disappeared as one. Narcissa sank slowly into the Desk's chair, swallowing hard. She set her hand flat on the desktop, hoping to dispel the shaking. One did not recover from a decade of near complete inactivity and illness overnight.

Even if one made a near miraculous recovery by not drinking the tea one's beautifully solicitous husband brought every morning.

Oh, Lucius Malfoy would pay for his deceit, and dearly.

Spinner's End, Cokeworth

Severus shut his front door, turned, and just leaned against it for a moment. He gripped tightly to the tin of biscuits, partly to keep his hands from shaking (rage? stress? who even knew), and breathed deeply. The faint hint of lemon oil furniture polish and the heavier scents of beeswax and lamp oil grounded him deeply in his home. He listened, letting the fire crackling in the sitting room grate and the muffled tick of his mantle clock further settle his jangled nerves. Slowly, his fingers unlocked around the tin, holding it more naturally, not in the vice grip he'd had before. Anxious questions wished to bound about in his brain, chasing answers until he'd worked himself into another headache. 

But he had a great deal more to do today than sit about and fret. He forced himself to push off the door, heeling out of his boots and padding into the sitting room in stocking feet. He'd left his house shoes upstairs. Again. 

"Severus!" The bright greeting, so reminiscent of the previous day, nearly had him hurling the tin at the voice. 

"Sir?" He managed a strangled reply, heart thudding. 

"How was your visit with the Weasleys?" Tom Riddle bustled (and how did a man of his size manage to bustle?) into the sitting room, bearing a loaded tea tray. The warm smell of baking scones drifted out of the kitchen with him before the door swung shut. He'd obviously done some transfiguration work on his clothing, enlarging a different shirt and pair of trousers to fit better.

"It…" he paused to clear his throat. "It went well, thank you. Mr. Weasley was called away, so I spoke to Mrs. Weasley. She sent me back with ginger newts."

"I just made tea...thought you could use something." He smiled gently. "Why don't you put your tin in the kitchen and then come sit with me?"

Gently worded as it was, Severus knew an order when he heard one. "I take my tea with only a splash of milk, please."

He escaped to the kitchen, thankful for a few more moments to collect himself. The vow he'd made once, to protect the boy, twanged at him, unsettling even his iron control. Now that he knew, he had to take action. Well, once he'd spoken to the Weasley boys, Merlin help him. Severus set the tin on the counter and paused. The dishes they'd used that morning sat in the drying rack, and a batch of steaming hot oat scones sat cooling on a rack he didn't remember owning. If he hadn't had more breakfast than he was accustomed to and biscuits he'd have been tempted.

Turning, he swept back into the sitting room, sinking onto the sofa next to Riddle. He accepted a cup of tea and sipped...perfect. Severus wanted to be surprised, but found himself appreciating Riddle's domestic abilities instead.

"This is slightly awkward, Severus, but I have to ask a few questions before we go anywhere today."

"Yes, sir?" Severus wrapped his hands around the sturdy mug, rubbing his thumb over the rough pottery. He'd found the set--heavy, handmade pottery in olivey greens, smudgy purples, and shadowy grays--in a small shop in the Lake District.

"You're well acquainted with Lucius Malfoy, yes?"

"Since I was a first year, sir." Severus stared into his tea, shoulders tight.

"Has he ever disclosed his Designation to you?" 

Severus looked up, stomach dropping unpleasantly as he sifted through memories. Had Lucius ever? He'd hinted...he'd been a sodding Gringott's chaperone, for Merlin's sake. If he'd misrepresented himself...Severus' breath caught. His entire financial life could be ruined if that walking hairstyle had lied to him.

"No," his own voice sounded faint. "He never said. Not definitively."

"I thought as much." Riddle set his mug on the coffee table and turned to face him.

Severus startled at the warm, gentle hand that cupped over his, the soft but inexorable fingers to his chin that forced him to meet Riddle's steady gaze.

"It's not your fault for believing someone, for trusting one thing about someone who was kind to you. He sheltered you, Severus, and it's not shameful to believe what he told you of himself." 

And he couldn't look away; Riddle wouldn't allow it. The soft words, far kinder than he deserved, had him flinching back. He should have known.

"If I am correct, Lady Malfoy has been unwell since Draco's birth?"

"She has begun to regain her previous health." The change in subject had him blinking.

"I believe she may have given him certain powers to act in her stead during her ill health. Lucius Malfoy is a Submissive, Severus, and the Malfoy title only passes to a Dominant heir...or the Dominant spouse."

"He's ruined me." Severus murmured, shutting his eyes against the truth. 

He'd allowed Lucius to chaperone him...they'd been seen practically everywhere. Small wonder so many shied away from him. What was left of his reputation...he shuddered. He'd always thought the Wizarding World's conventions surrounding Subs to be patronizing in the extreme, but he thought he'd played by the rules. The impropriety ...he was well and truly fucked. This may have actually topped getting branded as a Death Eater in the Top Ten Scandals Surrounding Severus Snape. 

"I won't allow him preying on your need to ruin you, Severus. It is his conduct that will be scrutinized. Gringotts will require some delicate handling, but I will see you come out of this with your reputation and your finances intact."

Severus snorted, opening his eyes again. "My reputation has been irreparably fractured for a number of years, sir."

Riddle muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "not if I have anything to do with it". 

"Was that all, sir? I'd like a few minutes to dress before we leave." Severus tried for a tactful enquiry.

Riddle quirked an eyebrow at him. "Finish your tea, lad, and compose yourself. Then you may go and get yourself ready."

He drank his tea as quickly as he could without being rude. The heat of the drink through his mug warmed his hands while the bright, almost citrus notes lifted his mood. At least a bit. He rubbed his fingertips against the pottery, the repetitive motion soothing some of his stress. 

"Sir?" The quiet question fell nearly unbidden from his lips. 

"Yes, lad?" Riddle poured himself more tea.

"What did my...counterpart think of you?" He couldn't help the curiosity, driven to know that answer. It was the same urge that sometimes resulted in explosions in the lab.

"Oh, he would have cheerfully seen me to the bottom of Black Lake." Riddle smiled at him, warm and frank. "We had a somewhat...contentious relationship. I was called in as a response to...well, what happened at the start of your second term teaching?"

"The sixth and seventh years engaged in a 'prank', the results of which could have killed a professor. I took appropriate measures." Severus settled his mug on his knee and stared down into the depths.

"Your counterpart caned sixteen students in front of their housemates. I was brought in in the aftermath." Riddle clarified.

Severus startled, nearly upsetting his mug. Riddle removed it gently from his hands and set it on the table.

"I take it you didn't have the same reaction?"

"I would never… " Severus began before stopping to collect himself. He did not wish to sound like some hysterical, Wilde-ian duchess. "I confined them to their rooms and forbade them from communicating with either housemates or home. I wrote to their parents or guardians, informing them of the situation and possible disciplinary routes. To a one, they chose the same consequences."

"That would sidestep the issue with, well, fourteen sets of parents and guardians screaming for your head." Riddle folded Severus' hands between his. "I do hope I won't be as much of an imposition on you, lad."

Severus swallowed hard. A Top, treating him with warmth and kindness, would be too easy to rely on. And it was only for a day. He had to remember that, no matter how much he wanted. Riddle wouldn't stay forever. Hell, Riddle probably wouldn't stay past the evening, once he had his finances sorted.

"I doubt you will be." He answered, finally, withdrawing his hands. "I should go and dress."

"Of course, lad. I'll be waiting."

Severus left as quickly as he could without looking like he was fleeing.

Severus stood before his clothes press, ghosting his fingers over the fine fabrics. He ought to have known Lucius lied to him, on the basis of Narcissa alone. Lucius may have sheltered him--a seventh year to his first--but it was Narcissa who'd protected and taught and nurtured. Who even now sent his favorite tea, citrus from the orangery, and fine, soft robes...who spoiled him, frankly. She'd taught him to carry himself properly, to speak well, to behave as a Pureblood ought.  

Thinking of her, his hands bypassed trousers and pulled out one of her gifts. He undressed quickly, depositing his teaching clothes on one of the valet stands that lived in the corner. Trousers folded across the bar, his coat on the heavily padded hanger, and his shirt folded and set over the trousers. He pulled on fresh combinations and padded barefoot back to the highboy next to his clothes press. He rooted around in one of the top drawers, coming up with a pair of fine, black silk stockings and Slytherin green ribbons.

Severus sat on his bed to pull on the stockings, adjusting the emerald green clocking to emphasize his ankles. He gartered them just below the knee with the ribbon. The garters weren't strictly necessary, charmed as the stockings were to stay up, but a bit of hidden cheekiness bolstered him, the snakes twining about the ribbons, ghosting an embroidered tongue over the garter's edge every so often. He slipped his feet into house shoes to keep his stockings from snagging on the floor and stood, turning to the pile of fabric on his bed.

First came a fine linen shift. He straightened the long sleeves and brushed his hands down the soft skirt of it. The cream colored under-kirtle went on easily over the shift, the same silk and wool blend as the previous evening, but this one with sleeves to accompany the high collar. Severus fastened the collar, settling the shoulders before smoothing the heavy skirts. He squirmed into the sleeveless, high-collared kirtle next, using a touch of magic to do up the opening at the left side. The black woolen fabric laid stark against the sleeves and collar of the under-kirtle. The collar fastened with just a touch of his fingers as well, and he arranged the under-kirtle's collar to just peek out over the kirtle's. He wouldn't wear a cravat, but the high, layered collars gave the impression of stock collar and waistcoat. 

Severus picked up the last layer and shook it out. He slipped into the long, flaring coat. As deeply black as the kirtle, it was cut almost exactly like his teaching coat. The skirts, though, flared out over those of his under-layers and skimmed the floor. He did up the buttons that ran from chest to hip, appreciating Narcissa's eye for detail in the perfect fit. Twisting his arm a bit, he fastened the buttons on one sleeve, adjusting the cuff down over his knuckles, before moving to the other. He shook out his skirts one more time before he hopped to settle everything and then went to check himself in the full-length mirror.

His breath caught in his throat at his reflection. The lamps lighting his room softened the edges, but he looked...he looked right. Both sides of himself, the Sub and the Master, blended skillfully in one ensemble. He wasn't a tall man; early malnutrition put paid to any great height or breadth for him (and he should have seen the markers in the young Potter), but the sweep of the skirt and the unrelieved black gave him presence. He'd never match the polished beauty of an Old Family Sub, but he finally felt like his deepest self. Heart stuttering, he trailed his fingers down the glass, some unspoken yearning lodged around his sternum.

But he had no time for yearning. He shook himself out of his reverie and went to collect his gloves from the highboy. He'd wear his black over robe out to dispel the slightly ecclesiastical look. One time being accosted in London was enough. And he would cease such silly wanting.

Not wanting, Severus mused, was so much easier when your hand wasn't tucked into the crook of a very tall and broad Top's elbow, and you weren't being gently but firmly led places. 

For a Saturday, Diagon Alley was thankfully quiet, which he put down mostly to the appalling damp. They'd stopped at Madam Malkin's first. Hers weren't the best quality, but they'd needed quick and serviceable. A bit of a glamor over his face kept her from asking too many prying questions as she made adjustments to a ready-made suit and over robe. And Riddle being charming about lost luggage put paid to questions about him. But now they headed toward the bank, and Severus found himself nervous. If the Goblins took offence, or worse, blamed him...he swallowed down nerves.

"Are you certain you're up to this today, lad?" Riddle asked, voice warm with concern.

"I would rather get this done today, please," Severus replied quietly. "I would like to have one day of quiet."

"I am sorry for upsetting your...well, your entire life, really. I did rather drop you in it." 

Riddle patted his hand where it rested on his arm.

"You are exceedingly lucky I had a headache." Severus answered with some asperity. "I tend to hex first when I'm not half blinded with pain."

"As well you should." Riddle chuckled, leading Severus up the broad steps and into the polished marble halls of Gringotts.

They took perhaps four steps into the bank proper before a Goblin approached them. Severus felt the magic of his glamor snap under the wards as the fierce guard regarded them.

"You will follow me." He ordered, turning on his heel and making for the private offices.

Severus and Riddle fell in behind him, and Severus tried not to startle when two guards melted out of the shadows to bring up the rear. Severus allowed Riddle to pull him closer, having a stern word with his ego as the older man settled a hand at the small of his back. Just because he was capable of handling any threats didn't mean he always had to. He supposed.

They were waved into the Head Goblin's office, the two guards taking up residence just inside the doorway as they moved further into the room. Severus had never been in any of the offices before. The dark paneling lining the walls, heavy, velvet draperies over the windows, and deeply plush carpeting combined to deaden almost all sound save the steady scratch of quill on parchment. An elderly Goblin sat behind a massive mahogany desk, head bent over a ledger book.

"I intercepted them, sir." The Goblin leading them bowed at the Head Goblin.

"Good, Hrafgallt. You are dismissed." The Head Goblin finally spoke. "And you two can sit."

He didn't give his name.

Riddle ushered him into one of the padded chairs standing before the desk and then seated himself. Their escort left, followed by the guards. When the door closed, Severus felt a privacy ward snap into place. 

"Between the two of you, you have created several headaches for me over the past twenty-four hours. I do not care for headaches, gentlemen." He steepled his fingers and regarded them seriously. "Though it seems that both of you are more victim than guilty party. This." He pushed a craggy crystal forward on his blotter. "Is a message crystal. It is much more reliable than leaving a memory. It appeared on my desk yesterday morning. It was recently housed in the Sinclair vault."

Severus thought he'd heard the surname somewhere. Beside him, Riddle stiffened.

"Yes, I see Mr. Riddle recognizes the name. Pierce your finger and swipe it across the base." The Goblin held a pocketknife toward Riddle, handle first.

Severus watched as Riddle took the knife and knicked his forefinger. He let the blood well for a moment before smearing it over the base of the crystal. A flickering figure snapped into view, stepping off the crystal and trailing a glowing thread of magic back to the rock.

"Hello, Da-Thomas, I suppose. Your Auntie Ro wishes me to send her love to you. We didn't get to know you in this incarnation, but Aurora tells me you grew to be a fine man. As the you who existed here is legally considered dead, your situation is perhaps a touch precarious. I wish to offer you adoption. It's not precisely done, but it's what I would have offered had Ro and I found you in our...well, reality, I suppose. It won't change you, but it will give you a name and a family. I hope you will accept this. No matter your decision, you are my heir and you will be cared for. Know that we tried to find you...hold that with you always, dear boy. May the light of your magic guide you always on the right path."

The figure faded away. Severus blinked, casting a sideways glance at Riddle who hadn't moved since the figure stepped off the crystal. Acting instinctively, he rested his hand over Riddle's forearm. Riddle startled then folded Severus' hand between his.

"They were very dear to me, where I came from. I would like to accept Martin Sinclair's offer of adoption." Riddle's voice came quiet and choked when he finally spoke.

"That, of course, makes my life much less difficult. Establishing an identity is tedious in the extreme. Sign here." The Goblin pushed a single sheet of parchment and a quill toward them.

Riddle took the sheet in his free hand and spent several minutes scrutinizing it before he signed. Severus only just quashed his curiosity.

"Congratulations." The flat, perfunctory way the Goblin spoke had Severus biting his lip. "You are now Darius Riddle-Sinclair, head of the Sinclair line. Will you submit to a lineage test?"

"I will, and thank you." Riddle-Sinclair (and didn't that answer why Tom Riddle never seemed to sit gracefully as his name) answered quietly. 

"It is not for you that I carry out my duty." The Goblin spoke quietly. "Your lineage and the vaults it will open will leave my domain stronger and ever more profitable. Pierce your finger and apply seven drops of blood to this parchment. It has been treated."

Severus perked up next to Riddle-Sinclair. He'd had his students brew the potion and test it (one-on-one in his office at scheduled and staggered times) but he'd never seen it in official use. He resisted the temptation to scratch at the edge of the parchment. As much as he wanted to see if he could discern any differences in potion ingredients, he wouldn't disturb the test. 

Riddle-Sinclair again pierced his finger. Instead of leaving a smear, though, he carefully let seven drops fall. The surface of the parchment rippled like a Pensieve at each drop before it absorbed the blood completely. When the last drop fell, instead of being absorbed, it quickly traced the last generation of a family tree. Lines and names appeared and the parchment grew as it flowed back through the generations; not skipping secondary, tertiary, and even quaternary Houses. When the process concluded, Severus and Riddle-Sinclair leaned over the parchment. They nearly bumped noses with the Goblin.

Severus had never before seen a Goblin look so delighted and never wished to again.

"As I had hoped, you are both the blood and Magic-sworn heir to Slytherin. And no connection to House Prince since the late eleventh century." He steepled his fingers and leveled a grave look at them. "I noticed Master Snape wore one of your little human tokens. I would be remiss if I did not warn you that continuing this would prove quite advantageous."

Severus barely smothered a snort. He'd never been an advantage in his life. And he was not thinking about the heir to Slytherin bit. There were only so many shocks a wizard could absorb in one day.

"You have chosen," the Goblin continued as if Severus hadn't made a noise, "a young human of intelligence and…" he trailed off, actually taking in Severus' appearance. "He is at least the correct designation, since you all set so much store by it. And his clothing appears correct. And I presume you might have access to one of those hairdressers?"

Severus bit his lip, silently damning his sense of humor.

"We had agreed on one day only. Severus has been very accommodating, given that I quite literally appeared in his sitting room." Riddle-Sinclair spoke stiffly, offended on Severus' behalf. "I have no wish of trapping anyone in anything."

"I did not speak of trapping. You would offer him the protection of your name, and he could offer you safe navigation through an unfamiliar world. There is no shame in continuing an advantageous match, no matter how it began," the Goblin chided.

Severus considered remarking that he was right there and was capable of forming an opinion, but he decided to keep quiet for the moment. He had no great objection to continuing and deepening the bond, so long as he could preserve his freedom.

"I did not speak of shame, but of…" Riddle-Sinclair stopped and turned to him.  "Severus, what is your opinion?"

"If I could be assured my freedom, then I would have no objection. I will not be a possession." He had never even considered he might be in this position one day.

"I would never ask you to be anything other than wholly yourself, Severus. And I would never ask for more than you are willing to give." Sinclair-Riddle held his hand tightly, looking deep into his eyes, face grave and earnest.

"I have never considered a...love match. Honestly, I had never considered any match. I will need to be free to work. I will not desert my Slytherins. And I shudder to think of what would happen to Potions at Hogwarts should I leave at present." Dimly, Severus was aware that his hands had gone ice cold and a sharp tone sounded in his ears. He seemed to be negotiating from very far away from his body.

"I will never proscribe your work life, unless your work is actively trying to kill you, Severus. You will always be your own person. We can negotiate any conduct which would make you answerable to me at a later time." The steady warmth of his voice slowly thawed Severus' chilled person.

"Then I will keep your disc, sir, for as long as you give it." Severus felt the nascent bond from the previous evening flare to fullness at his words. 

"Only as long as you wish to keep it." Riddle-Sinclair sealed the bond with the old words.

"Wonderful." The Head Goblin broke the moment. "I took the liberty yesterday, when the initial exchange occurred, to have a selection of the Slytherin bonding bands brought up from your vault."

Severus stared as he set a tray on the desk and removed the velvet cover. Silver bonding bands sat in the deep green velvet, untarnished by time. Or polished by an enterprising goblin.

"How would you know…" Riddle-Sinclair trailed off, tracing gentle fingers over the bands.

"There is Old Magic at work here. We were informed, suffice to say. I'll have the appropriate paperwork backdated and filed for you. If you could make your selection?"

Severus watched as Riddle-Sinclair ghosted his fingers over the tray, stopping at one set of bands. He lifted them out, a simple pair of plain-wrought cuffs, etched with twining snakes. They clasped with twined tails, two snake heads forming the depression for a single disc.

"Hmm." The Head Goblin looked up from his parchment when Riddle-Sinclair went looking for discs. "An interesting and fortuitous choice. Discs are in the drawer under the tray. Push some of your magic into it to make your mark."

Riddle-Sinclair located a pair of discs and handed one to Severus. They took a moment to mark the disc, Severus letting himself feel some wonder at the rightness...his magic fairly purred as he pushed it into the disc. His initials and his designation appeared in a flash.

He held his wrist out to Riddle-Sinclair, letting him remove the old band and clasp the new around his left wrist. For something wrought of metal, it sat warm against his skin. Riddle-Sinclair clicked his disc into the depression, the snakes opening their jaws to hold it delicately in their fangs. Severus traced reverent fingers over the whole of it before he repeated the actions on Riddle-Sinclair. 

"Now, if you see the teller on your way out, you will receive your vault information. Master Snape, we will be in touch. You may, however, rest assured that you will not be held accountable for the actions of Consort Malfoy."

They both knew a dismissal when they heard one. Severus rose on shaky legs, appreciating the arm Riddle-Sinclair offered. 

How his life had changed so drastically in three quarters of an hour, he would never quite know.

Chapter Text

Slytherin Common Room

Saturday Prep Period

Millicent stared down at her parchment and bit her lip before smoothing her expression again. It wouldn't do to make anyone else worry, even if she only had to concern herself with maybe three of her yearmates noticing. The prefects would notice, anyhow, because they always noticed. And if they noticed her worrying again, then Professor Snape would know. Despite it only being her second year, she and the professor had had several discussions about who exactly needed to be worrying about things.

If, of course, Professor Snape noticed. He hadn't been himself for a few days. He hadn't even scolded Pansy that morning (as he did most mornings) over her hair. She'd sported the most ridiculous pompadour possible, but there was no scolding, no Professor Snape taking her hair down himself and confiscating her hairpins, no professor braiding Pansy's hair while he lectured on age-appropriateness and not being in such a rush to grow up.

He may not even notice if Millicent got Mother to send another corset. And hadn't that been a monumental to-do? Professor Snape and Mother had had quite the conversation over it, once Mother got the thing back in the post. 

But he seemed so preoccupied. He hadn't even leveled any threats of dire retribution if they should misbehave in his absence. Add in Lady Malfoy recalling Draco home for the next week and Potter having some kind of fit during Defense on Friday and it had been a very odd end to the week.

Mind made up, Millicent pulled a fresh sheet of parchment off her stack.

Dear Dad,

I hope your travels are going well, and that you're making advantageous contacts on your way. Your account of meeting with the Indian cotton merchants was fascinating. I received the lengths of fabric you sent; they're absolutely lovely. The lawn in particular is of beautiful quality. I think I'll make a waist of it for Spring. Mother has some lovely patterns, and promised to teach me how to make proper hard collars. 

The wools and silks you chose for me for my school clothes this year are serving to keep me quite comfortable. Pansy and Daphne both think their clothes are much finer, but the quality is shocking for what they both said their mothers laid out (especially as they spend most of their time complaining that they're freezing). They certainly didn't visit any shop we supply. 

And please, Dad, don't be too cross with Mother? You know she only wants what's best for us. Mother won't ever tell you, but the whole misunderstanding upset her dreadfully. Professor Snape was really very kind to her once I helped to explain. You know, he's not nice, not really, but he can be very gentle (in his own way) once he understands. 

In any case, I wore the corset once (on the train to school), but Pansy and Daphne and Draco were just as vile as they were on the way home last year so I didn't bother with it again. And I had a good talk with Mother and Madame Pomfrey and I'm feeling much more sensible. I'm sorry I waited until after you'd left to say anything, but I didn't want you to worry. I'm just in the House with more than its fair share of absolute warts.

Mostly I wanted to write because, well, it's been a bit odd around here. Odder than Hogwarts' usual standard, anyhow. Professor Snape isn't himself--he said nothing about Pansy's hair Friday morning--and he seems dreadfully distracted. Lady Malfoy recalled Draco home yesterday. Batty Fuller (Beatrice, Mr. Fuller's oldest, is a Hufflepuff firstie this year) said she came herself instead of sending a letter and that she looked like a woman on the warpath. Now, I'm not sure Batty on her own is a good source, but two other 'Puffs who are a good deal more sensible backed her up. And...Potter had some kind of a fit in Defense on Friday afternoon.

That's the one that really worries me, Dad. Professor Snape will handle his own business, and Lady Malfoy will do whatever it is that Malfoys do, but Potter fitting was unnerving. This black stuff oozed out of his scar and the scream...Dad, I'll never forget the scream. Everyone froze, even Weasley. Granger and I were closest. When he went down...I remembered what Auntie Claudia taught me to do for Cousin Ernst. Granger got him onto his side, and I got my robes bunched under his head. Granger got Weasley moving for Madame Pomfrey...I've never heard her bark like that before.

I know you said not to get involved in anything even remotely Potter-related as you remembered his father's prime toe-ragginess, but he's dreadfully thin, Dad. Draco keeps trying to spread rumors that Potter's relatives hate him, and it makes me wonder if it's true. I swear I'm not getting involved, I did promise, but I'm concerned. And that fit. 

Do you have any advice for me? I could really use some.

I hope your travels continue safely, and I can't wait to see you for the Winter hols.

Much love,

Millicent

Everything had changed, and he didn't know how to integrate the new into the existing framework of his life. How did one balance a Bonded and a demanding job?

How did one be a Sub?

His hands shook. Everything seemed so far away, even his hands as he clasped them together within his sleeves. It wouldn't do for anyone to see him so out of control. Had had to keep himself together. He wouldn't lose his composure publicly.

He barely felt Riddle's hand on his elbow. His ears rang so strangely and everything took on an oddly gray tinge.

"Severus? Lad? Are you...dear Merlin." Darius peered at his gray-faced and faintly wheezing bonded before starting into action. 

He wrapped an arm about Severus' shoulders and steered him into one of the side lanes. He looked up at the towering brickwork for the sign...Tansy Lane. That should work, provided the shops remained constant. He walked Severus briskly up the lane until he found what he was after. The Queensmark Tea House stood where he remembered, wedged between a secondhand bookshop and an apothecary of questionable reputation. The bell on the door jingled as he opened it and steered Severus inside. Worryingly, Severus went where he was pointed without so much as a peep of protest.

The shop looked much the same as he remembered. The dark-stained, wide-planked floor held the same marks and dings from years of boots and chairs. The shutters over the front windows were closed, heightening the dim quiet, noise further muffled by the carved paneling cladding the lower half of the wall and the cream-painted plaster above. The ceiling, though, had been clad with copper to reflect the low-burning lamps hung from wall sconces. The chairs and tables stood crowded into the floor-space with cozy booths lining the walls. It was, as he'd expected, deserted at that time of morning.

Darius found a booth and settled Severus quickly before he wove through the chairs and tables to the counter and summoned up a smile for the young woman behind it. She was much younger than the servers he remembered, barely out of school, perhaps. Her bright dress and white apron were a beacon in the dimly lit shop.

"Could I trouble you for a cup of strong, sweet tea? My bonded has had a shock and is the worse for it." He gestured toward the booth. "We're in booth 30."

She sucked air in between her teeth when she craned her neck to see around him. 

"I'll have it right out, sir, quick as anything." She turned to the little range behind the counter and hooked a kettle onto it. "It'll just be a minute."

"Thank you, miss." He retreated to the booth, throwing propriety to the winds and sitting next to Severus.

"We'll have tea for you in a moment, lad. Merlin, your hands are freezing." Even if Severus couldn't answer, he could take his poor lad's shaking hands in his and rub some warmth back into them.

He'd seen this look before; the blank, faraway stare he associated with soldiers and the Blitz. Darius knew only the barest outline of Severus' war experiences, but he had a feeling this was more a man ill-used to anything remotely nice happening. He looked down at the click of mug on table and frowned.

"I'm sorry, miss, but I asked for tea, not chocolate." And looked up to a wand pointed straight at his heart.

"Who are you and what have you done to Professor Snape?" The counter girl demanded.

Darius opened his mouth to answer.

"Don't give me any bonding nonsense, either."

"We really are. Just this morning at Gringotts. If you'll allow me to raise my sleeve and the Professor's, I can show you." He didn't move, barely breathed as he waited.

"Move slowly and don't twitch your hand. Professor Snape was my Head of House. He tutors the older students in Defense." It was more threat than comment.

"I'm currently wandless." It was giving away a weakness, but perhaps? In any case, he forced his hands to steady while he gently pulled Severus' sleeve up, followed by his own.

She peered down at their matching bands and discs. Her eyes widened as she took in the crest on his--a crest every Slytherin would know.

"You're…" she trailed off, paling, and holstered her wand. "You're really…and you..."

"Confirmed this morning, miss."

"Oh." She dropped heavily onto the seat opposite, slumping. Her dismay highlighted her youth. "Oh, I've really fucked it up this time."

"Eglantine Holyoaks Dunwoodie, mind your mouth." Severus came back to himself with a start and a scold.

Eglantine jumped, squeaking in alarm, and Darius had to cover his mouth to hide his amusement. She fairly shot upright, knocking her knee against the underside of the table in her haste to sit straight.

"Are you…" Darius trailed off, not quite knowing what to ask. Instinct shrieked at him to pet and coddle his young man, but he knew enough about Severus to know he'd pull back a stump if he tried any cosseting in public. Proud as a cat, Severus was.

"I find myself quite recovered, thank you." Severus shifted until he sat straight, folding his hands in his lap. "What brings you here, Miss Dunwoodie?"

"You're in my tea shop, Professor." She grinned proudly. 

"You were engaged?" It seemed a non-sequitor, but the girl just sniggered.

"Oh, that fell through so Dad gave me my dowry to do with as I pleased. Turns out being a dab hand at Potions translates to tea brewing."

"You haven't given up your research to work here, I hope." Severus leaned forward slightly, concern creasing his brow.

"Oh, no, sir. I bought the building when the previous owner wanted to sell up. I've a flat of my own and some rentals upstairs and a lab in the basement." She looked a bit smug. "I run the shop during the day, and I can tell you the tea served here was shocking before I took over. Now, drink your nice chocolate and I'll bring you some soup. You look peaky, sir."

She departed quickly, leaving a gobsmacked Severus in her wake.

"Three years ago she'd barely look me in the eye." Severus murmured, but took a sip of his chocolate.

"You are recovered, Severus?" Darius took one of Severus' hands between his.

"I apologize for my…" Severus wouldn't look at him as he started.

"No, lad. No apologies. You've had a difficult time of it and you've had more than your fair share of shocks today. You'll drink your chocolate and have some soup, and then we'll get you home," Darius decided.

"No." Severus' hand shook a bit as he disagreed. "I'd rather finish our errands today. You must have a wand."

He wanted most to get Severus somewhere safe and quiet, but he also didn't wish to be too high-handed. Everything had happened so quickly that they hadn't discussed anything relating to...well, what liberties Severus would allow him to take.

"If you're quite sure? You will tell me if you wish to leave at any time?" Darius pressed.

"I give you my word, sir." Severus promised, swallowing heavily.

"Here's your soup. It's split pea, made fresh this morning, with breadrolls." Eglantine set two bowls on the table, along with a faintly steaming cloth-covered basket and a crock of yellow butter. "And you're going to eat, or I'll be writing to Derry Halthorpe who'll write Lady Malfoy."

It was only through intense self discipline that Darius did not laugh at Severus' face. Finding your students no longer in awe of one was a shock to the system. Especially the ones who once treated one with great deference. Add in that said student seemed determined to manage one, and, well.

Severus took one of the bowls almost mechanically, good manners overcoming shock. "It looks delicious, Miss Dunwoodie."

"Thank you, Professor. Please don't be a stranger when you're in the Alley? I've got to reopen in a few minutes or I'd sit a moment." Eglantine took her leave, flicking her wand at the sign on the door to turn it to open as she went.

"I'm not entirely sure what just happened." Severus admitted, spooning up soup.

"Your students have grown up, lad," Darius patted his hand gently and turned to his own lunch.

Chapter Text

Humiliation churned in Severus' gut as he allowed Riddle-Sinclair to lead him from the tea shop. Only one other person had ever seen him like that, and he had years of experience in trusting Minerva. He had no experience in handling a Dom after...after. Instinct led him to stay closer than he otherwise might, letting Riddle-Sinclair take his hand and tuck it in the crook of his elbow. His new band sat heavy and warm against his wrist, a constant reminder that he no longer answered only to himself. Had he ever only answered to himself? Had he traded Albus' twinkling-eyed cage for a gilded one?

Did he ignore what happened and plow forward? Did he attempt an explanation he didn't possess? Part of his earlier...lapse...was the realization that he had no earthly clue how to be bonded to another...how to  be a Sub.  He shoved that train of thought firmly into a mental box and padlocked it. He could panic about  that  later. At home. Where he would rather be, but a wand and a wardrobe took precedence. He would survive.

"Is Ollivander's where I'd expect it to be?" Riddle-Sinclair asked.

"Down by Twilfitt and Tattings," Severus confirmed. 

Riddle-Sinclair turned them in the correct direction. Severus didn't quite have to scuttle to keep up, but Riddle-Sinclair seemed to forget not everyone possessed such great height. Luckily, though, the streets remained mostly deserted in the damp and sog of the early afternoon. A light mist wafted along on the barest breeze, adding to the dismal atmosphere. Their boots clacked on the cobbles, broken occasionally by the soft splash of sole meeting standing water. Severus found himself eternally grateful for the warm clothing, stockings, and boots Narcissa had chosen.

Thankfully, Riddle-Sinclair didn't try to get him to talk. He patted Severus' hand occasionally, hooking a finger into the band hiding under his cuff after the pat. Oddly, the contact and the little tug at the band helped Severus relax fractionally each time. By the time they entered Ollivander's, his shoulders were relaxed and his breathing even. Riddle-Sinclair opened the door to the wandmaker's shop and ushered Severus inside, following closely.

"Ah! Professor! Did you need another batch of holsters?" Ollivander appeared from the back of his shop and stopped short. "You're not precisely the Tom Riddle I remember."

"I've been traveling." Riddle-Sinclair allowed drily, stepping around Severus, and Severus stifled a snort. "Darius Riddle-Sinclair, Mr. Ollivander."

"We lost the Sinclairs last year, Mr. Riddle. I don't recall a Darius in the family." Ollivander chose his words carefully.

"I've been traveling, as I said. An adoption was quite kindly afforded me by the Sinclairs, albeit at rather a distance. Unfortunately, my rather...precipitous travel left me wandless. Would you be willing to see if you have anything that might fit?" Riddle-Sinclair chose his words as carefully as Ollivander.

"Which hand do you use?" Ollivander came around his counter and approached cautiously. 

"My left, generally. Thank you, sir." Riddle-Sinclair held his left hand out and allowed Ollivander's measuring tape to wind around his fingers.

Ollivander reached for his measure, squinting slightly at Riddle-Sinclair. When their fingers brushed together, he reeled back, gasping. Severus darted forward when the old man staggered back against against the counter, getting a hand under his elbow to steady him. 

"Are you injured?" he asked, checking Ollivander's pulse.

"No, no professor. Thank you. I...I think I have a wand that will suit, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair." He shook Severus off and tottered back around the counter, disappearing through the curtain.

"Was he…" Riddle-Sinclair started.

"He was startled, but not injured. I have a balm, though, in one of my pockets that I'll leave with him. He may have wrenched something." Severus patted at the cleverly hidden pockets in his over robes until he found the little jar. 

Ollivander came back through the curtain holding a single box. "A singular wand for a singular person, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. You have indeed traveled far to come to us." He opened the box with a flourish. "14 inches, rigid. Cedar and English Oak with a phoenix feather core. Give it a swish."

Riddle-Sinclair reached out slowly and closed gentle fingers around the handle. He lifted it, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth, and gave a gentle swish. A soft, golden light enveloped Severus for a moment before swooping through the store. No boxes were disturbed, unlike many a first flick, and the whole store seemed lighter and warmer for just a moment. 

"Yes, that will do nicely." Ollivander smiled smugly. "Would you like a holster as well?"

"Yes, please. One with anti-summoning charms applied, if they're available." Riddle-Sinclair stepped to the counter, jiggling in his trouser pocket. He finally pulled out a small, copper charm engraved with his crest. "You still take the mark?"

"Of course, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. That will be ten galleons." Ollivander took the mark and pressed it to the sales slip he'd just written up. It glowed green for a moment, leaving its impression when he lifted it. "Will you wear it out?"

"I will, thank you. May as well start as I mean to go on." The brisk, happy tone from him made Severus think of cricket pitches and public school gits.

Severus watched Riddle-Sinclair buckle on the bracer-style wand holster and fit his wand into it. He practiced a moment with the new holster, twitching his hand so his wand shot into it. He slipped his mark back into the small waistcoat pocket it was supposed to travel in and turned with a smile for Severus.

"Thank you again, Mr. Ollivander. Severus, did you need anything today. Mr. Ollivander mentioned holsters?"

"No, thank you. None of my students have managed to lose theirs, yet. I do have a salve for you, Mr. Ollivander, if you wrenched anything." He set the jar on the counter, dipping his chin as he retreated back to Riddle-Sinclair.

"Thank you, professor. I'll be looking forward to seeing what you accomplish together, gentlemen."

With that, accompanied by a cryptic smile, Severus and Riddle-Sinclair took their leave, feeling a bit unsettled.

"Well, I think after  that  a trip to Bulstrode's is in order." Riddle-Sinclair decided. "Nothing quite gets your mind off Ollivander like fondling the old woolies."

Severus' prodigious mind screeched to a halt. Was that...was that  innuendo?  Directed  at him?  Was Riddle-Sinclair  flirting?  And why did his stomach  flip  like that? And his lungs come over all short of air? Perhaps his earlier lapse affected him more strongly than usual. That must be the case.

"I  beg your pardon, sir. " And balls, he sounded like Dowager Longbottom winding up for a good harangue. If his hands were free he'd probably have one pressed to his chest in indignation.

Riddle-Sinclair seemed to process what he'd just said and chuckled. "I beg pardon, lad. I didn't mean to be crude. Bulstrode's does have the best quality woolens, though."

Severus gave him a flat stare, not quite ready to forgive. Fondling the old woolies,  honestly.  "You don't prefer Twilfitt and Tattings?"

"Oh, Merlin no, lad. I'll inquire after a good tailor while we're there. I picked up extra shirts and things at Malkin's. Those'll do me until I can get to a tailor. We'll look for some good fabrics for you while we're there, as well." Sinclair-Riddle looped his arm through Severus' and drew him off down the cobbles.

"My wardrobe is quite satisfactory, thank you." Severus couldn't help the icy tone.

"Oh, lad, I don't mean it that way. Just, we're Bonded today and I'd like to bring you something other than chaos." 

Severus knew damn well when he was being managed, but between the warmth in Riddle-Sinclair's voice, the strong forearm under his hand, and the warm shoulder pressed to his he couldn't find much to complain about. They walked at a more measured pace, now that Riddle-Sinclair had a wand, pausing every so often to peer in a window, before ducking down Fullers Way toward the warehouse district. 

The buildings crowded the narrow street, seeming to loom toward the middle. Riddle-Sinclair drew him closer as they walked on. The Wizarding district wasn't a large space when seen on a map (which generally only showed Diagon and Knockturn), but they'd added wizardspace pockets over time to give themselves more room than their medieval counterparts needed. 

"You don't need to," Severus answered quietly. New things--a dress for his mother, flowers, some other trinket--generally followed the worst from his father. He had no idea what to do with the gifts that came  before. Or what might be wanted in exchange.

"No, I don't." Sinclair-Riddle agreed. "But I'd very much like to, lad. Nothing extravagant, I promise. You might need to get used to being looked after, though. I've been told I'm wretchedly overbearing."

"And I have been assured by a decade of students that I'm a bad-tempered, foul, greasy bat, so you'll have your work cut out for you." Severus tried to settle himself again, but true composure seemed to have fled.

"Good thing I know a bit about bad-tempered brats, lad." And Riddle-Sinclair looked at him with such warmth that Severus felt his cheeks heat.

"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like to make a few extra stops today." Best thing to do with uncomfortably kind Doms was ignore them. He wouldn't let himself get used to this.

"Where would you like to stop?"

"The stationers--I have two Muggleborn first years who are finding out the hard way that magic degrades Muggle-made items--and a bookstore, and, er, Helmer and Jigsaw's. The weather is getting worse and children do need things to keep them occupied indoors." He refused to be ashamed of seeing to his students as he did, even if saying it aloud made him want to squirm.

Despite commentary from the other house heads, he held fast to his ideas. Namely, that boredom was at fault for much of the misbehavior they saw. Most of what he handled in-house was a combination of overindulgence in material things and little constructive discipline. Practicing one's Crucio on an hysterical teenager might sound cathartic for the parent, but did little to address the behavior,  and  only made one's child live in fear. He'd never forget little Matilda Carruthers face when she realized that she'd be neither cursed nor beaten for poor penmanship.

Not that he wouldn't put the fear of himself up his students when called for, but he'd found that keeping them busy and entertained, making certain they slept properly, and coming down like the petty tyrant he was in matters of nutrition kept his Slytherins pretty well-behaved on the whole. And insisting that the lower school children were  children  and the upper school students were  young gentlefolk.  But keeping them entertained meant occasional forays in bookstores for reading material and toy shops for games and activities.

"Slytherin getting a bit bored with the games on offer?" Of course Riddle-Sinclair would know about it, and it gratified Severus to know his ideas were shared by his counterpart.

"I had to outlaw Risk--a Muggle game--when my seventh years decided to take their deadlocked land war in Asia to the corridor to settle it with a duel," Severus explained. "So we are in need of new entertainment as the two in question have finally finished de-scorching the walls. Nothing that contains world conquest, preferably."

Riddle-Sinclair chuckled. "And something new to read?"

"Always, with the way some of them get through novels. And Potions supplements. Some of my Muggleborn first years turned up without."

"I think we can manage a few extra stops. But if you're tired or find you'd rather just go home, you will tell me?"

"I will, sir. Thank you." It felt so odd to answer that way, as if there was a chance he'd be told no.

Riddle-Sinclair turned them, then, to head into Bulstrode's. The frankly giant storehouse supplied just about every fabric need the Wizarding world might have, except for the general school robes. Merlin only knew where Malkin sourced  that  stuff. Most of his students had theirs made specially...after their first year. Draco had complained near incessantly about the poor quality last year. 

The heady, pungent scent of wool predominated, with softer undertones of the lavender that kept the moths at bay. Warm and inviting and well-organized, the main shop floor showed the breadth of product nicely. The back wall held the vast selection of tweeds and tartans, from darkest to lightest. With the range of blues and purples at center, it held a solidly tranquil air. Patterned and plain cottons, silks, and lighter wools took the floorspace, each length wrapped around a bolt and standing within a display case. The colorful display nonetheless did not tire the eye. Whoever organized the stock knew how to combine patterns and solid colors to ease the overwhelming nature of a large and varied stock.

Riddle-Sinclair, though, ignored the displays and made straight for the counter at the one end of the room. They queued behind a man Severus recognized by voice. 

"I do not see, Madame, why my order has been canceled and my account threatened!" Thin, reedy, and whining, Lord Parkinson blustered at the woman behind the counter. "I will accept an apology, as I'm sure it was  your  error, and a complimentary dress length for the stress you've put my wife through."

"I do regret that you came so far out of your way, Lord Parkinson, but there is no error. Bulstrode's canceled your order as, according to your daughter, you weren't sure you wanted strange, foreign hands on your cloth. In addition to that, Miss Parkinson made it very clear how she thought of my daughter. You will find that House Corves does not take such insult lightly." Madame Bulstrode held firm.

Severus pressed his lips together to keep from laughing outright. Madame may not have been able to challenge the insult to her child within the drawing rooms the Parkinsons frequented, but she could refuse any order she wished, leaving them without the quality goods they preferred.

Parkinson let out one last indignant huff before he stomped out, muttering "Flanders mare" under his breath. Severus had to jerk Riddle-Sinclair hard by the arm to keep him from following Parkinson. Madame Bulstrode took a deep breath, closing her eyes for a moment. She was a small woman, modestly dressed as if it were still the 1850s, with a white cap on over her smoothly dressed, dark hair. 

"I do hope you haven't been terribly hurt by them, Madame," Severus found himself saying as they stepped to the counter. 

"Professor! Millicent is well?" Worry creased her brow and darkened her brown eyes.

"Miss Bulstrode is well, Madame. I'm on my weekend off, and my Bonded finds himself in need of a new wardrobe. Madame Bulstrode, this is Mr. Riddle-Sinclair." Soothing her worry, he made his introductions. 

"Congratulations, Professor. It is good to meet you, sir. What are you in need of?" Severus saw her filing away the 'my Bonded' before she turned professional. At least she wasn't a gossip. He abhorred unnecessary lying.

"Honestly, everything and a good tailor. I was recalled in a terrible hurry--I've been traveling--and I have no idea what happened to my luggage. Irresponsible of me, I know." Riddle-Sinclair turned the full force of his charm on her. "My Uncle always said that if you needed good tailoring, ask the Bulstrodes."

"Which Sinclair was it, who recommended asking, if you don't mind?" She fixed him with a suspicious look, and Severus couldn't blame her. 

Her daughter's confirmed bachelor of a professor shows up with a man he's claiming as his Bonded who managed to lose all his luggage, which could easily have been shrunk and put in a pocket. Who also claimed kinship with a dead family. He'd be suspicious too.

"Martin. He...well, he and Auntie Ro were very good to me." 

"I am sorry for your loss. They were, as you say, very good people." He seemed to have satisfied her. "I can recommend Tamsin Du just three doors down. We are her only supplier, and she has openings now. Will you be opening an account with us?"

"If you take the mark? I arrived yesterday and only just got my affairs in some semblance of order this morning." Severus really would have to remind him not to try to charm the stockings off everyone they met. 

"We do, sir. If you'll fill this in, please?" Madame Bulstrode produced a parchment form. "You can press your mark in the box here." She ticked it with a quill. "And Professor, while Mr. Riddle-Sinclair finishes, would you like to see our Acromantula silks? Millicent wrote that you were interested in testing different grades for a specific potion?"

She lifted the passthrough in the counter and popped through, her skirts catching a bit. Severus found his arm gripped in a surprisingly firm hand as she led him to the back of the shop. She nattered on about the different grades of silk until they reached the furthest corner. 

"Now, down here we have the industrial grade used for parasols and umbrellas. Would you be so kind as to help me? The undyed goods are unfortunately on the bottom." She crouched down, gesturing to neatly wrapped bolts of fabric standing on a lower shelf.

Severus followed suit, nearly falling back when she grabbed his hands.

"You are safe, Professor? This is a sudden match." She whispered, staring at him intently, her grip strong.

"Madame?" Severus managed, shock stealing his voice for a moment.

"You are not coerced? He did not force…"

"No! Madame Bulstrode, no." Severus surprised himself with the vehemence of his answer, even as he pitched his voice low. "It was done at Gringotts this morning. There was an old agreement between our families come due."

Possibly a lie, but most old families had a contract or two hanging around.

"But you had choice? Even Gringotts..."

"I could have left at any time, Madame. He is very careful not to overstep." He wanted to put her mind at ease while keeping some small semblance of personal privacy. If anything, it was a good rehearsal for Minerva.

"Good. Good. I...it is silly of me, but my people were old fashioned sorts and my Millicent is very fond of you. If you ever have need, I have friends on the continent, Professor." She gave his hands one last squeeze and hefted a bolt of fabric from the stand. "Would the industrial grade do as a start?"

"I...yes, Madame, I believe it would. And thank you, Madame." Later, he knew, he would laugh at the picture they must have made--Madame Bulstrode's skirts ballooning about both their knees, crouched down between display cabinets, whispering like some kind of conspiracy in the making. For now, her concern warmed him. He wasn't used to people worrying after him who weren't Minerva and Pomona.

He straightened, taking the bolt from her so she could stand as well. She shook out her skirts and led him back to the counter. 

"We have some offcuts at the counter, as well. I'll give you a few of those, and we'll package them so they're labeled. Is undyed better?"

"I believe undyed would be better, thank you. The fewer variables for which I need to account the better."

"You will let your students know the results? Millicent will share the news, and I'd be very interested. And, thank you, Mr. Riddle-Sin…" she trailed off, staring at the crest engraved into the parchment. "Great Merlin. But the line died…"

"It came as quite a shock this morning." Riddle-Sinclair looked conflicted.

"Well." Madame Bulstrode spoke briskly. "Bulstrode's isn't known for gossip and we won't start that reputation now. I'll have a word with Miss Du, as well. She does excellent work, but she is young, yet."

"I...thank you, Madame." Riddle-Sinclair seemed taken aback. "I'm not entirely sure of color preferences or style, yet. There are quite a few things I need to settle."

"I'm sure. Miss Du will likely have color preferences for you. You'll receive a letter at Spinner's End in the next two days confirming your account. Would you like me to arrange for an appointment with Miss Du, as well?"

Severus couldn't quite suppress some small amount of smugness at Riddle-Sinclair being the one handled for once. And so easily, too, as Madame Bulstrode wrapped up his silks and handed him the packet at the same time. He rather wished he could take notes.

"I...yes, thank you. That would be most helpful. Would you ask if she has a...Severus, when is your next free weekend?"

"The third weekend of November, sir." Oh, he wasn't.

"Would you ask if she has an appointment any time during that weekend? Professor Snape will be on my account."

It was only determined good manners that kept Severus from sweeping out. He hadn't mentioned anything about  appointments earlier.

"I'll ask for both, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. An emergency one for you, yes?"

"Yes, please. As soon as can be arranged. Thank you, Madame." He bowed slightly as Madame Bulstrode filed away the paperwork before offering an arm to Severus.

"For the silk, Madame?" Severus asked, reaching into his pocket.

"The offcuts and the swatch are complimentary, Professor. I've been looking for a good place to send some of the bits and bobs we wind up with. Write if you need any more." 

He didn't quite believe her, but put his packet into one of his pockets before accepting Riddle-Sinclair's arm. The heavy wool of his outer robes should keep it from the appalling damp.

The rest of their trip passed quietly, mostly because Riddle-Sinclair didn't try opening any more accounts. Severus used his Slytherin house mark for the stack of novels and several new games he acquired and the populating notebooks his students preferred. They were a good bit more dear than scrolls of parchment, but the neatly bound volumes would update with new blank pages as needed. Using one per subject meant all one's notes stayed neatly together and could be used come NEWTs.

By the time they walked back through his front door, Severus was not too proud to admit exhaustion. His feet and back ached, and all he really wanted was a hot bath, soft clothing, and a cup of tea the volume of Black Lake.

"Get your things settled lad, and get yourself into a bath. You look done in." Riddle-Sinclair ordered easily as Severus unloaded his pockets onto the console table in front of his lounge windows.

"Pardon?" Severus answered mildly. If one didn't stamp down on bossing early, it would get all out of hand. In theory. Still hadn't worked on Minerva or Pomona.

"Go and have a bath, lad. You heard me." Riddle-Sinclair sounded more amused than anything. "And you know it's good sense. You had a hard day yesterday and a hard morning and afternoon today. A bit of rest and looking after has been well-earned. I'll put a tea tray together for when you're done and get the fire going in here."

Severus clamped down on his instinctive negative reaction. He wanted a bath about as much as he didn't want it to be an order. But hot water up to his chin sounded lovely. And if Riddle-Sinclair wished to handle tea trays and fires...Severus headed for the stairs.

"Thank you, lad." 

The soft notice of his going stopped Severus on the third step. He wasn't particularly good at any of this.

"I...you're…" he trailed off, not quite sure what he wanted to say. "I do recognize good sense," he finally managed, thankfully crisply, and fled with Riddle-Sinclair's warm chuckle chasing him.

Chapter Text

Severus trailed down the stairs after his bath, feeling slightly more himself. He'd pulled on a soft, icy gray under-kirtle made of a nearly sheer silk and wool blend with a low collar. The tight sleeves that mittened over his hands buttoned from cuff to elbow with tiny, flat, blackwork buttons. Over that, he wore a short sleeved woolen kirtle in a rich aubergine, the collar wide enough to show his neck, but high enough to keep his collarbones decently covered. Both the neckline and sleeve cuffs were picked out in fine, silver embroidery. He'd bound his hair back with a length of silvery ribbon, even though he felt somehow exposed. Air whispered over the bare nape of his neck, such an unfamiliar sensation, leaving him feeling a bit...well, transgressive, he supposed.

Although, he reflected, trailing his fingers down the railing as he descended the narrow staircase, he could quite properly go about at home without covering his clavicles, now. If he wished to. They were Bonded. Ditto his neck. He'd have to be even more careful when out, but he wouldn't have to worry about rumors if someone ever dropped by. He quickened his pace, lured by the scent of scones and chocolate wafting out of his kitchen. He turned left at the bottom of the stairs and walked quietly into the kitchen, skirts rustling as they trailed a bit at the back.

He stopped in the doorway and took in the scene. Riddle-Sinclair had a Gringotts post box open on the floor and folders of parchment piled haphazardly on the table. A tray stood in the middle of the chaos, holding both a teapot and a chocolate pot along with a plate piled high with steaming oat scones. He could just make out the butter crock and jam pots under a stack of loose parchment. 

It hurt his orderly soul, acutely . 

"Sir, what…?" Severus trailed off, gesturing to the table.

"Ah, Severus! Are you feeling a bit better?" Riddle-Sinclair looked up from the folder in his hand, smiling. "You're still welcome to call me Tom, you know, or Darius, although that really was only for business."

"I find myself recovered, thank you, sir." Severus answered, ignoring the invitation again. "What is all this?"

"Gringotts gave me a post box this morning, thankfully shrunk, and it appears they've been busy. These are all the things one must go through, apparently, when one is bringing a House back to life. That pile is real estate holdings." He pointed to the pile threatening to topple onto the scones. 

"Right." Severus took a deep breath in. "You're not going to get anywhere like this. We're going to organize all...this…" he gestured at the table, trying not to pinch the bridge of his nose, "and then you'll tell me what you're after. Sir." 

He couldn't help it. So many years of teaching and forcing organization on chaotic young minds left him incapable of letting this level of nonsense exist anywhere near his person. And definitely not in his kitchen.

"I, er, suppose I got a bit carried away. They shrunk bundles of documents and I just kept going. Merlin knows how many there are still in there." Riddle-Sinclair sighed as he glanced down.

"These are real estate holdings?" Severus rescued the scones from imminent crushing and his stomach growled. His cheeks heated at the uncouth noise.

"Thought you might be hungry." Riddle-Sinclair seemed not at all put out by it. "We'll get this lot tidied and we can go through it whilst we eat."

He suited action to words and stacked a bundle of folders in a more orderly manner. Severus moved around the table to help, methodically reducing the chaos to calm. Soon, they had enough space to sit and eat something. Riddle-Sinclair pulled out a chair for him, a gesture that seemed so at odds with the dented floors and elderly cabinets. He'd put his energy into making the main living areas his own, and suddenly wished he'd given more thought to the kitchen. He sat, though, appreciating the small bit of care. The last person to pull a chair out for him...the less thought about Lucius the better, actually, he decided.

"I thought you might like chocolate better than tea right now, and I put out all the jam. I wasn't sure which you'd prefer." Riddle-Sinclair poured him a mug of the chocolate and set a scone on a small plate. 

"Thank you, yes." Severus let himself bask in the pampering. Merlin knew it would end soon enough, given he was looking at real estate. "Could you pass the apricot jam, please?"

"Of course, lad." He nudged it over, snagging the damson preserves for himself. "Oh, and there should be pictures in the real estate folders. I'd like you to winnow down the ones you like best, and make certain there's a lab or space for one, and some kind of study for you, as well."

Severus choked on scone, too surprised to be embarrassed by such a childish lapse. He coughed until, with a hearty thump on the back from Riddle-Sinclair, he dislodged the treacherous crumbs. 

"Pardon?" he coughed a bit, sipping his chocolate to help his raw throat.

"This is very much your space, my lad, and I'd like it to stay that way. You need somewhere all your own, just in case you need quiet and solitude."

That explanation clarified nothing.

"I don't think I quite understand?" he managed, faintly.

"I'm not going to insist you turn your study into a bedroom, Severus, and I am definitely  not  leaving you on your own. Did you think I'd just clear off?" He seemed highly offended, and Severus swallowed on nerves at the darkening expression on his face.

"I didn't know…" Severus stared at his hands twisting in his lap. "I knew you'd want to be somewhere else…this isn't really conducive to...I..."

"And it's hardly going to be a home without you in it, you ridiculous brat. I made you promises I intend to keep." 

He left his seat, knelt down before Severus, and hooked a finger around Severus' band. It warmed under his touch, the little serpents flicking silver tongues over his skin in greeting.

"We're Bonded, Severus, and that means something. I'm responsible now, to and for you. I will not leave you alone in this world, lad. No matter what shape this relationship takes, you're mine and I'm yours. You're stuck with me."

The honest kindness and the sincerity radiating from him left Severus as breathless as choking. He'd expected, really, to be left with a Bond in name only, no matter the promises made. He hadn't expected any of this when he woke that morning. It seemed so far away now.

"I...I don't…" he couldn't put the strange tightness in his chest into words.

"All right, lad. We're going to lay off the heavy topics for now. Just remember that your home base is with me, and this can remain your sanctuary. Now, have your chocolate and scones, and we'll have a quiet evening looking through real estate. If you take that pile we can go into the sitting room and enjoy the fire."

Severus did as he was told, mechanically. His mind whirred with the new and wholly unexpected realization that he was wanted. His whole life only a few people had truly wanted him for himself. And somehow, he'd stumbled straight into a person who looked at him and saw someone worth keeping. The whole thing felt surreal.

Perhaps Pomona was correct, when, deep in her cups, she suggested that Magic will see that you get what you deserve. Eventually. May come generations down the line, but eventually Magic will catch up.

"Severus-lad, sit down and stop hovering. You look like a nervous clerk sure he's about to get the bollocking of his life." Riddle-Sinclair ordered from his seat on the settee, the tea tray safely on the coffee table.

Severus jumped, only just keeping hold of the folders, and near scuttled to do as he was told. He folded himself down onto the cushions, letting his slippers thump in the floor as he pulled his feet up to sit cross-legged. Normally, before company, he'd sit with both feet on the floor and his back straight, legs and ankles decently covered by either trousers or robes. But he'd be damned if he didn't make himself comfortable in his own home after that speech in the kitchen. And he had enough skirt to be properly covered no matter how he sat, in any case. 

Riddle-Sinclair just patted his knee fondly (Severus thought it was fondly) and held out a hand. 

"Give me half?" He asked. "And eat more than one scone, Severus. You're a bit thinner than you ought to be."

Severus straightened up and glared as he handed over half the stack. The nerve of the man. The absolute, bloody  cheek  of it. He'd be spouting Pomfrey's party line in another minute. 

"You can glare all you like, pet. It doesn't stop you looking half-starved. Have you been forgetting meals?" It hadn't even taken a minute. "I'd...do you think you could try to remember to eat more regularly?"

Riddle-Sinclair stood again and spent a moment puttering, lighting lamps in the dim room. Severus heard him at the secretary for a moment, right before his glasses dropped into his lap. He scowled down at them, despite feeling oddly pleased Riddle-Sinclair remembered. Then a knitted throw enveloped his shoulders. He startled despite himself.

"You looked chilly. Now, have your chocolate, pet." Riddle-Sinclair settled again, and Severus  knew  he simply ignored the seething from the other end of the settle.

"I will  try  to eat more regularly," Severus grumbled with bad grace, pulling the throw closer about his shoulders and wiggling a bit to let it fall behind him. He unfolded his glasses and settled them on his nose.

"Thank you, Severus." Riddle-Sinclair handed him his plate, the scone hot again. 

Severus nibbled, sipping on his chocolate. The hot, buttery scone, spread thickly with apricot jam, fairly melted on his tongue. The rich chocolate went down easily, warming and filling at the same time. He snagged the top folder and flipped it open, rifling through the parchment inside. He found what he expected--a quick prospectus, a floor plan, and photographs of the exterior elevations, the  interior, and the gardens. 

The first folder he discarded quickly as far too opulent. Who really needed fifteen bedrooms? And three reception rooms, two dining rooms, a conservatory, a music room, two parlors, and a smoking lounge. In any case, Severus Snape, owner of a two-up-two-down (with extra wizardspace bathroom no one need discuss), didn't belong in places like that. 

Although he could use a conservatory. There were a few plants he'd like to try growing for potions. The next folder looked a bit more promising, and more moderately sized. Well,  looked  would be the operative word. Did any well-off wizarding family ever decide they  didn't  require upwards of ten bedrooms? And forty-two, really? Who, precisely, were they entertaining? They weren't Morningsides or Borleys or Weasleys. Or that person Elspeth Morningside married...Blydh? Some Cornish gentleman. Bedrooms aside, the basement included a sizable Potions laboratory. And the grounds seemed...workable, from the pictures. 

He missed having a separate Potions garden and kitchen garden. As it was, he had to pay attention during the summers lest he harvest something that wasn't a courgette. But would he be allowed to garden so extensively? Narcissa left most of that to the elves. Would he be expected to host as she did? Before his brain could spiral into another panic, Severus drank more of his chocolate (and either he'd missed a trick or some clever clogs was using magic, because his mug had refilled) and thumbed through the parchment-stuffed folders. 

Five more he discarded immediately, just on aesthetic grounds. If he had to live somewhere grander than his current address, it wouldn't look like  any  of those places. Over-fripperied monstrosities, the lot of them. He wiped his fingers on his knee. He  abhorred  over decorated architecture; give him good, solid stone or timbering any day. Certainly not somewhere that looked like  you'd  be gilded if you stood still for more than a moment. 

The next four had more promise--low, rambling stone structures with expansive gardens and decent laboratory space. The pictures of the insides sent three of the four onto the no pile. The fourth, though, still had the heavy Tudor paneling, massive fireplaces, inglenooks, and mullioned windows. The main staircase alone warranted a look in person, and the garden plan...someone had planted a Potions garden at one point. 

He tapped his fingers against the folder and bundled the two acceptable properties together. The last, a London townhouse, went onto the same pile. It was acceptable, Georgian in architecture, with the high ceilings and large rooms they'd preferred. Refurbished a bit, it would make a decent base for Riddle-Sinclair when he had Wizengamot sessions.

Maybe...Severus crushed that line of thinking before it really got going. Riddle-Sinclair he was, and Riddle-Sinclair he would remain, even in the privacy of his thoughts. For a time. Until Severus was sure. It wouldn't do to get too attached, no matter the promises made.

"We should get our story straight." Severus murmured. 

"Hmm, lad? Have you finished? If you have, hand me what you like and you can look through mine." Riddle-Sinclair held out two folders. 

"Of course, sir. But we also need to get our story straight. I told Madame Bulstrode we fulfilled an old contract." Severus took the folders from him and handed his own over. 

"We may well have, so that's as good a tale as any. I'll check the paperwork Gringotts sent. I had wondered what all that whispering was, though. It was good of her to ask."

Severus hummed his assent. It was good of her, and the knowledge that he had someone who understood what Bonding meant for a Sub...well, it made the future much easier.

"If anyone asks why I was an unknown, I was educated at home by the Sinclairs." Riddle-Sinclair continued. "They took my mother in after she realized exactly who my father was. The two of us lived in seclusion to keep him away. He believed she died. I left England as soon as I was able after my mother died and spent the last twenty years traveling."

"You've given this some thought." Severus commented quietly. "It may well be a good thing I'm used to keeping more than one story straight."

"There is one thing I have to say, pet. I don't care what happens going forward. Your spying days are done." 

Severus opened his mouth to protest. He didn't really mind so much, but if he let Riddle-Sinclair start making such pronouncements, he'd never get him to stop (More than likely. Popular literature was quite clear on the subject, but he'd never had someone to ask). His traitorous brain rather seemed to like the idea, so it was obviously a non-starter.

"No, lad. Not one word from you. I won't interfere with Hogwarts, you have my word on it, but your extracurriculars for Dumbledore are done. I saw what it did to you, lad, and there shouldn't be any call for it, not now." 

The final tone and the set of his face had Severus swallowing down a protest. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to test Riddle-Sinclair's resolve. In the future, perhaps, but not after such a difficult day. He knew himself well enough, at least, to know that at some point he'd push, if only just to satisfy his curiosity. Any...Brat...would be curious, coming up against the solid wall of Riddle-Sinclair's will.

"Yes, sir." He answered quietly, head bowed, feeling unexpectedly off-kilter. Dreams and reality collided in rather a shocking way, sometimes.

"I don't think it likely you'll hear much of me forbidding something, lad, if it's any consolation. And thank you." He patted Severus' shoulder. 

Severus nodded and opened the folder. He shut it just as quickly and, acting on pure instinct, thwapped Riddle-Sinclair on the shoulder with it.

"You...honestly? Hogwarts?" He spluttered. 

Riddle-Sinclair threw back his head and laughed. "I didn't mean to twit you like that, pet, but I do have the right of residence."

"For the record," Severus answered icily. "I am  not  living at Hogwarts year round."

"No, I didn't think you'd wish to." Riddle-Sinclair managed to get his amusement under control. "Privacy is important."

"There are two northern properties I found acceptable--one Tudor and one later--and a London townhouse. You'll need somewhere to stay and entertain during Wizengamot..." Severus opened the last folder and trailed off, staring at the floor plan.

"The London townhouse is a good idea, lad."

He barely heard the praise. Severus traced a finger over the picture of the Hall, open to two floors, with pale stone walls and wide-planked floors. The giant fireplace, a fire roaring within, gave the large room a cozy feel. The rest of the pictures felt similarly with wide hallways, deep set windows streaming light into the space, and the same pale stone. Something about it called to him.

"This," his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "This one. You don't need to look at the others."

Severus startled at the gentle hand on his arm and pulled his eyes away from the file. Riddle-Sinclair moved slowly to trail his fingers down Severus' cheek before he cupped it gently. His eyes were soft and warm, and a lock of his chestnut hair fell over his forehead. Severus swallowed hard, unaccountably moved by the gentle touch. He tried not to lean into it, he shouldn't display such weakness, but his body wouldn't cooperate. He couldn't remember the last time someone had touched him so softly. Or at all.

"In another place, I spent the best years of my childhood here." Riddle-Sinclair tapped the file. "It's Sinclair House, pet, and I'm so pleased you want to settle there."

"There's something," he started, pausing to catch his breath, a difficult task when Riddle-Sinclair still cupped his cheek in one large, warm hand. "Something about it. It's…"

"It's refuge, and sanctuary, and home, lad. Uncle Martin and Auntie Ro worked hard to make it so." His voice, warmly approving, had Severus swallowing down a complicated tangle of feeling. "There's acres of land about it, and the whole place looks almost as if it grew out of the landscape. It's a Lutyens, the wizarding one."

Which meant little in Severus' actual life, but he'd heard the name before. From Lucius, actually, who'd been an absolute snot about 'the shame of more recently built architecture' as the current Malfoy Hall dated to the Elizabethan period. But he wasn't thinking about Lucius.

"It's beautiful," Severus breathed. "And the Potions garden…"

"That was Auntie Ro's. She was brilliant." Riddle-Sinclair finally moved his hand, patting Severus' knee. "She'd be thrilled that they'll be tended again."

He shifted, sitting closer to Severus, putting out heat akin to the fire in the grate. Severus shivered a bit as Riddle-Sinclair pulled the floor plan out from under the cover sheet. 

"You won't object to me tending the gardens?" Severus worried at a corner of the folder.

"Severus, lad, no. I'll say it as many times as needed, but I'll never interfere with your work as a Potions Master. That includes potions gardens. I want you to have the freedom and space to work. There will be times I may put my foot down, as with you and spying, but I'll interfere with your life as little as possible. I've imposed enough on you." 

Severus thought many a Sub would do backflips of joy at that, but some small part of him felt bereft. The bit of him he'd spent his entire life shoving down and ignoring wanted...more, now it was within his reach. Especially after that rather growly 'I know how to handle bad-tempered brats'. The want surprised him most. He'd never wanted like this before, never  let  himself want. It had always been too dangerous, first with his father (and school...he'd had nightmares about Gryffindor discovering his designation), then during his apprenticeship, and then as a spy.

"What might you forbid?" He asked quietly, still looking at the file in his lap. "Just as a reference point."

"Is it like that for you, pet?" 

Severus startled a bit when Riddle-Sinclair's big, warm hand covered his. He shifted like an embarrassed firstie, refusing to look anywhere but at his lap, cheeks burning. The warm understanding lacing his words mostly made him wish to curl up under the settee. Riddle-Sinclair moved closer, closing the small gap between them, and settled his other arm around Severus' shoulders. Severus trembled at the contact, so unused to anyone touching him that he wasn't certain he could bear it.

"Do you need more from me, Severus? Do you need a proper Top to look after you?" The gentle questions nearly undid him.

"I  don't  need looking after." Severus rasped, making a bid for freedom. Humiliatingly, he went nowhere, and found himself held within the circle of Riddle-Sinclair's arms.

He turned automatically, instinct overriding will, hiding his face in Riddle-Sinclair's broad shoulder. One hand snaked up to twist into the soft robes of his other shoulder and Severus found himself squirming out of his cross-legged pose to curl closer. Riddle-Sinclair shifted him over, practically into his lap, and Severus shook harder. One strong arm barred across his back, holding him close, and the other hand cupped the back of his head. Riddle-Sinclair rocked them slightly and spoke quietly as Severus fell apart for the first time since his teens.

"What you need and want is important, my lad. If you need more from me, if you need me to  be  your Top in more than name, that's more than fine. It's not particularly in my nature to take a step back, despite this being less than twenty-four hours old. If you want this of me, pet, then you'll get the full measure of care and protection and discipline you ought always to have had. That you deserve to have. You deserve to be cared for, Severus."

Severus shook his head against his shoulder, chest heaving against the emotion. The whole bedrock of his adult life, hell, his whole life, cracked open as messily as he was. He never realized how much it would hurt, when the dream you kept locked away in your heart suddenly came true. When the white knight you'd daydreamed in your weakest and most vulnerable moments breached the walls of your self-imposed tower prison and sent your carefully built defenses crumbling to dust.

"Yes, my lad, yes. You ought to have been protected and loved cared for your whole life. And I'm here for you, now. You've been strong, pet, and you've survived, but it's time to set down your troubles, to let me carry you, to prove to you that you can trust me."

"I...I don't know...I…" Severus coughed, raising his head enough to scrub the wet off his cheeks. He couldn't remember the last time he'd wept like that, and he squirmed a bit, suddenly realizing he sat curled up in Riddle-Sinclair's lap.

"None of that, pet. You can stay where I put you." Riddle-Sinclair rubbed Severus' back gently. "Do you want more from me, Severus?"

Severus shivered. "Will it always be 'stay where I put you'?" he asked, voice quiet and scratchy from the emotional storm he'd weathered.

"I won't lie, Severus. I'm not what anyone would call a permissive Top. I'm strict, and I expect to be obeyed. But I also try not to ask for more than you can give. If you say yes, I will be the head of this family, with all that entails. There will be rules and there will be discipline, but you will also have me to stand between you and the world, whether you need that or not. And we'll work together to make our Bonding a successful one."

It sounded terrifying and wonderful and like everything he'd wanted and never thought he could have. Narcissa gave him a taste of it, sometimes, sending gifts now and then just because she thought of him and taking him to task when she thought he looked tired and worn down, but he never even considered he'd have the opportunity. There was only one answer to give, even if it took all his courage to give it.

He ducked his chin and nodded against Riddle-Sinclair's shoulder. "Yes...I don't know what I can give...I've never...it hasn't been safe."

"That's alright, my lad. You'll learn. We'll discover the shape of this together." He soothed. "Have you never had any kind of relationship?"

Embarrassing as it was, Severus felt some steadiness return with the question.

"When would I have had time? I wasn't anyone's idea of a mate in school, and I made certain very few knew how I'd designated. Then there was a double Mastery to complete and brewing for the Dark Lord and then spying and then double agency. After that, I wound up the Head of Slytherin House  and  teaching Potions to the entire student body. During Summers, I just wanted some peace and time to experiment. And I wouldn't have made time, except…" he trailed off, flushing up again at his rant.

"Except that Magic intervened, and saved us both from ourselves." Riddle-Sinclair finished, tucking Severus closer. "I want you to set your mind at ease on one subject, though. We may be Bound, and that may give me certain rights over you, but we will only have a marital bed when and if you decide you want that in our relationship. I'll certainly exercise my rights to get you eating and sleeping more, and when called for to smack your naughty bottom, but sex won't happen unless and until you decide it's wanted."

Severus could never quite be certain he hadn't hallucinated that speech. His face flamed, ears positively burning, by the end of it, despite his stomach swooping with delicious nerves at the part about smacking (he didn't necessarily  want  to be smacked, but like most of his Type the threat produced a nervy fizz and a confusing muddle of want-don't-want). He hid his face in Riddle-Sinclair's shoulder again and managed a strangled squeak by way of reply. 

He desperately wanted to hide under the settee for the remainder of eternity. Honestly, he could lecture his fourth year and above students on the subject, but not hear a perfectly nice speech promising he wouldn't be rushed or hounded without going to pieces. It had to be his general state of emotional upset. He wasn't that much of a complete and utter imbecile. 

"And now that we've settled that, my lad," Riddle-Sinclair started (did he give the my a bit more emphasis?). "We are going to have a quiet and calm evening. We're going to finish our tea, I'll arrange to see the house tomorrow, and we'll have a cottage pie later for supper. And you are having an early night."

"Are you one of those Tops obsessed with sleep?" Severus let himself tease, just a bit, just to see the reaction.

"Oh, absolutely." Riddle-Sinclair answered cheerfully, and just as teasingly. "I do so love managing a surly Brat."

"There are times I must patrol at night," Severus pointed out.

"And if I feel you're claiming a patrol to cover for insomniac wanderings, then I'll be asking Professor McGonagall for a schedule." 

Teasing or not, Severus pulled back to glare at him (up, very slightly even on his lap, because the absolute peacock gave himself a ridiculous height. Not that Severus carried any bitterness toward his own less-than-tall stature. At all.) in disapproval. Unfortunately, the glare that reduced firsties to tears produced no effect. 

"I  thought  you said you wished to build  trust  between us?"

"Yes, and if I feel like someone might be stretching the truth a titch, I'll verify." He rubbed a soothing hand down Severus' back. "You really aren't used to anyone keeping an eye on you, are you?"

"I  don't  need the likes of…" Severus bristled at the amused, patronizing tone and began hotly. Riddle-Sinclair pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him. 

"Peace, pet, unless you'd like to find out what a smacking from me feels like right now. I'll tolerate a certain amount of sarcasm and cheek, but I'll never tolerate flat rudeness."

Severus clamped his mouth shut and seethed, seriously rethinking his yes. Keeping an eye on him, indeed! Riddle-Sinclair was lucky he didn't bite the finger shushing him.

"Now, settle for me, my lad, and rest a bit. You've had a hard day and too much upset. No wonder you're feeling a bit waspish. And for the record, pet, biting is an equally atrocious idea."

The soft words and equally gentle hand rubbing the back of his neck soothed Severus despite himself. He curled himself close, resting his head against Riddle-Sinclair's chest. The soft drubbing of the man's heart had him relaxing further, letting himself collapse bonelessly, so slowly that he barely realized what he was doing. His eyes fluttered shut, lulled by the crackling fire before him and steady heartbeat under his ear. 

Tom reached carefully for the throw as Severus slowly succumbed to sleep. He tucked the soft, wooly blanket about his brat and settled Severus a bit more comfortably in his lap. Beside a soft, sleepy grumble, Severus barely twitched. A fond smile curled his lips at the grouchy noises. He hadn't meant to threaten a smacked backside so soon, but he was a firm believer in starting as you meant to go on. Uncle Martin had certainly drilled that one into him, half the time via the seat of his trousers. He'd been an absolute terror that first year with them.

He'd often wondered what it would be like to have a Severus who didn't want him dead, buried, and decomposing (preferably at his hand), and found it surprisingly delightful. He wanted so to make a success of this, to soothe this brilliant, complex soul, to give him what he'd gone without for so long. And, if he was being quite honest, Severus, prickly brat he was, was exactly the kind of challenge he adored. That he'd quite contentedly fallen asleep in his lap wasn't lost...there was already some level of trust there.

Perhaps, in time, they could build love as well. 

Chapter Text

Saturday Night, Late

Hogwarts

The near silent patter of feet on a flag floor where there ought to have been silence had Borley turning on the spot. Madame Pomfrey was just about beside herself and he'd promised to keep an eye out for late night wanderers. Mother would call the headache that sent him up to the Hospital Wing providential. He followed the noise, his leather-soled boots silent against the floor.

And there, just ahead, a small figure in Hospital pajamas darted across a doorway. Borley rolled his eyes and hastened his step, reminding himself that he wanted to be a Prefect, if only to continue to rub his father's nose in his success. No one, though, explained that prefecting included handling Draco Malfoy's spoiled arse and chasing after escapee Potters before he agreed. Well, Aunt Elspeth gave him some pointers, but nothing covering the absolute nonsense he was exposed to on the daily.

Professor Snape's headache potion habit made more sense by the hour.

He slipped up behind the little miscreant as the child stopped to look for patrolling adults in the cross hallway.

"I wasn't aware 'stay in bed' actually meant 'wander the halls'," he remarked cooly.

Potter jumped about a foot off the ground, squeaking in fright, and whirled around to face him. Defiance and cross about being caught seemed the dominant emotions as he glared up.

"It's none of your business where I go!" Potter retorted in a quiet hiss.

By way of a reply, Borley flashed his badge. "I'd say it's definitely my business. Come on, snidget, back to the Hospital Wing with you. You've worried Madame Pomfrey enough for one night."

Potter's eyes shifted to the open corridor and Borley clamped a hand down on his shoulder before he could do something completely dim.

"Absolutely not. I am not chasing you down tonight. Now, you can walk back on your own like a well-bred wizard or you can--" he cut off, staring at Potter's bare feet.

Bare feet in October on stone floors? Did he have some kind of pneumonia wish? Habit and early life indoctrination took over as Borley swept the kid up and plunked him onto his hip. They both froze, staring at one another while Borley's mind worked.

Did anyone actually make sure Potter ate? He had nine year old siblings and niblings who were taller and weighed more. For one lovely moment silence reigned before Potter drew in a sharp breath.

"Put me down!" He demanded quietly, thankfully not kicking. Maybe he had some kind of sense of self-preservation.

Borley gave him A Look (bless Aunt Elspeth for drilling him on it when he first got his badge), raised eyebrow speaking volumes.

"If I let a child wander around in October, in Scotland, on bare flag floors, barefoot, and didn't stop it immediately, my mother...actually every adult in my family would skin me alive, Potter. And trust me, no one wants to witness my mother dressing me down for negligence. She's terrifying when she's annoyed."

"I'm twelve! "

Like that made a whit of difference? He gave it all the attention it deserved. If he didn't wish to be carried, then he could just grow a few inches. Or a foot. Something niggled at the back of Borley's mind.

"I'm not a child! And you can transfigure something!"

Oh, that old chestnut. Apparently Professor McGonagall didn't stamp it out as soon as it appeared. Professor Snape had precisely no patience for children claiming they weren't children.

"Transfigure what? Stone into socks? You're old enough to remember socks before you go sneaking out of bed. Welcome to the wild world of consequences, Mr. Potter." The Look worked for a few moments until Potter tried one last volley.

"And you're a Slytherin prefect!"

"What has that to do with the price of eye of newt in Argentina?" Borley strode back toward the Hospital Wing as quickly as possible. "You're a Hogwarts student; I'm a Hogwarts prefect. The color of your tie means nothing in the face of my responsibility to you. And you're absolutely a child, you realize. You can complain if we're still doing this in five years time."

Potter favored him with a face that could curdle milk. It was his own fault for making it halfway back to Gryffindor barefoot, quite frankly. He could just stew in his own displeasure.

"Would you like to try an explanation for why I found you halfway back to your dormitory?" Borley asked after a moment.

Potter remained silent and glowering.

"I'm not docking points, and I doubt Madame Pomfrey will, either. I am curious, though, did you think no one would notice your disappearing act?" Sometimes playing the sympathetic elder unstuck stubborn tongues.

"She wouldn't let Ron and Hermione visit, and she wouldn't let me out even though I feel fine!" Potter complained. "I hate the Hospital Wing, and Madame Pomfrey always says I'm delicate. "

Complaints, at least, could help get to the bottom of a problem. Personally, Borley thought Pomfrey might just be on to something. The tiny boy in his arms certainly felt delicate enough, though he understood the venom lacing his voice. What twelve-year-old wanted to be considered delicate? Who also wasn't a Pureblood, thinking delicacy of constitution was somehow more refined. He and Mainsley and Prothero only just got Parkinson and Greengrass to stop fainting every time they were barely inconvenienced. Or claiming an imminent nosebleed due to emotional distress. Although that one mostly came from Malfoy with a side of Fitzroy.

"I can see how that would be annoying, especially if you're not particularly delicate. Madame Pomfrey is very careful about all of us." Sometimes, having to be diplomatic and prefecty was just the pits.

"I'm not delicate at all!" Potter complained, warming a bit now he had a definitely sympathetic ear. As if that wasn't also worrying. Weasley minor would have bitten his face off. "I've never stayed injured or sick more than a day before. Now every time Madame Pomfrey sees me she makes this noise!"

"The sort of clucking one?" Borley asked. He only heard that one when it was actually serious.

"All the time." Potter grumbled. "Well, every time she sees me. Wood thinks I bruise too easily and...well, bruise balm."

Wood, in Borley's opinion, ought to be locked up letting someone Potter's size on the team. Professor McGonagall lost a bit of his respect that first game for coming up with it in the first place. He filed 'never stayed injured or sick' away for later reflection. The wording didn't sit well.

"At least Wood is looking after his team." Borley allowed. "It must be hard, all the fussing."

"I hate being fussed over." Potter muttered, a yawn interrupting him.

"And we're back, just in time it seems." Borley bumped the door to the ward open and went through, shutting it quickly behind him. "Madame Pomfrey?" he called.

"Oh, there you are. Mr. Potter, what are you doing wandering off? And with no socks on! Set him down there, Mr. Borley, please." Madame Pomfrey bustled through from her office, face tight with worry.

Borley pulled the blankets back on the bed she indicated before he deposited Potter on it. He pulled the covers up over the kid's legs, hoping to warm his feet quickly. Potter gave him a startled look, but scooted down to rest his head on the pillow. He didn't add a warming charm, much as he wished to, lest it interfere with Madame Pomfrey's magic.

He used fussing with blankets to cover checking out the pile of nonsense masquerading as clothing on the chair next to the bed. It showed distinct signs of normal and magical wear. Synthetics and magic interacted poorly, and Potter's clothing gave a prime example.

"And stay put this time, snidget." Borley gave the blankets one last tug and stood back.

Potter ignored him, though it may have been shock at being tucked in.

"Thank you, Mr. Borley. If you wouldn't mind waiting?"

He took the hint and moved to lean against the wall near the doors. Pomfrey reset the screens around Potter's bed, but Borley caught sight of a Potter rapidly succumbing to sleep before she blocked his view. It only took a few minutes for her to join him. She quickly cast a privacy spell.

"Where did you find him?" she sighed.

"Halfway back to Gryffindor Tower, aggrieved he wasn't allowed to see his friends. I'll make a loop around before I go back to my common room to see if there's a Weasley straying."

"It's not like him." Her expression clouded for a moment. "He's really very sweet, and it's just not like him to wander off like that. Not when I was clear."

"He said something, Madame...that he's never stayed injured or sick for more than a day before. It's not the sort of thing most children say." Borley folded his hands in his sleeves so he wouldn't fidget.

"And you would know what children would say, wouldn't you?" Madame Pomfrey smiled at him. "It could just be over-reactive magic, but I'll make a note. Anything else that you noticed?"

"He's, um, very small. Have you...it's not...Aunt Elspeth mentioned it once, and I'm not trying to be presumptuous, Madame Pomfrey, but…" he trailed off.

"Out with it, Mr. Borley. I won't take offence, especially if it was advice from Mrs. Blydh."

For once, Borley thanked Circe and Morgana that he came from a ridiculously giant family. He'd have to write and thank Aunt Els for her advice.

"She mentioned Complex Magical Trauma, that it'll arrest a magic user's growth sometimes, after a traumatic experience, that she saw it happen once. And he's smaller than some of my younger siblings. The pre-Hogwarts age ones. It's not normal, Madame, and I didn't think until I picked him up...he's so short it felt natural." He felt the blush staining his cheeks. He wasn't one to just go carrying any child about.

"I'll run some scans in the morning before I release him. Now, is your headache gone?" She patted his hand.

"Yes, Madame. And, Madame Pomfrey?" he fidgeted a bit with his cuffs.

"Yes, Mr. Borley?"

"Thank you. I'll check in with Weasley, the prefect one, as well, if you'd like me to? See if he's noticed anything?"

"You can ask, Mr. Borley. I'll pass everything to Professor Snape, if I find anything to worry about. You know he's very good about these things, if there's something to worry about." She patted his hand.

"He is," Borley agreed. "I'll go and check for rogue Weasley minors."

"And come back if your headache returns. Although, I've heard sleep is the best potion." She gave him a pointed look. "And consider what I mentioned earlier, Mr. Borley. I'd hate to lose an apprentice to politics."

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey. I'll make sure I get enough sleep." Borley escaped before she decided to keep him as well. He found he had a great number of things to consider, not least of which was the Potter child.

Chapter Text

Sunday Morning

Spinner's End

Severus rolled over and stretched, luxuriating in the quiet of the morning, and let himself drift. He couldn't remember the last time he slept so well and deeply. After a gentle kiss to the forehead from Riddle-Sinclair, he'd fallen into the kind of sleep he barely remembered from his childhood. The kind he longed for every time he opened his classroom door to the Potter-Malfoy cohort. He debated drifting off again; decades of poor or no sleep dragging at him, luring him back under, but he smelled bacon and his stomach growled.

He debated just pulling on a dressing gown over his nightshift, but he wasn't sure he had the courage to appear in that state of undress. Not even a Bonding and the admittedly lovely band clasped about his wrist overcame years of indoctrination. Even considering anything other than fully dressed for the day made his stomach twist unpleasantly. With a groan, he rolled out of bed and padded barefoot to his clothes press. The soft linen of his nightshift twisted about his ankles; he'd never liked anything shorter than that after his fifth year.

Severus tapped his toes against the floor as he rifled through his clothing, considering what they might do. Trousers would be more practical, especially if he wanted and was able to see the gardens, but he was loathe to put on Potions Master/Professor before he had to. And he'd grown used to the comfort of long skirts, even though it had only been two days. And he knew cleaning charms if the gardens proved muddy or exceedingly wet.

Before he could change his mind, he pulled out a midnight blue kirtle and robe, a silver gray kirtle, fresh underclothes, and a creamy silk and wool blend underkirtle. He wanted layers after feeling so emotionally stripped bare the previous evening. He squirmed into the long-sleeved knitted combinations, pulling the sleeves and legs into place and checking that the buttons securing the drop seat were fastened. He pulled heavy stockings on over the combinations, gartering them just below his knee.

The sleeveless underkirtle went on next, and he closed the high collar with just a touch of his magic. The cloth hugging his throat and just brushing the hinge of his jaw helped settle him a bit. Shame bubbled up when he considered his conduct the prior evening, clinging onto Riddle-Sinclair and blubbing like an infant, honestly. The silver gray kirtle, wool and heavier than the gauzy one he'd worn yesterday, steadied his nerves further. He closed the high collar with blackwork buttons embossed with tiny cauldrons and the sleeves with a touch of magic. He tugged the mitten sleeves down to his knuckles before he picked up the midnight blue wool kirtle.

It looked more black than blue in most lights, but he loved the full skirt and the delicate silver embroidery around the collar. The collar fastened at the back with a small button and loop that held it tight against the base of his throat. He tugged the short sleeves down a bit, straightening the embroidered cuff.

Severus was about to leave his room when something stopped him. He padded back to his dressing table and sat, combing his fingers through his hair. They promptly tangled in the thick length of it and he sighed. This was why he generally doused the stuff in Sleakeazy's. That and protecting it from the sometimes corrosive fumes his students produced instead of a potion. Washed and undressed, it mostly did as it pleased, and it pleased to be thick, abundant, and damned slippery. And deadly to unsuspecting fingers. He untangled himself and picked up his brush from the table top.

He hadn't done his hair in over a decade, too grief-sick and then too busy with no one to really care how he looked (aside from Narcissa, whose letters occasionally pushed him to at least wash the protective potions out of it), but it came back quickly. Muscle memory had him parting and sectioning as if he'd never given it up as useless vanity. He parted his front hair at the center, then divided each side into three sections. Narcissa always frowned at this point, a bit jealous of the sheer amount of hair he possessed, even if it never behaved as well as her own.

Each of the three sections he braided, only going for three-stranded braids as he wasn't positive he could manage anything more without practice. Severus wound the six braids into a complex knot. As he slipped the last pin in the knot, he froze, fingers ghosting against the braids. He'd arranged his hair into the Bound Sub's Knot.

Narcissa taught him after he left Hogwarts, when he still held a few silly hopes deep in his heart. If it was his Bonding day, he'd braid ribbons in his and Riddle-Sinclair's House colors into the hair to symbolize the joining of their Houses. But he was allowed, now, to wear the complicated style, not just to practice and take it down. Severus forced himself to move, lifting the brush again to run it through his back hair.

It was longer than he'd thought. The heavy weight of it brushed just below his shoulder blades. He could have sworn he cut it before the start of term, but the proof was in the length. Toilette completed, he stood before he ran out of courage. The layers only helped so much.

He padded downstairs, heading for the kitchen, and nearly walked straight into Riddle-Sinclair in the hall. Riddle-Sinclair steadied him, large hands gentle on his shoulders, and Severus swallowed hard.

"Good morning," he managed.

"Good morning, pet. I hope you slept well." Riddle-Sinclair turned them toward the kitchen, sliding behind him in the narrow hall. "Oh, Severus."

The soft, fond tone had Severus tripping sideways in the doorway. He fetched up hard against the counter nearest the door, banging his hip on the edge of it. He turned, wincing and gripping the counter behind him as Riddle-Sinclair followed him in. His fingers itched for his wand, just to feel protected, but he suppressed the urge to draw it. He would not turn his wand on his Top, no matter what instinct shrieked at him with a larger man approaching him in this house. He thought he'd exorcised those particular demons.

" Please, don't touch me." His words stayed Riddle-Sinclair's hand, reaching for him. No matter how gentle, he wasn't sure he could stand it, and he couldn't bear falling apart again.

Riddle-Sinclair stepped back to the range, leaving both the door to the hall and the door to the back garden clear. Severus wasn't quite certain what his nerves were doing. He knew Riddle-Sinclair wouldn't hurt him, but the way he'd laid himself bare the prior evening kept poking at him, bringing back all sorts of ancient and buried feelings. He breathed slowly, deeply, bringing his pulse back down and shoring up his ravaged shields.

"I'm perhaps not as recovered as I had thought, from last evening. I apologize for my lapse." He swallowed his pride.

"Oh, pet." Riddle-Sinclair turned from the stove to regard him with soft eyes. "Can I touch you now?"

Severus considered the question and nodded. Riddle-Sinclair crossed to him in two strides and enveloped him in a hug. Severus let himself be tucked close, let himself be the protected, just for a few moments.

"You have nothing to apologize for, pet, and I'm proud of you for telling me not to touch you. It's a hard thing to admit to." Riddle-Sinclair brushed a careful hand down the length of his hair. "And your hair, Severus...well, I'm a poor Top to give you a Gringotts Binding. You give me a great gift, my lad, when you show me your trust."

Severus trembled at the soft, soothing words. He didn't feel like much of a gift, unless you counted hysterical Subs falling apart in the kitchen as a blessing. At least there were no tears to start the day. He rested his forehead against Riddle-Sinclair's chest and enjoyed the petting for a moment. But there were things they needed to do, so with a little grumble he pushed back.

"I would ask a favor, sir, for later." How could he sound so unsure? Narcissa had drilled him during his seventeenth summer until his voice never so much as quavered, no matter the provocation. Now one handsome Top made him go all to pieces.

"And what might that be, pet?"

"Would you mind if I invited Minerva to tea? There are matters I'd like to discuss with her away from Hogwarts." Severus kept his eyes down, still feeling too vulnerable for direct eye contact.

"Severus, my lad, this is your home. If we settle at Sinclair House, that will also be your home. You never need to ask me if you may invite someone into your home, unless that someone is Lucius Malfoy. As it happens, I have no objection to Minerva McGonagall coming for tea. We're set to visit the property as well, once we've breakfasted."

Riddle-Sinclair pressed a soft kiss to his forehead and Severus fought the urge to blush.

"Now." Riddle-Sinclair began briskly, turning Severus and sending him toward the table. "Sit down and I'll bring your breakfast over. You need to eat."

He'd have to do something about Riddle-Sinclair's obsession with his caloric intake, Severus mused as he seated himself. Probably. At some point. For the moment he could, perhaps, allow himself to enjoy the coddling.

Even side-along apparition couldn't diminish the beauty of Sinclair House. Two floors of pale gray stone rose from beautifully landscaped gardens, but not the angular landscaping of Malfoy Manor. These gardens felt more natural, less constrained.

Thankfully, they made it through all four sets of wards. Severus tried in vain to smooth down his hair--it crackled almost as dangerously as Granger's after passing through that much concentrated magic. Four sets of wards, for Merlin's sake.

"You could have warned me," he griped.

"I had absolutely no idea your hair would do...that." Riddle-Sinclair bit his lip, amusement in his eyes, and Severus squashed an urge to flounce off. "I've only ever seen it doused in potions."

"Be that as it may, some of us--" the pop of a house elf interrupted Severus before he could get going.

"Good morning, sirs. I am Otto, the elf of this house. Mister Martin has asked you meet him in the Hall." He was a dignified sort, dressed in a tiny version of a footman's uniform. "Do not dawdle, please. He is most impatient."

Severus couldn't help but think of a very small Jeeves.

"Of course, Otto. I am Darius Riddle-Sinclair, and this is my Bonded, Severus Snape. With your blessing, and approval from Mister and Miss Sinclair, we would ask to make this our home." Riddle-Sinclair bowed to the elf, and Severus found himself intrigued.

"We shall see." Otto raised an eyebrow and turned. "Follow me."

They crossed the entry corridor, making their way to a side hall. Otto opened the door onto the Hall, open to two floors, with soaring ceilings, a giant fireplace, and a beautiful oriole window. Severus loved it immediately, from the wide-planked, honey-colored floors to the stone walls, the same pale gray as the outer walls.

Otto led them across the room, dodging dust-sheeted furniture, to the wall across from the fireplace. A six-foot-plus frame leaned against the wall, a man who looked a bit like the current incarnation of Riddle-Sinclair lounging against a fireplace mantle.

"Hello!" He greeted them cheerfully. "You must be Tommy and...who's your lad, Tom? It is Tom, isn't it? We gave you Darius for our father, but Ro said you were more used to Tom."

"Hello, sir." Riddle-Sinclair smiled warmly. "Thank you for the name and the cover. You and Auntie Ro were very special to me, elsewhen."

"I'm only happy my sister sees sideways, my boy. Now, I know a good bit about what you've been up to these past years, who did you bring with you?" He stood straight, near to beaming at them.

Suddenly, Severus understood how they turned a future Dark Lord into a warm and kind man. You simply couldn't withstand the force of Martin Sinclair's goodwill.

"My Bonded, sir, Severus Snape." Riddle-Sinclair nudged him forward.

Severus tried not to fidget under the elder Sinclair's scrutiny. Painting he might be, but Severus still felt the subtle pull of a Top's energy from him.

"You're the Hogwarts Potions Master, are you not?"

"Yes, sir, for the last twelve years."

"Who were your people?"

"I beg pardon?" Best to plead ignorance than answer an awkward question.

"Your parents, Professor Snape. Who were they? And step closer, lad. I won't bite, I promise."

Severus stepped closer. "My father was Tobias Snape. My mother was Eileen Prince."

"Show me your hands, please?" Martin asked. "And an ear?"

Severus complied, he was a bit vain about his hands. Mother always said they were the Prince hands. The ear was a bit odd, but he showed Sinclair anyway.

"And I'm going to be forward, but might I see an ankle?"

"Uncle Martin!" Riddle-Sinclair scolded while Severus flushed brilliantly. "You may not, sir."

"Without a geneaology potion handy, I'm going out on a limb, but your mother wasn't a Prince, Professor Snape. Not of the English branch, anyway."

"What do you mean?" Severus shivered.

"I mean that Eiluned Tywysog left home at eleven for Hogwarts and never returned. The Welsh families are the progenitors of the English ones, in many cases, and...well, there was quite the scandal. No one knew what happened to her, but...she was supposed to be married young. She may have looked at her options and claimed Sanctuary from the Princes. That would have been enough to obscure both of you from the Tywysog magics." Martin seemed to deflate. "I'm sorry for dragging it up, lad, but people have been looking for you for decades. You have uncles and cousins."

"I have family." Severus repeated faintly. "I'm not...I don't...I'm sorry."

He managed the last just before his knees buckled. The world fuzzed on him, his vision clouding, and he vaguely felt Riddle-Sinclair catch him and lower him gently to the floor. He breathed, chest heaving, against the shock. Riddle-Sinclair arranged them, lifting him easily to sit in his lap, and Severus didn't even have the energy to be embarrassed by it. He slumped bonelessly against his chest, exhausted and shaking.

"Thanks ever so, Uncle Martin. Could you not have waited?" Riddle-Sinclair growled, brushing a gentle hand down Severus' hair. It was nice, Severus thought, having someone growl at people for you.

"I didn't know your lad would take it like this, Tommy." Martin looked as if he wanted to step out of the frame to join them.

"Too many shocks." Severus murmured. "Had a difficult weekend. Not your fault."

Riddle-Sinclair shushed him, rocking them slightly. "Just rest, pet. You're quite safe here. Take a few minutes for yourself, darling lad."

For once, Severus did as he was told, closing his eyes and letting his mind drift. The Welsh connection explained his first language. And his mother's obsessive need to avoid the Wizarding World. She told him that the Princes disowned her for running off and marrying his father when he asked about her family. He added the geneaology potion to his list...or they could visit Gringotts one evening. If he could be unobscured or de-Sanctuaried or whatever it was likely the goblins who could do it. If he explained it to Minerva he was sure she'd cover Slytherin for a night.

He came back to himself to the quiet murmur of Riddle-Sinclair and the elder Sinclair chatting. As he opened his eyes, he caught sight of a tea service sitting on the floor next to them.

"Feeling a bit more steady, lad?" Martin asked, face creasing in concern.

"Thank you, yes." Severus tried to squirm out of Riddle-Sinclair's lap and went nowhere.

The infuriating man just handed him a delicate china teacup and saucer and patted his knee. Severus sipped the steaming tea, pleasantly surprised at the soft citrus notes in the astringent brew. Not an Earl or Lady Grey, but something else light and refreshing. He glanced at the cup, then did a double-take. His was painted with two dueling wizards, disaster in the background.

"Oh, the cups. Mother painted them when Ro and I were tiny. Mother was a demon for china painting and had a rather singular sense of humor. She did a set based on the Kama Sutra that Father nearly banned from the house." Martin explained. "Some of them moved."

For the second time that weekend Severus choked on his tea. He coughed, helped by a thump on the back from Riddle-Sinclair. Now he definitely understood how Riddle-Sinclair turned out the way he did.

"I think we'd very much like to make this out home, sir, if we're welcome." Riddle-Sinclair brushed a hand down Severus' back as he spoke. It didn't distract Severus from the oddly formal request.

"I know how your Auntie Ro will reply, but there are two other voices in this decision. Otto! Meridien! Could you please come to the Hall?"

Two pops sounded and Severus and Riddle-Sinclair were nearly eye-level with two house elves. They'd met Otto, but the female elf clearly came from the gardens. Oh, she was tidy, but leaf litter and damp were difficult to keep off the hems of trousers, even her multi-pocketed ones.

"Yes, Mr. Martin?" Otto spoke first.

"My nephew and his bonded have a request for us. I know how Miss Sinclair and I wish to answer, but you must also agree. Tommy, I think you know the words?"

"I am Darius Boreal Martin Thomas Riddle-Sinclair, adopted into the Sinclair line, and I would ask permission from the guardians of this home that my bonded, Severus Tobias Snape, and I are allowed to settle here, to call this place our home."

"You will care for the house and grounds, holding them in trust for the next generations?" Otto asked.

"We will."

"You will add your magic to the wards, ensuring the safety of the house and grounds?"

"We will."

"You understand that we are guardians, that we keep the house and grounds but do not cater to you?"

"We do."

Severus felt the ambient magic of the house rise, swirling about them. Otto held out a hand and Riddle-Sinclair closed his own around it. Their bond, elf magic, their magic, and the magic of Sinclair House joined in a rush, like a train driving through the room. Only the seeking magic of the house remained gentle. His heart pounded in his ears, expecting something far harsher. It so reminded him of his investiture as Head of Slytherin House, except there was no pain. Elf and house magic whirled softly about them, and he knew what to do.

He thought of his first sight of the place, in pictures and in person, and the draw of it. He thought of Spring and tending to the gardens, sinking his hands and his magic deep into the fresh, soft earth. Of working in a bright, airy potions laboratory to stock the house. Of bringing Sinclair House back to life and living there.

He didn't try to cover the ugly parts of himself: his temper, his rage at the world, his bitterness. That his life, until now, had been pain on pain and trauma on trauma. There was no use in it. But now, now he had something he might be able to live for instead of simply existing.

Far away and close by, he heard a soft chiming, and the ambient magic softened, warming around them. Severus opened his eyes and straightened up a bit. Otto gave the two of them a pleased smile.

"You are welcome to make your home here." He bowed, and both he and Meridien popped out.

"Wonderful, my lads, wonderful!" Martin Sinclair clapped his hands and bounced a bit on his toes. "Now, you two have a wander and let the house get to know you a bit. You, um, shouldn't have as much of a problem passing through the wards, Professor Snape." He gestured to his head.

Severus just glared at him and smoothed his hair down.

"Ah, well, I can see why your students behave." Although he sounded more indulgent than terrified. "I have to slip out for a bit, but if you need me, just call and I'll be back. Auntie Ro is also out for the moment. You can also call for Otto if you get lost. Welcome home."

And they were alone in the Hall.

They got to their feet slowly, and Severus's mouth quirked into a crooked smile when he thought of having such a profound moment sitting on top of someone on the floor. He caught Riddle-Sinclair's eye and the other man snorted and shook his head, grinning.

"Come, pet, we can have a look around and then get back in time for tea." He drew Severus under his arm and gently led him from the room.

Chapter Text

Silly it may have been, but Severus changed into his Master's robes from Narcissa before meeting with Minerva. The heavy wool of the long coat settled his nerves just as well as his usual teaching garb, with the added benefit of no trousers. Now he was out of them for two days together he was loathe to go back. A risk, perhaps, allowing Minerva in like that, but he trusted her enough to try. He left his hair, as well, though he spent several long minutes staring at the tub of Sleakeazy's on his dressing table.

Perhaps it was time for a different solution. He rooted about in the dressing table drawers until he found one of the caps he'd worn through his Mastery studies. His master would never allow anyone with potion-soaked hair in the laboratory. The runic embroidery around the edge of the cap protected both the hair and the wearer without interfering with potions. He'd try it, at least. And if anyone showed interest...no, he would have his classes making and embroidering their own. He'd made scores of them alongside his fellow apprentice and learning those skills served him well. And perhaps he could get Babbling to assist with an explanation of the runes.

He set the cap on the table and stood, smoothing his hair one last time before leaving his room. Mother would have called it appalling vanity, but he found he didn't much care. Narcissa taught him decades ago how to care for himself and now he had reason to want to. Part of him regretted how he neglected himself for ten years, but he could change going forward. Small things, perhaps, but knowing Riddle-Sinclair supported him gave him the courage to try.

He left his room then, having dawdled long enough. He wouldn't leave Riddle-Sinclair to face Minerva alone. Not on their technically first meeting. They'd put the sitting room to rights as soon as they returned, moving the stacks and bundles of documents and files to the kitchen and up to Severus' office. They still had much to sort, which assuaged some of Severus' guilt at having to leave Riddle-Sinclair to his own devices come the morning.

Not that he felt a Sub should forever dance attendance on a Dom, but their bond was still so new. At least Riddle-Sinclair would have things to do, and a home to open once again. He'd never been homesick before, but he could easily be for Sinclair House. Severus found himself drifting through the sitting room, fluffing pillows and straightening his already tidy secretary, before he wandered into the kitchen. He pulled his watch from the cleverly concealed watch pocket at his waist and checked the time.

Five minutes until Minerva arrived. He tamped down on nerves, shoring up his shields...he would have to stop relying so heavily on Occlumency, he supposed. Eventually. But until then, he could use the techniques to calm and order his thoughts.

The kitchen smelled warmly of freshly baked bread, buttery shortbread, and oatcake. Tea they would have, but nothing terribly fancy. Minerva would appreciate the shortbread, in any case. He puttered in the kitchen, poking through his tea tins until he came up with an assertive Assam. Minerva preferred stronger teas, and he felt the need for a pick me up.

The doorbell chimed through the first floor and Severus bobbled the tea tin. He gave it and a grinning Riddle-Sinclair a filthy look before he swept out of the kitchen. He swept back in a moment later, flushing, and set the tin sharply on the counter before sweeping out again. It was only a few steps to the front door. Severus calmed himself before he opened it to Minerva, Riddle-Sinclair a comforting presence just behind him.

"Welcome, Minerva." They stood aside so she could enter and lay her hat on the small console table. It was a bit of a squish making introductions in the small foyer, but they would have to manage. "It is my honor to introduce Darius Riddle-Sinclair, my newly Bonded Top."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Professor McGonagall." Riddle-Sinclair bowed slightly.

Severus never thought he would see Minerva McGonagall at a loss for words. She stared at them, as if his introduction didn't quite make sense.

"Well." She paused and took a deep breath. "This will certainly set the kneazels among the pigeons. I trust this is a fully consensual Bonding?"

Severus was only happy her glare centered on Riddle-Sinclair.

"Minerva, no one has ever coerced me into doing anything I haven't fully wished to do, no matter the inducement." He spoke sharply, perhaps too sharply, and amended his statement more gently. "Except once. There was a contract between our families come due and I could have refused had I wished. Please, come sit and have some tea?"

"I have some questions for you, young man." Minerva sniffed in the direction of Riddle-Sinclair and preceded Severus into the sitting room. She chose one of the arm chairs.

Riddle-Sinclair brought in the tea tray bearing the more delicate set. He set the shortbread closest to Minerva, with the piping hot scones and oatcakes bracketed by butter and jam pots. He handed her a steaming cup of tea before he sat next to Severus on the settee.

"I don't recall the Sinclairs, either of them, having a child?" She took a sip of her tea and paused, nodding at the cup after she swallowed. "You make a decent cup of tea, though."

"I was adopted. I'm rather distant kin to them, and they were very kind to my mother and me." Riddle-Sinclair answered easily.

"You didn't attend Hogwarts, though? I don't remember you as a student, and I would have taught you."

"It was safer for me to be home educated, Professor. My father was not the sort you want within five kilometers of a child." Well, no one would want either reality's Voldemort near children.

"Hmm. I must remind you, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair, that Severus is dear to many of us at Hogwarts. Any untoward behavior toward him will see you facing quite a few wands. Not least of which are the ones belonging to his Slytherins." Minerva spoke firmly as she set a few delicate squares of shortbread on her plate.

" He can care for himself ." Severus resisted the urge to disappear into the settee cushions.

"I completely understand, Professor McGonagall. I do hope that if I ever seem to be interfering in Severus' work, someone will tell me. I wish to support his career, not hinder it." The charming smile, which turned Severus' knees to water, had less of an impact on Minerva.

"You will be informed, sir." She answered slowly. "Now, Severus, what else did you need to discuss? Living arrangements?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Professor's spouses are allowed to live in, Severus, should you both wish. I can have appropriate alterations made to your quarters."

"Not that, Minerva. We have more pressing issues than where my bonded is stored."

"Severus!" Minerva scolded. "That is hardly an appropriate way to speak."

"I'm going to go store myself in the kitchen." Riddle-Sinclair chuckled as he rose from the settee, taking a cup of tea with him. "I have a great deal of work still to do. And Professor?"

"Yes?"

"If you wish, you're more than welcome to stay for dinner."

"As much as I appreciate the invitation, I do have duties this evening. Thank you and congratulations, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair. Remember that Severus is very dear to us at Hogwarts."

Severus felt his cheeks and ears flushing. Sometimes, being the youngest House Head had more downsides than upsides.

"I'll leave you to your business. Severus, I'll just be in the kitchen if I'm needed."

He felt the loss of Riddle-Sinclair's bolstering presence. He had nothing to be nervous over; it was just Minerva, someone he'd trusted for a decade. They'd worked out their differences years ago and she was a friend. But still, he felt slightly unsettled.

"What I need to tell you, Minerva, is difficult. You have an abused child in your House."

This wasn't the first time they'd had this conversation, unfortunately. But the child in question made it so much more difficult.

"Who is it, Severus? And can we get them moved quickly? Is there family?"

"It's Potter, Minerva."

Minerva set her teacup down with a click and sat back, closing her eyes. She looked suddenly exhausted, haggard at the news.

"I told him they were the worst sort." Her voice came low and strained. "Well, you'd best tell me the worst of it."

"Miss Granger brought it to my attention. She apparently tried to speak to you a few weeks ago after considering what she knew of his life." He tried not to sound accusatory. Minerva did her best, but she was one woman trying to fill three roles.

Minerva's mouth twitched into a thin line, but she schooled her features and folded her hands over her knee.

"Minerva, it is not your fault. You did not place him there, nor did you send him back. Did he ask you to remain over the summer?" Because there were enough problems awaiting them without stewing in guilt.

"No, he's never said anything, Severus. He was small for his age, but it does happen. If I had more time with them, though…"

"If ifs and ands were pots and pans, Minerva. You do the best you can. You knew he was given into the care of Petunia?"

"I knew it was Lily's sister and a Muggle household. He seems so...normal. He's made friends and he's generally well-liked. He's polite, as well. Mostly." She twitched a smile at him over the edge of her teacup.

"Some children manage to come out the other side of a difficult childhood like Potter. Many don't." Severus stared down into his teacup.

"And we're lucky we have you to ferret out the needed information." Minerva patted his knee.

Severus steeled himself to give his report. The next few minutes wouldn't be pleasant.

"It seems as if the worst is criminal neglect and overwork. I spoke to Petunia Dursley and she freely admits to using him like a house elf and not feeding him. He does much of the gardening and cooking in the household, in addition to a good deal of cleaning. His room, until his Hogwarts letter arrived, was the cupboard under the stairs. After that, he was given his cousin's second bedroom. After the incident over the summer, they installed five locks on the outside of the door and a cat flap. There were bars over the window until the Weasley children quite literally broke him out. He wasn't being fed appropriately, again. The uncle left bruises when he tried to drag the boy back into his room." He paused to collect himself. "The cousin is encouraged to be as rough as possible with him. Other adults have seen the bruises and have noticed his build."

"Severus, Poppy gave me a file for you. She wanted you to have it immediately." Minerva broke in before he could keep going and pulled a shrunken file from her pocket. She enlarged it and handed it over. "I read it, but I was unfamiliar with one of the results."

Severus flipped it open, his stomach dropping as he read. Poppy's report was as succinct as ever, detailing the results of the health scans done on Potter. The extremely thorough scans, including one he rarely saw used and only recognized due to personal experience.

"Who brought Healer Blydh into this?" he asked, his voice shaking.

"Poppy mentioned that it was Prefect Borley who had some concerns. Mr. Potter attempted an Infirmary-break last night. Prefect Borley brought him back." Minerva kept her own voice level.

"I see." Severus locked his hands on the file to keep them from shaking as well. "We will have to ask Mr. Potter what happened when he was eight. The underlying health problems are more concerning when seen in one place."

"What is this one, Severus?" She leaned over and pointed to the result marked CMT scan: Positive. "It's the only scan I haven't seen before."

"Poppy went looking for Complex Magical Trauma. It occurs when a young magic user experiences something so profoundly traumatic that they are, for lack of a better explanation, arrested in that moment or state. It is usually when one's magic has reason to believe remaining in that state is safest. When the child feels safe again, they will move out of that state. Mr. Potter's growth arrested, so I would assume his magic believed he would be safer smaller. It is also part and parcel to the malnutrition."

"So when he was about eight…" Minerva swallowed hard. "Have you found any other family who could take him?"

"I'll speak to the Weasley boys and Mr. Potter first, Minerva. I'll also look for any way we can have him moved. As far as I know, he has no other family, and it could prove difficult to send him to, say, the Weasley family."

"I don't see why. I know Arthur and Molly would take him."

"Except that there are others who are better off who may make such a transfer difficult."

"You don't think…you are friends with the Malfoys, Severus."

"I was a convenient project and cover for Lucius. Whilst Narcissa and I have forged a friendship, they remain extremely selfish people. I would not have Potter turned into another Draco Malfoy or male Pansy Parkinson."

"But if the Weasleys have him first…"

"The Malfoys and others have closer ties to him through the Blacks. And the Weasleys, however good a family and however strong their ties to him, are not supported by those who hold power. When he is moved, it will have to be in a way that gives no room for argument." Severus closed the file, stomach turning a bit, and folded his hands over it.

"Which means we have seven months to find him a new home." Minerva's hands shook slightly as she sipped her tea.

He had never been more thankful that he and Minerva had their differences out his second year teaching. Granted it only came about due to Pomona sparking an argument and locking them in the staff room, but screaming every injustice from his first moments in the Wizarding World back at her lanced some of the festering pain of his school years. Sometimes, casting an authority figure's failings up to them helped. And she'd apologized to him. She'd listened and apologized and that allowed them to move forward as colleagues.

"We've faced more insurmountable tasks, Minerva. We moved Theo Nott to his uncle. And this gives us more time to make certain Mr. Potter's health improves. I can..."

"Yes, Severus?"

"I'm having the seventh years brew geneaology potions in two weeks. I can...hmm…"

"What are you...Severus I can hear the gears turning."

"Would you give permission for me to upend the curriculum for the first and second years?"

"Upend it how, precisely?"

"If I switch the curriculum to something skills-based for the first two years...it's honestly not required for using the seventh year students' brews, but it is something I've been considering. If I spend two years teaching the skills--safety and cleaning and knife skills and tool care--I think more students will find success. I noticed how much trouble some children have, especially as many Muggle parents don't allow their children to help with meal preparation." He'd been asking for years and had been refused, but if he got Minerva onside, she'd slip it in.

"Are these the changes you've been asking for every July for the past five years?" Minerva asked tartly.

"Perhaps?"

"Well, I feel that two years of foundational learning before beginning more challenging brews is a wonderful idea. You will allow some brewing during this time?"

"Yes. We will attempt potions like boil cures and will investigate the interaction of ingredients based on preparation."

"Do you have a syllabus?"

"I have a book." He rose, setting Potter's file on the table, and went to the secretary. He unlocked it and removed a thick folio. "I had it typeset, so there will be no complaints about my hand."

Crossing the room, he handed it to Minerva. She flipped through, taking in the delicate, moving line drawings that accompanied the text.

"Did you do the illustration as well?"

"I created the runic array that translated what my hands were doing into an illustration. It took a bit of doing." Severus fidgeted as she paged through.

"You ought to be very proud, Severus. This is fine work. Do you have a copy? If I drop by the printer on my way back, I can arrange for copies to be available for first and second years by Wednesday." Minerva smiled, a thin thing, but her pride and approval shone through.

"I...yes. I do. You're approving it, just like that?" He couldn't help the question.

"As Hogwarts Deputy Head, I can make this decision. This will bring Hogwarts in line with other magical institutions and will serve our students well. Sometimes…" she stopped and sighed. "Sometimes I wonder if we're wasting that brain of yours, keeping you locked away teaching when you revolutionize scientific illustration in your spare time."

"I'm hardly a damsel in a tower, Minerva. I didn't have the connections it would take to start my own laboratory and Albus took a great chance on me. I have found some peace in teaching."

"Had found, more likely, with the way Mr. Potter gets about."

"You're quite right." Oddly, he found the bitterness usually stirred by thinking of the Potter child gone. "Minerva, we will find a new home for him. It's why I want his family tree, the curriculum change is an unexpected bonus."

"Well, if you don't ask you won't be given permission. Why don't you and Poppy speak to him? I can bring him to the Hospital Wing tomorrow evening, and send the Weasley boys down to you directly after classes."

"Would it give you more time if I sent Borley for him? According to Poppy he responded well to him, despite the color of his tie."

"As much as I would like to say yes, I think I should be there. I have a responsibility to him. I can only shudder to think of what Lily would say about this."

"Most likely 'Why did you give him to Pisstunia, Albus?'" He'd timed it for when she took a sip of her tea. Only by years of experience did she not choke.

"Did you just call her...Severus, you're supposed to be an adult." Minerva scolded after she swallowed, but amusement glimmered in her eyes.

"Haven't you heard that I'm a Brat?" He teased gently. She didn't know, at least before this, as he'd kept such things absolutely private. But it felt like the right time to trust.

"Oh, Severus." Her face softened, eyes losing their mirth when she looked at him. "And you've managed all this time, alone, with so many responsibilities."

"You don't miss what you've never had, Minerva. It's not common knowledge, but...it's time to trust in one's friends." He stared at his hands instead of facing her concern.

"I'm going to do something, as a friend, that you are likely going to hate. Mr. Riddle-Sinclair, could you join us?" She raised her voice just enough to carry.

Riddle-Sinclair joined them in just a moment, holding a sheaf of parchment.

"Yes, Professor?"

"As Severus has trusted me enough to disclose his Designation to me, I'm going to stick my oar in. You will be joining Severus in his quarters as his Bonded. Your bond is too new for you to be separated for long periods." Minerva spoke firmly and Severus recognized the tone.

"Of course, Professor." Riddle-Sinclair acquiesced. Severus wondered if he'd been plotting for this. "I agree with you. It is a bit too soon to be away."

He leaned in the doorway, just waiting and watching. For some reason, that rubbed him all the wrong way.

"Am I to have no say in my own life? " His voice came out quietly venomous, his hands balling into fists in his lap.

"Severus, if we had the cover and weren't in the middle of another Potter-based crisis, I'd give you a honeymoon starting now. I'm terribly sorry I can't." She reached over and covered one of his hands with her own. "As soon as I can manage it, you're going to have your month, and not during summer holidays. For the moment, this is the best I can do for you."

And now he felt like a heel for his jolt of bad temper.

"Thank you, Minerva. I am sorry. I'm not quite myself at the…"

"Absolute rot, Severus. You have nothing to apologize over. You've had several shocks and drastic changes to your life in the last few days, including discovering Potter's home situation. If you were absolutely your normal self I'd be worried."

Her crisp, sensible speech cut through his recrimination. Would he ever have governance over his sharp tongue? Or over his life? He was Bonded, and he'd have to make the best of it, which gave his guardianship into Riddle-Sinclair's hands. Oh, he wasn't property , not legally, but some of this was why he'd kept his Designation so secret. He never wanted people talking over him and making decisions for him. He wanted people to respect him and his opinions, not treat him like an irresponsible child.

"You don't deserve my ill temper, in any case, Minerva. Thank you for your concern."

"Now, I'm going to let you enjoy your afternoon." She set down her cup and rose. "Severus, thank you for bringing Harry's home life to me. We will get all of this mess cleared away. I'll arrange meetings with Poppy and the Weasley boys. And I'll have an extra room added to your quarters."

Severus rose, Riddle-Sinclair following, to see Minerva out.

"Thank you, Minerva. And please, take a tin of the shortbread?" He offered while Riddle-Sinclair held out the tin.

"Thank you, Severus. I'll expect the both of you for breakfast. We'll have an announcement for the general student body."

"I'm not entirely certain I should look forward to that." Severus managed a smile.

"Don't worry yourself, Severus. It will all come out just fine." And with that, they were alone again.

Chapter Text

Severus' only problem was that he couldn't help worrying. Riddle-Sinclair went on as he apparently always did, calm and orderly, while Severus fidgeted his way through the afternoon. His life was about to turn upside down, again. Everyone would know. The Headmaster would know. What would he say? Especially as the man he brought with him was a Riddle.

Would he lose his position? His contract was with Hogwarts, and technically the board had to approve firings and hirings, but he had few friends among them. He'd...he couldn't lose his Slytherins, not when he was finally making progress. Or his position, not when he finally had the chance to make some changes. He ought to have spoken to Minerva years ago. But would everyone howl about a Sub as Head of a House? Because one look at them together and it was obvious. And he didn't want to go back to his other clothing, not when he finally felt fully himself. Not when he'd finally accepted this part of himself.

He didn't want to hide anymore.

Severus popped up off the settee to pace behind it. Riddle-Sinclair finally looked up from his file and frowned slightly.

"Are you fretting, pet?" The gentle question set Severus' teeth on edge.

"One can walk and think without fretting , sir. " It came out sneery and sarcastic, the 'sir' barely scraping respectful. He'd have sent any Slytherin speaking to him like that straight to bed.

"Well then, it's good you're not working yourself up."

Severus turned on his heel, outraged by the mild comment, to glare at the other man. He'd no idea where all these feelings were coming from, but he wanted to bite something.

"Perhaps you should take that temper up to the bath. A good soak might help."

"No." Severus bit out the word, going back to pacing.

"It wasn't a suggestion, lad."

This time his tone held something, something Severus could batter against and never break. Relief and rage flooded through him in equal parts and he stopped his pacing to grab the back of the nearest chair, breathing hard, eyes closed.

"And I said no." He ground out the words, half terrified that he'd launch himself at Riddle-Sinclair if he didn't.

"I see." Two words held volumes.

Severus started violently. He hadn't even heard the blasted man move. He opened his eyes enough to glare viciously.

"I think this might help." A vial appeared before Severus' eyes.

"I don't need a sodding calming draught!" Before he could process the urge, he twitched the vial out of Riddle-Sinclair's fingers and hurled it at the fireplace.

The glass shattered against the tiles, leaving a damp splotch behind. Severus stared, breathing hard, absolute horror at his lack of control turning his blood to ice. His hands shook, and he had no idea what expression crossed his face when he realized how close Riddle-Sinclair stood.

"It was a headache reliever, but it seems you're in desperate need of something else, my lad." Riddle-Sinclair's voice held a disapproving note that had Severus' stomach clenching. "A hot bottom looks to be needed."

"I...I don't...I...I'm sorry!" He trembled, the chair the only thing keeping his knees from buckling.

"I'm sure you are lad. Brats usually are after a tantrum. You're going to stand right where I put you while I clean up the glass, and then we're going to have a thorough chat about tantrums and throwing things."

With that, Severus found Riddle-Sinclair detaching his hands from the back of the chair and leading him over to the wall. The only blank stretch of wall in the sitting room.

"Don't move, pet. Think about what happened here."

How was he meant to think when his brain refused to produce anything other than the static of shock. He didn't throw things. He'd never done anything so blatantly bratty in his adulthood. He just...he didn't. His hands balled at his sides as his breath came harsh and panting. Just as he felt himself about to go completely to pieces, Riddle-Sinclair cleared his throat.

"Come along, lad."

Severus went where he was led, half expecting a backhand or a curse. But Riddle-Sinclair only settled down on the settee and pulled his pathetically trembling form into his lap.

"Now, can you tell me what that naughtiness was in aid of, lad?"

Severus opened his mouth to answer the gentle question but no words came. Riddle-Sinclair held him close, strong arms wrapped around him. Severus slumped against his chest, wrung out from such rapid emotional shifts. He seemed content to wait until Severus could speak.

"I don't even know, sir. I was...I was relieved and then so wretchedly angry. I am sorry." He managed some kind of explanation, finally.

"And perhaps, deep down, you needed to push a bit, to find out what would happen whilst we had the privacy?"

Severus shrugged. He'd have told off any Slytherin for it, but he'd rather be a bit rude than open his mouth and be stupendously rude. He wasn't some firstie wondering if their Head of House really meant those rules.

"I think you can take it as a rule that we do not throw things in a temper. I'm not best pleased with that tantrum, my lad. I know we haven't had the time yet, but I'm telling you now that you're to open your mouth and talk to me when you start getting so upset. The only reason you're not over my knee right now is that we haven't had time to discuss consequences."

Severus' stomach clenched on buzzing nerves. He wanted and didn't want consequences for his actions in near equal amounts. He wanted the strength and solidity of Riddle-Sinclair backing him up, that surety and calm helping make sense of the chaos of his world. But now, coming bang up against the solid boundary of what his Top would tolerate (and he had pushed since their Bonding... just enough that he hadn't gone over the line) he wasn't sure what he could bear. But it seemed he didn't need to try to make sense of what he wanted just yet.

"If you want my opinion, I think going over my knee for a smacking would help settle you. It's clear corner time just wound you up further, pet, and I think what I'm seeing is an over-stressed, over-stretched Brat who's been left to his own devices for much too long."

"I don't...I can't… " Severus damned himself a coward as he trembled in Riddle-Sinclair's arms. Faced with the decision, such a damnable thing, his courage failed. He didn't want to decide. For once in his miserable life, he wanted to give decisions over to someone else.

"Oh, lad." Riddle-Sinclair held him close for a moment before setting him on his feet and divesting him of his long coat. "Right, Severus, has any Top ever taken you to task properly?"

"No sir." His voice came as a bare whisper.

"I'm going to put you over my knee now, pet." He suited action to words and Severus found himself staring at his sitting room carpet. Tipped forward as he was, his feet didn't reach the floor. "Your skirts go up and your drop seat comes down."

Severus felt the cool air of the room ghost over his rear and fought not to blush. He hadn't been so exposed since his fifth year, only now there was no crowd of jeering onlookers, just one man about to discipline him. Riddle-Sinclair patted his backside and Severus squeaked, starting.

"Shh, pet, shh. You may squirm and kick and shout as much as you need to. I'll never tell you that you mayn't. Now, why am I smacking your backside, Severus?"

He couldn't be serious. How was one meant to think bare and bent over a lap?

"Severus? I'd like an answer to my question, please. It's important that you show me you understand why I'm giving you a smacking."

"I…" Severus' voice squeaked out of existence. "I threw a potions vial at the wall in a fit of temper." Saying it out like that had his face flaming. "And...and I've been pushing you since...since we bonded."

"Thank you, Severus. You will not throw things during a tantrum, my lad. I won't countenance such behavior. We're going to handle that now, as well as the pushing you've been doing this weekend."

The first smack fell, hard and stinging, settling into a firm rhythm. Severus yelped, then shoved a hand in his mouth to stop any further noise escaping. Permission he may have had, but he would rather be set afire again than do something so infantile as yelp over a smacked backside. He'd taken many a Crucio without screaming his head off and after a certain point he hadn't given his father the satisfaction of either screaming or tears.

But this was neither a torture curse nor a beating. Severus bit down on his hand as the heat grew behind. He breathed deeply, ignoring the slight hitch every few breaths. He could simply shore up his Occlumency shields, disappear into his own mental fortress. But even the thought had his stomach turning with guilt. He shifted slightly, his hips squirming away from the steady rain of swats, but Riddle-Sinclair didn't miss or slow his hand.

Severus hooked his ankles together, his legs straightening out behind him in a bid not to squirm or wriggle or kick. His breath came in a whining gasp at each smack, ratcheting up the sting. As the pressure rose in his chest and his eyes pricked with unshed tears, he broke, throwing a hand back to cover his incandescent backside.

"Dare, please! No more!" He choked out the humiliating plea, forgetting his vow to keep distance between them entirely.

"Move your hand, please, Severus." Came his only response.

Severus wilted over his lap, shaking his head. "I can't. Please!"

He didn't even know what he begged for until Dare moved his hand and held it snug at the small of his back. Severus found himself lifted forward a bit as Dare raised his knee. The first swat to the crease where bottom met thigh loosened his tongue.

"Ow! Dare, ow!" He squirmed against the sting, somehow worse on unsmacked skin.

"That's better, pet. We'll be discussing you biting yourself, as well. You are not to injure yourself, my lad." He sounded as if he was discussing the weather, the swine.

"No more!" Severus drummed his toes against the floor, unable to form a more coherent argument.

"That's not up to you, pet. Well, in a way it is, as you'll show me when you're done. But my Brat doesn't get to decide when he's done, especially not by bellowing at me." He never even faltered as he spoke, laying down smack after smack.

Severus wriggled over Dare's lap, fighting tears, desperate not to cry. He hadn't since his bender after Lily's murder and he had no wish to give in to such weakness again. Disgusting, Dumbledore called him, and he wouldn't be that again. But it hurt. He'd never been put over a knee, parental or Top, for a smacking before. He could disassociate from a belting, just step away from the pain, but this...every smack anchored him to here and now. The sting and burn and heat wouldn't let him ease away from it.

"You're doing so well, pet. It's time to stop fighting, love. It's time to let go. You've done so well on your own and you've come so far, but it's time for help. I'm so tremendously proud of you, sweeting. Let go for me now."

The soft words, combined with searing smacks right where he sat, proved his undoing. He choked on the first sob, coughing against it, but couldn't stop. Tears spilled over his cheeks, wetting the cushions below him. He felt as if his chest were cracking open.

His control abandoned him and he wailed, thrashing about as much as he was able. Each smack drove his unmaking as he howled out decades of pain and grief. He knew only the blaze behind him and the unending, turbulent ocean of his emotions.

Slowly, he became aware of not more smacking but a gentle hand rubbing up and down his spine. He shuddered, still weeping into the cushions, trying to calm himself. Wrung out, he remained where he was, uncaring of his state of undress. More tears slipped down his cheeks, as if making up for all the years of suppression.

Dare righted him, and Severus wobbled a moment before his knees buckled and he sank down. His Top pulled him into his lap, arranging him to straddle his lap. Severus slumped against him, posture be damned, and burrowed close. Dare wrapped strong arms about him, cupping the back of his head, holding him like something precious. Another sob caught in his throat and he turned his wet face to hide against Dare's shoulder.

He couldn't stop the quiet weeping now that he'd given into it.

"Oh, my darling lad, there you go, take your time. You take as much time as you need. We're not in any rush." Dare soothed, rubbing a strong hand over his shoulders and back. "There's no shame in tears, pet, and you have more reason than most for them."

It took a damnably long time for him to cease weeping like a child. And over a smacked bum. Severus straightened up, arranging his face into his usual implacable mask, and opened his mouth.

Dare interrupted him with a sharp swat that stung even through the layers of his clothing, and he was suddenly aware that his underclothes remained unfastened. At least he'd worn a silk underkirtle as his first layer.

"None of that mask, pet. You show me what you're feeling or you can go right back over my knee." The stern words had Severus' eyes tearing yet again.

"Yes sir," he snuffled, hiding against his shoulder again.

"Good lad. Now, are we going to have a repeat of that naughtiness? Are you going to be throwing things like that again?"

"No sir." Even though 'naughtiness' made him want to cringe and hide.

"Very good. And tantrums?"

"No more, sir." Severus rasped. Now that he knew the consequences, he would be that much more careful.

"What will you do if you start to feel so out of sorts again?" Dare rubbed his back comfortingly through the questioning.

"Speak to you about it before I lose control." Because like hell would he go through that again. He felt ripped open, vulnerable and weak, and also safer than he'd ever felt before.

"And should you misstep, pet, it won't be the end of the world. We'll handle whatever we need to, my lad."

Severus burrowed closer, not caring at all for his dignity. His backside throbbed, his face felt stiff with dried tears, and he was completely wrung out. He let himself drift, warm and comfortable, held safe by his Top. Dare murmured something and far off he heard a tap run for a moment. Severus twitched back at Dare's fingers tilting his chin up, forcing him out of his comfortable spot.

He whined before he could stifle it, making his displeasure known.

"Hush, bratling." Dare wiped a warm, damp facecloth over his tear-stained cheeks.

"Hardly a child," Severus grouched.

"You'll always be my bratling. Is that better?" He could barely look Dare in the face, his eyes held such warmth of affection.

Severus nodded. "Thank you."

"Rest now, pet. We've nowhere to be. In a bit we'll have some supper, and then an early night for you, I think."

Deep inside, there was a niggle of rebelliousness, but he felt comfortably cared for enough that it was easy to squash. He wouldn't challenge Dare again, not so soon. Not when he was, finally, held safe and secure by a Top he trusted.

Chapter Text

He'd made a terrible mistake. He couldn't, wouldn't expose himself in such a public manner. It had all gone to his head, clearly, that had to be it. Changing his clothing, his hair, and for what? A Top? How had it come to this...this unbearable exposure?

"Severus, I only asked what you had decided for your surname?" Minerva asked gently.

"Best stick with Snape, for now." Dare answered for him. "Please breathe, Severus. You won't do anyone any good if you faint into your eggs."

"I...yes." He pulled himself together. "I am sorry, Minerva. Snape will remain my surname for the moment."

"The door will open when it's time. Most students should be at breakfast by now." And Minerva was gone from the anteroom.

"Second thoughts?" Dare asked gently.

"I've kept my personal life absolutely private for so many years. This is...an adjustment." Though his Slytherins seemed thrilled by his new status, and promised to behave perfectly after extracting a promise of Dare as a visitor for tea on Saturday.

The door popped open and Severus took Dare's proffered arm.

"We'll get through this, pet. Together."

"Of course, sir." Severus breathed deeply and stepped through the door to stunned silence and a new chapter.

"You will not need cauldrons today." Severus strode through the door to the Potions classroom, robes flowing behind him. The door slammed behind him; half the class jumped. "You will need your preparation kit available. Have them out and unrolled."

The second year Slytherin/Gryffindor class stared at him. With Malfoy away and Potter still tucked up in the infirmary, he expected more compliance than rebellion.

"Now."

A general rustling greeted his command as his students unrolled their kits. He stepped up to the platform where his desk sat and paced the length of it, just watching.

"There are going to be some…" he began, sweeping across the front of the platform. Two steps to the far end while the silence stretched, pivot, and, "changes in our curriculum. I have the...pleasure...of a class that includes children who will be leaders in our world in a terrifyingly few years. I will not send you out into the world ignorant of the difference between a mince and a dice or ground and powdered. This year, we will make a thorough study of ingredient preparation, how that preparation influences the properties in a potion, and why keeping your kit in good order is vital to your success. "

He stepped down to sweep through the aisles, appreciating the way his new robes twisted and flared with each pivot.

"Miss Parkinson." He stopped at the station she shared with Greengrass.

"Yes sir?" She pushed her kit forward a bit, clearly expecting praise in the absence of Draco.

"Why does your kit look as if it were last maintained in June?" She deflated a bit. "Why does everyone's kit look as if it were last maintained in June?"

A general shuffling and looking at the benchtops commenced. Some had the excuse of living in the Muggle world, at least.

"This class period will be spent cleaning and sharpening your tools. Once your tools are in an acceptable state, we will begin making the caps which will be mandatory whilst we brew later this term. I will also assign you your new partner. I will not have you leave Hogwarts unable to work together. If you cannot, after this year, successfully brew a potion with your assigned partner, then I weep for the future of our world. For what will happen in our halls of commerce and the Wizengamot if all you do is argue?"

A general shuffling greeted his words. He wondered for a moment if any of them had heard such a speech before. Dumbledore would prattle on about cooperation and letting rivalries go, and then hand a few hundred points to Gryffindor. Perhaps a miserable bastard goading them into cooperation would have better luck. Children were a perverse lot.

"I asked a question of you." They jumped at his emphasis.

Granger put up her hand because of course she did.

"Miss Bulstrode, can you give an answer?" For all her organizational abilities and leadership qualities, Millicent remained quiet in most classes.

"We will fail as a society if we can't work together toward a common goal and a common good."

"Thank you, Miss Bulstrode, that was a thoughtful answer. Miss Granger, do you wish to add something?" Best let her get it out of her system.

"I agree with Bulstrode. We see the same thing in the Muggle world, people not working together. It deadlocks everything. But in a smaller world, on a smaller scale, it could be disastrous."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Theo Nott turned in his seat to glare at her.

Severus leaned back against his desk and watched. He hadn't meant to start this so soon, but it was encouraging to see Bulstrode and Granger agree. Given both sets of parents actually worked, it seemed they had a grasp on economics. At least of a sort.

"Well, who supplies the grain for the food supply? Or the vegetables? Or livestock? Who provides cloth and leather for clothing and shoes? Or wood pulp for paper manufacture? Who does the manufacturing? If one of those things is done by one family or one small group, then you get a monopoly. If the people with the monopoly disagree with the Ministry, then perhaps some goods or materials won't make it to market." Granger's questions held the pent-up frustration of a child who never got the answers she wanted. At least on this topic.

"If my family took offense to the way much of the English Wizarding community treats my mother and withheld goods from market, there would be precious little cloth available." Bulstrode turned to Granger. "My family supplies, either through end-to-end manufacture or import, the majority of the wool, linen, and silk available in England and Scotland."

"And...and the Longbottoms supply a g...great deal of the potions ingredients t...to market." Longbottom stuttered. "Mostly through cultivation, but also through wild collection."

And wasn't that a turn up for the books. Longbottom actually remembering and using what his family did.

"Two points to Gryffindor, Mr. Longbottom, for a pertinent and timely addition to a class discussion." He awarded points rarely, and usually to make a point. His Slytherins and Longbottom gaped. "And you can work on your kit as you talk. I will allow this discussion."

"Why don't we learn any of this? If I'm expected to live in the Wizarding world as a productive member of society, why am I not learning how any of it works? Beyond 'oh, well, we have a Ministry'. What does it all do? " Granger, thankfully, put the attention of all back to the discussion.

He'd thought it would be Granger who brought the appalling ignorance of the Muggleborn students to light, in re: the Wizarding World, and the other Heads now owed him three free evenings and an extra free weekend.

"What do you mean you don't…" Bulstrode began, running one of her knives over a whetstone as she spoke. "Please don't tell me that you come to Hogwarts ignorant of the Wizarding World?"

"We didn't even get a pamphlet. Professor Vector visited my family to explain, and told us it was a great deal like Eton, but more old fashioned. That was it." Dean Thomas backed Granger.

"What's an Eton?" Parkinson asked.

"It's a traditional non-magical boarding school for boys. A lot of them go on to government posts." Thomas explained, polishing a newly sharpened knife.

"But there's so much we don't know! And when you ask older students, you just get fobbed off to the library or told you'll pick it up as you go. How is anyone supposed to 'pick it up' if--"

"Miss Granger! Kindly cease windmilling your arms. I will not have my record of no serious injuries besmirched by your carelessness!" He interrupted when it looked like her passionate speech would have Weasley's eye out.

"Sorry, sir. Sorry, Ron." Granger hunched over her desk, cheeks pink.

"But I think the class would like to hear the rest of your question." Severus prompted.

"Well, if no one will even tell me what's wrong with the uniform or anything, how am I supposed to get any other information about Wizarding culture? I hear the whispers after all the Muggleborn girls. We're not deaf to gossip. And there isn't anything helpful in the library. I've looked."

"The skirts are indecent." Parkinson answered. "We're twelve…"

"Thirteen, actually."

"Well, that's even more reason for longer skirts, then, especially since you've not even got a petticoat on. And the kneesocks are...wretched worn like that. People our age don't wander about with our knees out."

"Whyever not?"

"Because any part of you can be used in a potion, even the tiniest bits. Which, Patil and Brown, why didn't you explain any of this?" And there was the Pansy Slytherin knew and felt variably about.

"She wasn't interested and 'it was the school-issued kit'." Brown let her voice go shrill at the last bit.

"That's no reason to be appallingly rude, you know." Parkinson shot back. "If it's not knowing because none of the other Houses explain, then it's not them trying to rub their Muggle ways in our faces. I'm certain Mother will wish to know of this lapse on Hogwart's part."

"And I'll take a point, Miss Brown, for your rudeness." Severus cut in. "I will take up the matter of the woeful preparation of those raised in the Muggle world with the other house heads."

"It would have been nice to know before we got here, so we weren't offending anyone without even knowing how or why." Thomas reorganized his kit.

"The current approach, Mr. Thomas, will change. I will speak to the other heads regarding a tutorial for the Muggleborns. Now, before we move on to less fraught topics, and yes, Miss Granger, your questions will be answered, I will inspect your work. Mr. Weasley, you will remain behind at the end of class, please."

With that bombshell dropped, he swept among the rows of students with much to consider. He'd gone through his career thinking that only the Halfbloods received no information regarding the Wizarding World. Inwardly, he sighed and added 'write a primer on the Wizarding World geared toward Muggleborns' to his ever-growing list of things to do.

Chapter Text

Severus regarded the particularly freckled specimen of Weasley fidgeting on the other side of his desk. He worked steadily through marking a pile of essays from one of his first year cohorts. How anyone could send a child away to school with no idea how to structure an essay he'd never know. It was where one could see a distinct divergence in the Muggle-schooled, the privately tutored, and the parentally educated. Generally, the children from non-magical schools had a particularly good grasp of essay structure, followed by the privately tutored.

Weasley shifted in his seat. "I haven't done anything!"

"I never said you had. We're waiting, quietly, for your brothers to arrive. I will explain when they do and not a moment before." He'd learned, very quickly, to cut off complaints before they could be voiced.

Thankfully, he only had another two minutes before Percy Weasley opened the door to his office and ushered the twins in.

"You wished to see us, Professor?" He asked, pointing his brothers into the seats next to Ron.

"Yes, thank you for attending. I understand you hosted Mr. Potter this summer?"

"You can't blame Harry for anything!" Ron started.

"Ronald." Percy snapped in a way that had Ron turning pink and subsiding.

"Yes, Professor, Harry stayed with us for the last month and a bit of the summer holiday."

"And I believe that the two of you and young Mr. Weasley retrieved him from his relatives?" He turned his attention to the twins.

"Have they made any complaints?" Percy cut in. "They were trying to help or, at least Ronnie was."

"We have had some...complaints regarding the treatment of Mr. Potter by his relatives." Severus spoke carefully. "Can you tell me anything about his housing or general welfare?"

"We, er, went down to get his school things, me and Fred. They were locked up." It was, possibly, Geroge speaking, but one never quite knew with any certainty.

"In a cupboard under the stairs. They were that dusty, too, like they hadn't been touched in months. Harry was worried about anyone hearing us and…" Fred picked up the narrative, both twins far more subdued than he's ever seen them.

"There was coloring on the wall. It said Harry's Room and there was a cot mattress squashed under the trunk. He wouldn't talk about it, though."

"There were locks on the outside of his bedroom door, too, and a cat flap in the bottom. His room looked like a cell. I don't think anyone would even take his furniture as charity. Hedwig's cage was padlocked, too."

"Not that she could get out the window. And the rest of the house was...have you seen it, Professor?"

"I have."

"The other furniture is...well, it's ugly but...they're not poor. It felt like they hated him."

"I didn't see any of the inside of the house." Ron shifted in his seat, leg bouncing with nerves. "But I had to...his uncle tried to pull him out of the car. Said he wasn't going back to that freak school. Harry won't talk about that, either. He had bruises for a week."

"And Mr. Potter more generally? Once he was at your home?" His question was greeted with silence.

"He's very quiet." Percy finally spoke. "Walking anywhere, at meals, even playing Quidditch. He seems...afraid to make noise. Or be noticed. He's jumpy, as well. We tried not to slip up behind him. He's...very small, as well, and thin, and his clothing is shocking. He didn't look terribly healthy when he arrived, but he was up early and helping Mum with breakfast most days, but he seemed terribly worried about whether or not he was doing things correctly."

Ron stared at his knees. "He makes a show of eating, but he doesn't eat much. He thinks no one's noticed. And, um, he doesn't get real presents. I wrote Mum last year and it was like a lumpy jumper and fudge was the best thing he'd ever seen. He got a card with a Muggle coin taped t o it asking him to stay at school over the Summer. He doesn't sleep well, either. Nightmares. And he'll only say he and his relatives don't get on. Um, and he told Dean and Seamus his clothing was 'grunge' but they didn't seem to believe him."

"Thought that was the ghoul." A twin muttered. "But Ron's right. He pretends to eat more than half the time, or did."

"Will any of this help, Professor?" Percy asked.

"I believe that what you have shared will help. I'll let you return to your day. Thank you, gentlemen. Oh, Weasley Minor?"

Ron turned back for a moment.

"Mr. Potter will be having some difficult days ahead. He'll need less a friend and more a brother."

"Yes, sir." The boy's eyebrows drew together as he considered the words. "I'll stick with him."

"See that you do. That is all, gentlemen."

Percy herded his brothers out, leaving Severus to some quiet contemplation.

How had they missed it? How had they missed how the boy was treated by his relatives? Robes certainly covered a multitude of sins, but someone ought to have seen. Except...he came to them smaller than the average but clean. He rarely took his robes off, so it could have been that only his dorm-mates really saw his clothing, and children would notice a difference but might not talk about it. By some miracle, he wasn't surly and he made friends. Perhaps fewer friends than he'd hoped, and someone would need to have a word with the other House heads about that.

He'd fallen into the same trap as schoolchildren (technically their parents, but he never let accuracy get in the way of some solid self-castigation), thinking that if he looked like his father, the behavior must be the same. He, at least, had the excuse of being primed for it. All the comments from Hagrid about how he resembled James. Still, looking back on his own behavior made him cringe at points.

"Pet, are you joining me for tea or are you going to brood at your desk?" Dare poked his head around Severus' study doorway.

"I would like tea, thank you." He rose, shuffling some papers together and stacking them neatly on his desk.

Dare set a gentle hand at the small of his back. "What has you so perturbed, my lad?"

"Regrets and false first impressions." Severus curled up on the sofa, letting his house shoes fall to the floor.

Dare handed him a cup of tea and a plate of ginger newts. "You'll get everything sorted out."

"Your faith is touching, but the list of things that must be done only keeps growing." He bit the head off a newt.

"You do like to keep busy. And I'm here if you need help, even if it's sitting in Slytherin's common room, helping with essays and keeping a lid on their politicking."

"If I ever discover what cosmic force put a Malfoy and a Fitzroy into the same year, it will be an ex-force." Severus grumbled, although he felt less savage than he had. It was hard to hold on to a filthy mood with Dare chuckling warmly, biscuits, and hot tea.

"How many Fitzroys have been foisted upon you?" Dare sat next to him, cradling his own mug of tea in his hands.

"I currently have a second year, fourth year, two sixth years, and a seventh year. If I could go back in time and sterilize Barbara Villiers, I would. At least the seventh year doesn't seem to take after his illustrious ancestress, something I cannot say of the second year's temperament." He let his head thump back and breathed out.

"Oh, dear." Dare murmured mildly. "Would you like me to keep a lid on Slytherin this evening? You have a meeting this evening, yes?"

"Yes, immediately after dinner. I've been working out a possible potions regimine and...an apology." Severus made a bit of a face at that.

"Oh, how thoroughly wretched for you." The dry amusement in his tone had Severus cracking an eye oped and glaring balefully.

"I try not to behave in a way that requires me to apologize to students." Severus replied crisply. "I don't...there isn't a great deal I must apologize for, but there are a few things that in hindsight were not well done of me."

"You'll manage, pet. Now, drink your tea and have some quiet. Between evening meetings and plotting twelve-year-olds, you need some respite."

Chapter Text

Ron slipped away from his brothers on the way back to Gryffindor Tower, muttering something vague. Percy frowned at him, but let him go with a reminder to be prompt for dinner. As if he would skip a meal? Mum told him he'd be hungrier than he could ever remember, the first few years at Hogwarts, since he was growing and using magic daily and she was right. He promised Percy he's be on time and cut off toward the owlery. Harry wanted him to visit with Hedwig.

He slipped up the steps into the top of the tower, comforted by the softly rustling wings and gentle hoots of the owls. Hedwig immediately glided down from her perch to sit on his shoulder.

"Harry'll be alright, Hedwig. He'll visit you soon." With that reassurance she settled in on his shoulder and set to preening his hair.

He had a great deal to think about, with what Professor Snape said. He still didn't feel quite right about it, telling like that, but Harry…

Harry didn't want anyone noticing. He didn't want them to see, so they didn't. At least not until it was so obvious they couldn't not see. It was the bars on the window for him. He spent the whole ride back home thinking about it while Harry slept next to him. How Harry was so thin, and how his clothing would have fit four of him inside, and how little he ate at mealtimes, and how his relatives made no secret of their dislike.

And Professor Snape said Harry would need a brother in the coming weeks. That, Ron decided, was how you could tell an adult who'd never had brothers. A brother. There were all kinds of brothers. Brothers like Bill and Charlie - distant but there if you really needed help; or brothers like Percy - he'd been so different when Ron was little; but being a brother like the twins was right out.

Percy was a thought. He wasn't always Perfect Prefect Percy . He was the one who taught Ron to read and use a quill and play chess and what all the mushrooms were in the orchard and told the best stories. Ron missed that Percy. But as he got further along with Hogwarts, he'd changed. Maybe Harry needed a brother like the Percy he remembered. Patient and helpful and there.

That Percy was the one who figured out that he needed to move to learn things, who taught him his letters and his numbers in fun ways. That Percy let him bounce his leg as much as he needed to when he had to sit for something and made sure they took long walks and let him chatter about chess or Quidditch.

But Mum might have some ideas, too. He fished the letter she'd sent ( just to him) out of his robes and smoothed the parchment.

Dear Ron,

First, I want to apologize to you. You thought your father and I ignored what you told us about Harry. I'm so sorry we didn't tell you that we were trying to help him. We weren't sure what we might be able to do, so we didn't want to make promises we couldn't keep. I see now it would have been better to talk to you and your brothers about this.

I also want you to know how proud we are of you. It's not easy making a decision like going to help your friend, especially when you know you could be in a great deal of trouble. I know you spoke to Professor Snape today. It's not an easy thing, speaking out about something dangerous happening to a friend who might wish you to keep quiet. We are so very proud of you. I know you'll do your best to help.

I do want to make a request of you, Ronnie Ron. Could you try to study a bit more regularly and work a bit more on your essays? Harry looks to you for guidance (I hope you know how much he looks to you) and I think he might want to do more, but doesn't want to make you angry with him. I know how hard it is for you to sit and work - did I ever tell you that you're so much like your Uncle Fabian that way? - but if you let Harry know you need to get up and walk or bounce a ball I think he'll understand. Now, he didn't say anything, Ron, don't think he was moaning to your mum, but he likes to learn new things just as much as you do. Just, try to remember that everything is new for him?

Your father just dashed back in to remind me to send his love. I love you too.

Work hard and remember that we're proud of you.

Mum

Ron smoothed the parchment between his fingers and sniffed a bit, suddenly missing the Burrow kitchen with Mum bustling about and her knitting needles going over the chair in the corner and the wireless on in a low murmur so much it hurt. He was glad he'd waited until he was somewhere private to read his letter.

Soft footsteps sounded on the stairs and Ron hastily shoved his letter into his robes and scrubbed at his face. But it was only Percy, eyebrows creased as they almost always were now, fretting about something. Hedwig gave a soft hoot and took off for the rafters.

"Ron? You all right?"

The question, something he hadn't heard from his brother pretty much ever at school, nearly startled him right out the Owlery window.

"Er, fine, Perc. You wanted something?" He hadn't meant to sound so surly.

"Er, well, just, you looked a bit upset when we left the office and I...well, nevermind." Percy turned to go, shoulders in a defeated slump, and Ron couldn't help but hear Mum saying 'Sometimes, Ronnie, you need to do the reaching.'

"It's what Snape said, about brothers." He blurted it out before he could change his mind. "What if I decide what kind of brother to be and then I change...and...and Harry is hurt?"

Percy picked his way across the floor and settled next to him.

"I don't think that's likely, Ron. Bill hasn't--"

"You did!" Ron interrupted. "And Bill is your big brother. Well, he's mine, too, but he's not the big brother I remember at home. You are."

"Ron? I...I didn't think I…" for once, Percy seemed at a loss for words.

"You used to...want me around. And then you had your third year and you were too busy."

"Did I tell you I was too busy?" Percy finally managed after nearly a full minute spent trying to speak.

"Mum said." Ron swallowed thickly. "Mum said I shouldn't bother you. That you were too busy because you had more classes."

"I thought you just got too big to want me around." Percy stared at his hands. "Mum may have mentioned something to me about that, too."

Ron could only stare for a moment. "But why? I miss you!"

"And I miss you, too, Ronnie. We always were a little more alike, hmm?" Percy slung an arm around his shoulders and pulled him closer.

"The Prewetty Weasleys have to stick together." Ron managed a grin. "But why would Mum…"

"I think...she may have wanted us both to find friends more our own age."

"There wasn't anyone my age in the area, except maybe Ginny. And Ginny wanted to be with Luna or with Fred and George. She never wanted me," Ron muttered the last.

"It isn't too late to start again, Ron. I'm...I'm trying to do less as a Prefect in Gryffindor, so I'll have more time. It was, er, pointed out to me that I'm currently the only one in our House who holds a badge and does anything about it. And that means I'm not paying enough attention to my family." Percy looked acutely uncomfortable at even the idea of doing less.

"Who shouted that at you?" Ron slanted a sideways grin at Percy.

"Borley, one of the Slytherin prefects. He's no stranger to siblings and he had several paragraphs to say about overwork."

"A Slytherin?" Ron wrinkled his nose. "Dunno if I'd take his advice."

"Ron." Percy sighed. "You have the misfortune of being in the same year as Malfoy. There are more decent Slytherins than not, you know. They're not all Malfoy and Firzroy. Borley is from predominantly Light Wizarding stock, you know. His mother was a Morningside."

"I guess Bulstrode isn't so bad." He gave in, but grudgingly. Percy never had to deal with Malfoy on a near daily basis.

"Just, try to remember that they're people too?"

"I suppose," Ron grumbled. "Do you have time for a game of chess after dinner? I wanted to stop and see Harry before and Hermione'll want to go to the library for a bit."

"I'd like that. Is all your prep done for tomorrow?"

Ron wondered if he could have the Percy he remembered without awkward questions about prep. They slipped off the sill together and headed for the stairs.

"Mostly?" he hedged. "I'm going to the library with Hermione?"

"Hmm. I suppose I could overlook shoddy preparation for one night."

Despite the stern words, Ron grinned. He knew that tone from Percy.

"Thanks, Perc. I...um...Mum suggested Harry might want to study a bit more but didn't want to say, so I'm going to try."

"That's an excellent idea, Ron. You have a good mind and I'd hate to see that potential squandered."

"Could you...would…" Ron stopped and huffed out a breath. "Could you talk to Hermione about...she hates people fidgeting and tapping while she's working."

"Of course, Ron." The little smile around the corners of Percy's mouth told Ron how pleased he was to be asked.

Ron stopped at the bottom of the stairs, the memory of one of Harry's nightmares coming back to him. That was what he's forgotten earlier!

"I remembered something that I think I should tell Snape. D'you mind if I go down to tell him?"

"Professor Snape, Ron. And I'll talk to Granger while you're doing that."

"Sure, Perc. And thanks." Ron headed off to the dungeons, feeling lighter than he had in months. Maybe even years.

Chapter Text

Harry grumbled to himself as he pulled one of his school books off the pile by his bed. He made sure it was only to himself. Madam Pomfrey had ears like a bat and she kept thinking he was in pain. He wasn't, well, not in physical pain, anyhow. He was so bored. Bored enough that he'd probably beg Hermione for something from the library just so he didn't have to keep reading textbooks.

Whoever decided which books to use obviously hated children. He wasn't stupid, no matter what his teachers told Aunt Petunia, but he was used to having to work just to Dudley's level and no higher. Lower was always better. He didn't know if Aunt Petunia remembered what the Hogwarts marking scale meant, either, so he had to be extra careful. But he couldn't do too badly because everyone knew that his parents were smart. The whole problem made his head ache. More. He'd had the worst headache since last Friday, although it had eased considerably since the...the Unspeakables came to see him.

Madam Pomfrey'd had so many healers in and out, trying to figure out what had happened to him. It worried him a bit that those grey-robed figures might know. They'd asked a lot of questions, anyhow. He'd been so tired after that he'd slept almost ten hours. Beside the headache, the exhaustion was second worst. He wanted to be back in Gryffindor tower with Ron and Hermione, but even the thought of those stairs left him tired. He didn' know what he was thinking the other night when Borley found him.

Harry paged through his Herbology text, squinting at the small type. You'd think books for students wouldn't have such closely-packed text.

"Post, Mr. Potter!" Madam Pomfrey's voice carried through the room. She walked toward him, heels clicking on the flagged floor, carrying a box.

"I...what?" Harry looked up from his book, thoroughly confused. He never got post.

"And such a time I had getting this off your owl. You'd think I wanted to make off with it. I had to enlarge it." She smiled down at him as she set the box by his feet.

"Hedwig was here?" He hadn't seen her in days since Madam Pomfrey had opinions on the unhygienic properties of animals in the Hospital Wing.

"If you behave yourself tonight you'll be able to see her tomorrow afternoon."

"Really?" He missed Hedwig's company.

"You may use my office, Mr. Potter. She seems to want to see you as much as you want to see her. Now, I'll leave you to your box. Call if you need me."

Harry examined the top as Madam Pomfrey went back to her office. She'd be busy most of the day, inventorying the supply cabinet. He traced a finger over the pasted on label; it was from Mrs. Weasley. But what would she be sending? He prised up the lid and peered inside. Another, smaller box nestled into the straw packing.

He pulled it out and detached the letter from the top. At least Mrs. Weasley's writing was easy to read.

Dear Harry,

I hope you can forgive me just sending this now. I knew your mother well when she was expecting you - we spent many hours at the Burrow together with Alice Longbottom. She left a knitting project she'd started the last night she was able to sit with us. It would have been...well, it should have been a baby blanket for you. Lily had many talents, but knitting seemed beyond her. I mounted it in a display box for you, but I thought some explanation might help.

As much as knitting confused her, she understood crochet. Under the display box you'll find a blanket she crocheted for you. I forgot she left it with her knitting until I went looking. She loved you so, Harry, even before she got to meet you as a baby. There are charms on the blanket - her work. I've no doubt you'll know her magic in your bones.

I've included a little booklet I put together to introduce knitting and crochet to my own children, along with your mother's needles and hooks (I replaced the needles that are in the display box. If you'd rather use those, ask Percy to help you change them out. He has a delicate hand with these things). You'll find everything in the green bag under the blanket. I included enough yarn for you to try a few projects, as well (and some extra needles and hooks and yarn for Ron and Hermione). It's very normal for a wizard to know how to knit and crochet, dear, if you were worried. I don't know what the Muggle world is like with that.

Under the bag, you'll find a photo album. I've been clearing out closets here and I found any number of photographs I'd forgotten we had. Bill and Charlie used to get terribly bored, so I would let them take some pictures. They loved taking photos of your mum and Alice. (I'm sending a similar box to Neville Longbottom, as well. You two are godbrothers, did anyone tell you? We made so many plans to raise our children as friends…)

I know you have some photos, but it's always nice to see more of your mum. She was so bright, such a lovely person. She had a temper, no denying that, but she also had a wicked sense of humor. She used to have Alice and me in stitches. The stories she'd tell! Well, I'll share those when you're of age. She used to help my boys with their lessons, too. She had a grasp of magical theory I don't think I've ever seen before or since. She understood how and why magic worked as easy as breathing. Even better, she could explain it.

I hope these things help you know your mum a little better, Harry. If you have any questions, please write. I wasn't at Hogwarts with your mum, but I did know her as an adult. If you have questions about knitting or crochet, write me or ask Percy if you need help in person.

Study hard and have fun.

With love,

Mrs. Weasley

Harry bit his lip and tried not to drip on the parchment. No one else had ever talked to him about his mum, not really. He just knew she was kind and pretty. Now...now he knew that she couldn't really knit and she had a temper (like his, maybe?) and she...she loved him. He drifted reverent fingers over the glass front of the display box. Inside was a tangle of yellow yarn sort of attached to a pair of knitting needles. He didn't knit (yet!) but he'd watched Mrs. Weasley over the Summer and her tidy work looked nothing like the tangle in the box. But his mum did it because she loved him. She loved him enough to try.

He lifted the box out and cleared some of the straw away. There was a sacking bag under it...the blanket? He pulled it out and brushed the straw off the sacking, looking for the opening. Mrs. Weasley had sewn it shut with big stitches. He picked them out easily and eased out a golden yellow blanket, the same color as sunshine during an Autumn afternoon. Unlike the knitting, each stitch seemed to be exactly where it should be. They made a tweedy pattern, interrupted in one corner by a crest embroidered in a darker gold. Harry squinted at it...his family had a crest?

That was less important than the soft, springy yarn his mother had used and the feeling of calm that washed over him every time he touched it. It was a large blanket, too, so maybe she'd wanted him to use it for a long time? It would fit his bed perfectly. He bundled it into his arms and buried his face in the soft folds. It was perfect.

It was a good fifteen minutes before Harry raised his face again. Mrs. Weasley said she'd included photos, hadn't she? He kept the blanket in his lap while he pulled a green work bag out of the box, followed by an album. He pulled the album close, opening it quickly.

And there was Mum. He hadn't seen a picture of her without his dad before. She seemed to glow with happiness from the Weasleys' sofa. A yellow bundle sat in her lap and she worked a few stitches before she looked up and laughed. Harry's heart clenched. He'd...he'd look at the rest later. He didn't want Madame Pomfrey thinking he was ill and she would if he...got upset.

Chapter Text

Severus stopped short for the third time as he tried to exit his chambers and shifted the box he carried to his other hip. He'd forgotten something, perhaps? Again? He sighed and turned back, letting his intuition guide him to the bookcase at the back of his sitting room. The lowest shelf seemed to call him...of course. It contained the books he'd used to put together a list to introduce children to the wizarding world.

He sank down to his knees and drifted his fingers over the spines. Since the boy hadn't had any introduction beyond Hagrid's 'here's Diagon Alley, welcome to being a wizard! Don't be evil!' he would likely need them all.

So They Said You Have Magic: Surviving Your First Years at Hogwarts Without Starting a Blood Feud, Dishonoring Yourself, or Causing an International Incident

Magic Abounds: An Introduction to the Realm of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Magic Abides: Living as a Magical

Magic Decides: The Justice System of Magical England

Magic Advances: Traveling as a Magical

Magic Honors: A Guide to Magical Manners

Magic's Peers: A Guide to the Current Magical Nobility

An Atlas of the Magical World

Honoring Our Gift: A Guide to Children's Rituals

Nurturing Our Gift: A Guide to Strengthen and Deepen Your Magic

The pile he pulled off the shelves would be a good starting place. They weren't terribly long or complex and included illustrations. They went in the box with an advance copy of the new Potions manual, several works of fiction (Wizarding and not), and the shrunken chest from Borley. Well, from Elspeth Blydh, really, since anyone born a Morningside couldn't keep their noses out of anyone else's business and she never let anyone forget it. And Borley, for all his cunning, went absolutely transparent in the face of a mistreated child.

She'd owled the set of clothing Potter ought to have been sent off to Hogwarts with. He'd no idea how the child might react. Perhaps the covering letter explaining that she'd known his mother would soothe any stung pride? Elspeth had been the seventh year Hufflepuff prefect his fifth year. She'd...she'd always tried to help.

She'd offered him sanctuary once, with the surety only a Morningside could bring. They didn't necessarily fight (unless the fight came to them) but they weren't precisely neutral, either. They simply made it known that anyone wishing to step away would be given a place of safety. But he wouldn't bring danger down on her head, not when she'd just announced her first pregnancy. He'd made his choices.

He shook off the melancholy of the past and made to rise. One more book caught his eye and he stopped. Would Potter take umbrage at a book on penmanship? He added it to the box and finally made it out of his quarters.

Far too soon, he stood before the Hospital Wing doors and stared at them. He'd spent so much time there recovering during his own Hogwarts years that he avoided the space at all costs. He'd come to do something, though, something more important than wallowing in memories of past hurts. He pushed the door open and stopped a few steps in.

Potter looked smaller than he remembered, sitting cross-legged in a hospital bed. He squinted down at a booklet perched on one leg as he slowly worked a row of knit stitch. He bit his lip in concentration as he knitted the sunny yellow wool. How, Severus wondered, had he thought Potter was so obviously a clone of James? Seen like this, he resembled his mother more than anyone. That was the same expression Severus remembered on her as she scratched away at a difficult essay.

"Mr. Potter?" he called softly, but the boy startled anyway.

"Yes sir?" Near instant wariness replaced the concentration.

"May I speak with you for a moment? I've already asked Madam Pomfrey and she said I might, if you were willing." He didn't move any closer to the boy's bed, not wanting to crowd him.

"I suppose." Potter shrugged, setting down his work.

"Thank you. I shouldn't take too much of your time." Severus set the box down and pulled a chair up to the bedside. "I owe you an apology, Mr. Potter."

Potter stared in the gormless fashion Severus had always hated. Except...no, it wasn't gormlessness, it was shock.

"I've behaved abominably toward you. At the time, I thought I had good reason. I did not. You didn't deserve to be treated that way by me and I offer you a sincere apology."

Potter blinked at him, so that was something. He hoped he hadn't broken something in the child.

"You're...you're apologizing...to me?" Potter finally managed, sounding a bit winded.

"Yes, Potter. That's what 'I offer you a sincere apology' generally means." He suppressed the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Why? Why now?" He dropped his eyes to the blanket.

"Because I believe in reviewing one's conduct and mine has been lacking toward you," Severus tried to explain patiently.

"This isn't a trick?" He still wouldn't look up.

"No, Mr. Potter. There's no trick in this. I was...I was friends with your mother. She would have been terribly disappointed in how I've behaved toward you."

"You knew my mum?" That got him to look up, painfully hopeful.

"We grew up together in Cokeworth." He knew it would likely open the floodgates, but why deny the child information he could now give freely?

"Where's Cokeworth? Aunt Petunia never said. What was she like?" There was the light back in Potter's eyes.

"Cokeworth is in the north of England. And do you mean your mother or your aunt?"

"You knew Aunt Petunia?" He said it like one might say 'You knew herpes?'

"Yes. I was acquainted with her through your mother."

"I'm sorry." Potter reached over and patted his hand quickly, like he wanted to do it before he lost courage. "She's not very nice, Aunt Petunia."

He couldn't help it. He let out a bark of laughter before bringing his hand up to cover his mouth.

"Mr. Potter," he tried when he'd gotten himself under some kind of control. "That is the understatement of the century."

Potter looked slyly pleased with himself.

"Would you be willing to start again, Mr. Potter?" Severus asked. "No matter what you decide, even if you don't wish to accept my apology, you may ask me about your mother and I'll share what I remember with you."

Potter sat for a moment, deep in thought. Then, he sat up straight and looked Severus in the face for the first time.

"Hello." He said, holding out his hand. "I'm Harry Potter."

"I'm Professor Snape, Mr. Potter. I look forward to having you in class." It was what he'd say to just about any child, but it seemed right for the moment, for a fresh start.

"And you'll really tell me about my mum?"

"I promise I will. I have a box here for you, with some of the things I think your...parents would have provided for you. And you have a box from one of your mother's friends."

"Everyone seems to be remembering they were friends with my mum today." Potter mused. "Is there a spell that can do that? Make people forget things like their friends' kids?"

That brought him up short. Had it been a spell? He'd certainly been less irritable with Potter since his Mark disappeared...along with the remains of Voldemort. Balls.

"It's entirely possible, Mr. Potter. I'll check with some who may have an answer for you. Now, Mrs. Blydh sent a letter with her box." He handed over the envelope.

Potter opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. He unfolded it and squinted at it for a moment.

"Er, could you…" he trailed off. "Only Madam Pomfrey says I've got to see an oculist and the script is hard to read."

"I can read it to you, Mr. Potter, if you don't mind. Is there a problem with your glasses?"

He shrugged. "Madam Pomfrey said it was practically criminal neglect. They're NHS, but we only ever went once."

And children had a yearly vision benefit. Honestly, the spite of the woman.

"Madam Pomfrey will see you put right. Now, your letter." He unfolded the parchment.

"Dear Harry," he read.

"My name is Elspeth Blydh. When I knew your mother I was Elspeth Morningside. Caratacus Borley is my nephew, and…"

"Caratacus?" Harry broke in. "Did his parents hate him?"

"His mother found the story of resistance against the Romans compelling, I believe." Severus answered, manfully not scolding him for interrupting. "Would you like me to go on?"

Harry nodded. "Sorry. For interrupting "

"It is of no consequence, Mr. Potter. Now, where was I? Ah, here. And he reminded me that you might like to hear from someone who knew your mother.

She was a dear girl, so helpful and very kind. She had a temper though, by Merlin. Just when some thought they had her beaten and she'd come blazing back at them and rout them.

I knew her mostly as a fellow Prefect. We had rounds together some nights. She always wanted to know what it was like growing up in the Wizarding World. My situation wasn't the norm - most families don't run to the size mine is - but we had some lovely talks. She was just so interested in everything.

I hope this isn't offensive to you, and if it is please return the chest, but I took the liberty of putting together a proper Wizarding wardrobe for you. I heard you'd been raised by your mother's people and there are limits to how well non-magical garments and shoes last in a magical environment. Anything synthetic, for example shoe rubber, wears out much faster.

I know your mother would have wanted to encourage you to dress traditionally. We talked about it some evenings - she adored wizarding fashions. With that in mind, the chest contains about a week or so's worth of clothing and shoes. Everything should resize to fit you properly. I'm only sorry it isn't tailored to you.

I hope you'll wear them and think of your mother.

Sincerely,

Elspeth Blydh

Potter stared at him.

"Do people just do that?" He asked, finally. "Just send people they've never met clothing? A whole week of clothing?"

"I gave up asking those sorts of questions when faced with Elspeth Blydh, Mr. Potter. She does precisely as she wishes and doesn't care what anyone might say. You may send it back if it offends you. You won't hurt her feelings."

"No one's ever done anything like that before. Not for me." Harry looked at his knees as he spoke. "It's...nice?"

"It's a kindly meant gesture, Mr. Potter. Many Muggleborn students don't know about Muggle synthetics and magic. We have an epidemic of disintegrating shoes about this time every year."

"I think I'd like to keep them...and send a thank you note?" Harry told his knees.

"A note would be appropriate in this situation. You may wish to ask Mrs. Blydh about your mother, too. It never hurts to have another perspective." Severus set the chest by Potter's bed.

"D'you think she would? Tell me about mum?"

"I think Elspeth Blydh could talk the ears off an elephant and would be only too happy to share any story she has with you." He replied drily.

"I'd like that, I think. Everyone only mentions my dad, really. And...and I'm not sure I want to know more. Bulstrode came to see me and...and explained why some in the other houses won't be friends. I didn't know any of it." And Potter was back to staring at his knees.

Severus sighed. "It is an unfortunate truth, Mr. Potter, that the Wizarding World will look at you and decide you must be just like your father. I didn't get on with him, but he stood between you and your mother and certain death and didn't falter. That you can be proud of."

Revolting sentimentality, but the child needed to hear something good about his father, even if it was 'he died for you'. Perhaps…

"I believe one of his friends would like to hear from you. They were quite close at school, much like you, Granger, and Weasley. He should have a different view of your father." Because a child like Potter needed a full view of the people who brought him into the world.

"Thank you, sir. Did...did you say you brought books?" A transparent plea to change the subject.

"Bored?" Severus couldn't help it.

"Mrs. Weasley sent some things for me to work on, but it's been school books and nothing else for days. The print is hard without new glasses."

"I brought quite a few things. Like the clothing, these are books you ought to have had growing up. You may want to share with Miss Granger, too."

"I don't think I could keep Hermione from new books, Professor." Potter's lips quirked into a quick grin.

Severus set the stack of books on the bed and watched Potter's eyes widen.

"Thank you, Professor." He breathed, leafing through the stack. "These are brilliant!"

"One of the books is a new text we'll be using for first and second year potions. I included two early copies for you and Miss Granger. I would appreciate any thoughts you have on the text." He'd already lost Potter to the book.

"The pictures are amazing! I didn't know how to have my hands at all! And…" he trailed off.

"Yes, Potter?"

"This says that while you don't use wanded magic, a poor match with your wand can hurt your performance?" Potter frowned down at the page.

"That's correct."

"Could it really hurt your performance? Like could it make you explode potions and things?"

"It could."

"Did anyone tell Neville? He's got his dad's wand and I don't think it really works for him."

Severus' brain stuttered. His father's wand? What was Dowager Longbottom thinking?

"I will...Mr. Potter, would you mind if I took my leave? I think I need to speak with Professor McGonagall immediately about this."

"No, Professor. And thank you again." Potter looked up long enough to smile at him.

Severus nodded to the boy and took his leave, trying not to break into a run once he gained the hall.

His father's wand. They were only lucky the boy hadn't brought the whole damn castle down on their heads.

Chapter Text

Malfoy Manor, Wiltshire

Monday afternoon

Narcissa looked up from the ledgers littering her desk as a house elf popped in.

“Yes, Heddy?”

“Heddy is sorry to bother Madame, but could Madame please come with Heddy? Master Lucius is…” The little elf twisted her tea towel in her hands.

Narcissa frowned. “Master Lucius is what?”

“Master Lucius is in an awful taking, Pippy says. Pippy is telling Heddy to get Madame.”

“Pippy couldn’t leave?” That didn’t bode well for whatever trouble Lucius wished to stir up.

“Pippy didn’t think it safe, Madame. Oooh, please come with Heddy. Pippy doesn’t give in to naughtiness, Madame.”

“No, Pippy doesn’t.” Narcissa stared at the document in her hands…Lucius’s tailoring bill from the year past. She set it on the to be paid pile. “I need to read one letter and send another before I can come up. Can Pippy cope for half an hour?”

“Heddy thinks so, Madame. Heddy will tell Pippy.” The little elf popped out of the room.

Narcissa resolutely took up the next letter from her pile of correspondence and broke the seal. What could Severus have to send her?

My dear Narcissa,

Personal, then. If he had to write as Head of Slytherin then he called her Madame Malfoy.

I hope this letter finds you well. I’m not entirely sure how to tell you any of what happened the last few days. I hope I do not seem presumptuous in saying that I have long considered you and Lucius to be some of my closest friends. As such, I cannot in good conscience allow you to find out from the papers.

Find out? What had Severus got up to this time?

I send my regrets that I was not available when you brought Draco home for the week. I had already left for my weekend away.

I am sure that what I have to tell you will leave you thinking me the most birdwitted person alive. Even so, I refuse to lie to you.

On Friday, when I returned from an appointment, I found a gentleman waiting on my doorstep. He gave his name as Darius Riddle-Sinclair and informed me of a contact between our families of some antiquity. I ought to have sent him away until morning, but he’d traveled so far that…I invited him in. I think I thought myself perfectly safe in the non-magical world. I know I ought to be more careful, but I ignored every tenet I’ve lived by since I Designated. I didn’t even check his band.

That…that posed so many questions. She knew just how carefully Severus guarded his reputation. What could have swayed him?

He behaved in a perfectly gentlemanly manner, though. I suppose one can’t overcome early life indoctrination so easily, even when a nitwit invites the wolf in. On Saturday, we went to Gringotts together.

Merlin help me, Narcissa, but I’m bound to him.

Narcissa suddenly wished Lucius hadn’t done…whatever he had done. He always reacted in just the right way to anything like this. Once she got to the bottom of their current problem, she’d have to read it to him. She could just hear his “No! He didn’t!”

We found a contract between our families, one that had existed for some time, as he’d been told. I think I gave in to the temptation of the romance of it. He has, however, proved himself kind and honorable and a true gentleman. He…Cissa…he’s the head of House Slytherin.

Oh, she definitely missed Lucius. No one gasped at these things so delightfully as her husband. The Head of House Slytherin bonding to the halfblood Hogwarts Potions Master? Narcissa smothered a triumphant smirk. She wanted to make copies of the announcement and send it to everyone who had ever spoken poorly of Severus.

Too, too bad that Abraxas and Walburga went on to their final reward. She so wished she could have seen them have to bow to Severus Snape, elevated in social rank well above their touch.  

She hoped against hope that this Darius Riddle-Sinclair proved to be exceptionally handsome.

I have no idea what I’m doing. He’s promised  (and it’s in our contract) that he won’t interfere with my work. Beyond that, I have not one clue what he might want with me.

Narcissa sighed. If only she could go back to their school days and hex anyone who ever made fun of his looks. Severus, the poor dear, simply had to grow into his features. She thought him quite striking as an adult.

(And if she mourned what might have been, before spying and difficult pregnancies and dark lords, well, that stayed locked in her heart.)

No matter what a twit this makes me seem, I couldn’t let you learn of my Bonding through the papers. I hope you won’t Once certain matters have been seen to at Hogwarts, I hope you and Lucius will do us the great honor of coming to tea.

I remain your friend

and obedient servant,

Severus

P.S. I have received your package and will do as you have asked. I only hope I may help you find the answers you seek. Please do not hesitate to call on me should you require my help.

Well.

Goodness.

That certainly put a kneazle among the snidgets.

Narcissa dashed off a quick note.

Severus,

I have received your letter and feel it may be better to discuss in detail in person.

For now, know that I wish you so very, very happy. You deserve all the best things and I’ll keep saying that until you believe me.

With my love,

Narcissa.

She folded and addressed the short missive and left her study. She put it in the outgoing post box on her way through the entry hall and upstairs. Lucius could wait no longer.

(How she wished she went up simply to read him the letter.)

Narcissa steeled herself before the entrance to the Consort chamber. She pressed her palm to the wall and watched as the door shimmered, replaced with a shield.

Inside, Lucius paced, his breath coming in sharp gasps and his hair completely disheveled. His coat and waistcoat lay over a chair where he’d obviously tossed them, his boots and stockings drooped in a corner, and his cravat hung limply about his neck.

He turned and caught sight of her.

“Cissa.” His voice cracked.

“Lucius.” Narcissa nodded at him. “What is all this in aid of?”

She made to walk through the door and Lucius crashed to his knees.

“I beg of you, don’t.”

“Don’t what, precisely?”

“Don’t come in, please Cissa. I’m not safe.” Terror boiled off him.

“Lucius, what do you mean?” She’d never seen him so distraught.

“My father…I think…I don’t know. I can’t remember. I just know I’m not safe around you. Please, Cissa, if you ever loved me, even for just a moment, stay on the other side of that door.”

Her breath caught in her throat. Lucius, kneeling, supplicant, terrified, called to her to soothe him, but she could not.  For the first time in all the years since they Bonded, she couldn’t be his sanctuary.

“You think your father had something to do with…”

“I poisoned you. I kept you bedridden and…and…ill and I don’t know why.” A tremor wracked his body. “I don’t even remember—"

His fear quivered in the air like a live thing, trembling between them. Narcissa put her palm flat on the shield between them. For the first time since she realized he’d dosed her tea, hope bloomed within her. She’d thought her Bond with him lost.

“Lucius…darling don’t fret. Don’t try to force yourself to remember. You must stay calm.” She rarely gave real orders these days, but Lucius reacted just as he had in the first months of their Bonding.

With one deep breath, all the tension left him. His shoulders relaxed and he rolled to his feet to pace the room. Narcissa allowed herself thirty seconds to admire his feet (elegantly high-arched) and the way his muscles rolled under his linen shirt and tight breeches before she pulled herself together.

She’d have to get him to prowl about their bedroom for her some night.

“What do you think your father did to you?” She had her own suspicions, but better to let Lucius make the accusation.

“Do you remember, when we were first Bonded, all the Occlumency training he put me through?” Lucius spoke quietly, his hands clenching at his sides as he paced the small room.

“Of course I do. I was quite put about at how much of your time he claimed from me.” The urge to walk through that shield and take him in her arms grew near to unbearable.

“I think…I think he may have used that to make me do what he wished. He never liked Severus…or you to be honest. He wanted Bella, really. He thought she’d be the most malleable.” Lucius paused by a chair and gripped the back hard. “He didn’t like how you and Severus wanted me to think for myself. He used to tell me, after I Designated, that I had the same use to him as a stud stallion. Before you…he threatened…with Andromeda breaking things off…” He convulsed slightly.

“We’ll speak of that later, my darling. No one will use you so ill while the Malfoy magic lives. I swear it.” Narcissa swallowed back bile and spoke soothingly. She could not afford to spend her temper now.

Later, when they’d solved this problem, they could open a bottle of the elf-made wine and curse Abraxas to eternal torment.

“I’ve always been terrible at Occlumency. No amount of training would help. I…I think…he was quite close to Rookwood and there are things I heard…things Rookwood learnt to do with Legilimency. I think father used that to…to plant behaviors? To force me to ruin Severus and…Merlin help me, Cissa, I think he wanted me to kill you.”

She’d expected that, at least. Abraxas made no secret his disdain for her during his life. Oh, he played the doting father-in-law in public. But privately? Privately they waged war in the halls of Malfoy Manor. She’d never been so happy to see someone dead as Abraxas.

(And if she ordered his place in the family mausoleum to be salted and laced with holy water and his bones annointed with herbs and oils to keep his spirit from walking, that would remain her own business.)

“It’s a distinct possibility,” she replied evenly. “He loathed me, Lucius. I…I’ve sent a sample of the tea you brought me to Severus. He said he’d analyze it for us, to find an answer. I asked in the kitchens, but the elves had no idea what it was and the bottle was unmarked. I didn’t like to send that out.”

“He knows?” One had to know Lucius Malfoy very well indeed to hear the devastation in his question.

“He does. Would you let me tell him of our conversation here? What you suspect? If…he’s better at the Mind Arts than either of us, darling. He may be willing to help.”

Lucius turned to the window and stared out it for a moment, then down at his band, his back rigid. Slowly, he relaxed again.

“I will do as my lady bids.” She barely heard his answer.

“Thank you, Lucius. I…would you wish a lighter topic of conversation?” She couldn’t quite believe the words she spoke. Honestly, they both needed some emotional respite from the storm breaking across them.

Lucius, it seemed, couldn’t either. He turned back to her, brow creased in confusion.

“You wish to stay?” He moved to the doorway and stopped short, putting his palm to the shield.

“I received the most delicious letter today and the only person I wished to tell was my best friend.” Narcissa mirrored him and they stood plan to palm for a moment. “Why don’t I call for more comfortable chairs for both of us? And after, we can bring the dining table up and all three of us can dine together.”

Lucius looked down at her for a moment.

“After everything I’ve done?”

“My darling, there will never be a moment while I draw breath where you are unwanted. We can rebuild trust, but my love for you will never falter.”

His breath caught and his eyes seemed glassier than they were a moment ago.

“I would very much like to hear this letter.”

Narcissa breathed out a low laugh and called for the house elves. No sense in either of them being uncomfortable.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts School
Monday Afternoon

Dare stared at the pile of boxes on the sitting room floor. He’d have to shift those to the study before he could even get started. He thought hover charms would work; packing charms did but shrinking charms failed. Magic helped, of course, but he still sighed as he twitched his wand into his hand and got to work levitating. Bringing a House back from its mothballed state took considerable doing.

(Keeping people from importuning Severus would likely take just as much effort. The staring alone that morning would put anyone off their porridge. He never thought he’d be thankful for Severus’ fearsome reputation before, but one look from him had students thinking better of their impertinence. He hoped it would also work on Society. The idea of Severus cowing everyone with a Look tickled him.)

The accounts alone were enough to give a soul the heebie-jeebies. The properties, the farms, the sheer weight of a millennia of responsibility and expectation added to the headache. His first time ‘round hadn’t included being the head of House Slytherin. Uncle Martin prepared him to take over the Sinclair holdings, but those were miniscule compared to the utter sprawl of the Slytherin estate.

It was a rather good thing he’d given himself nicer shoulders than he’d possessed in his first go-round with forty. He’d have to be careful to exercise this time. No going out clutching his chest for him, thank you very much.

Once was enough.

The responsibility didn’t frighten him. He enjoyed being busy and in charge. Part and parcel, perhaps, with his designation, but he knew plenty of Dominants and Tops who hated any responsibility outside their own Sub and household. The kind of life in store for him suited him down to the ground, thankfully.

What had first-Severus called him? An overbearing, domineering sack of dicks? That was it. He wondered if his Severus had the same knack for rudeness. He’d found it endearing, most of the time. His Severus seemed to have more self control and had learned to curb his worst impulses. What had that taken?

He knew his own faults. His time in India included a great deal of soul-searching, getting to know all aspects of himself, and mastering the less than savory bits. He was the kind of Top who preferred the world to run as he ordained. Thankfully, between his aunt and uncle and his teachers in India (and the Indian government, which was incredibly generous with those who wished to learn), he learned to channel his natural inclinations to the rather more petty dictatorship of a House Headship. Otherwise, as this world learned, he might just try to arrange said world into a form that suited him better.

Not a good idea. The Rise and Fall of The Dark Lord gave a good picture of what he could have become, the monster he might have twisted into. He’d never been more thankful for Uncle Martin and Auntie Ro than he was while reading that book. Their patience and their love taught him to transmute his rage at the world and that inclination to ruthless dominance into something with a price beyond riches.

He maneuvered the last box into his study and just breathed for a moment. Sorting the file boxes and folders could wait. He didn’t yet have enough shelving or other furniture, for one. Seeing how close he’d come…well, it just reinforced every hard lesson he’d learned in life. Patience, kindness, honor…they were worth fighting for, even when the battle raged in his own soul. And oh, it had raged.

He learned to cultivate a gentler and kinder spirit in a house where he was loved, just for being himself, in spite of the other influences in his life. He’d learned from both his aunt and his uncle to be forthright and faithful, to love, to be a steadfast refuge in a difficult world, to shelter and protect. He’d learned that the world still needed those who would shoulder responsibility, who would understand their duty to it, and fashioned himself into that sort of man. He held an old fashioned view of his place in the world, perhaps, but it remained an incredibly valuable one to him.

Before his family found him, he’d gone along with the cruelty and bullying, desperate to belong somewhere (and equally desperate to make everyone else hurt as much as he did). He’d stifled himself, let the icy mask he wore for protection become his personality just to try to fit their mold of personhood. He remembered how it felt, breaking that down, letting the warmth of human affection into his life. How frightened he’d been, at first, and how he broke down when he realized they really did love him.

Love changed everything for him, gave him a steady path to climb, blazed through his existence like the sweeping beam from a lighthouse.

He remembered standing up to the purebloods for the first time after a summer with people who loved and encouraged him. Abraxas Malfoy in particular violently disliked being told no, especially by a half-blood, no matter Dare’s years on him. Amazing how ‘young gentlemen’ turned savage when denied their ‘fun’. Alice Avery…he’d stopped them ‘making an example’ of her when her older brother saw her giggling with a half-blood housemate. He kept that memory close that year (the shocked hope dawning on Alice’s face when he stepped in front of her and turned his wand on her tormentors), let it fuel his desire to change, to be more than a vicious bully.

Braxy threw a fit that lived on in Slytherin House lore for generations over Dare receiving a prefect badge. Mostly, Dare believed, because he knew he’d be for it if he got up to his usual tricks. In the end, he earned a reputation as an absolute martinet, but at least Slytherin learned to behave. Mostly. At least where he could see them or hear about it.

One of the Black siblings…cousins? There were so many in those days. It was Rigel who spotted his designation disc first at that year’s welcome feast and muttered ‘Oh, Merlin, it all makes sense now. He’ll have us alphabetizing our socks’.

He really had to stop wool-gathering and actually get some work done. Before the goblins came looking for him, preferably. He moved one of the boxes to his desk and opened it, trying to turn his mind to sorting out files and folders. It had to be done manually. The goblins didn’t trust that humans wouldn’t take advantage, and so all goblin-generated parchment withstood human magic, including sorting charms. While their right, it made his life that much more difficult.

His current study seemed a bit larger than the one he’d had…elsewhere. Perhaps actually being welcome in Severus’ quarters made the difference? It certainly felt more like home to him and less like the castle saw him as a barely tolerated interloper. Could taking up the headship of House Slytherin be the difference?

To share all this with a Severus who didn’t want him dead and buried, to have precious years given back, really was a gift from magic. He’d only intended to stay with Severus for a night, thinking the younger man would want him gone, and instead he received a lifetime. The responsibility of it (to Severus and for Severus) didn’t bother him in the least. Severus’s disc warmed in his band, and he smiled down at it for a moment, stroking a finger over one of the snakes, letting it flick its little tongue over his fingers.

What did this world do to Severus to make him so unsure of himself and so hesitant to accept attention or care? He hoped Sunday afternoon offered a breakthrough for them, at least one of sorts. They still had much work to do to build necessary trust between them, but they’d started at least. Severus trusted him enough to push and brat into consequences. Mild ones, to be sure, but some instinct told him that Severus desperately needed gentle boundaries more than anything, that anything harsh might shatter him.

Not that he thought Severus fragile in the general sense. No, his Severus could bear far more than most. He’d seen the devastation wrought when a Top dealt faithlessly with a Brat like Severus first hand. He wouldn’t be another hurt, another who only took and never gave.

The world hadn’t been kind to his lad, that much was clear. How unkind and how like other-Severus’s world remained to be seen. This Severus, his Severus, gave so much despite it all.

The phrase 'the full measure of his devotion’ tumbled through his head as he stared unblinking at a piece of parchment he’d pulled from the box on his desk. That was precisely what Severus gave of himself. No rest, no respite until all others were cared for. No thought that he might need the same care he extended to others. No thought that he might deserve the same level of care and consideration. No sanctuary for himself.

Well, he’d accept sanctuary and care and consideration and rest now or he’d find himself in a world of bother. That Dare could control (and would, see dictator, petty).

He surveyed the study again and groaned. Acting on impulse, he called out, “would a house elf of Slytherin be available?” and waited.

In a moment, an elderly elf popped into the room.

“Thank you. I hope I’m not interrupting your day.”

“Betsy is a Founder’s Elf and waits upon Slytherin’s Head. Betsy has waited many, many years.” She spoke raspily, as if she hadn’t used her voice in a long time, and whether she meant Severus or himself he didn’t think he had the courage to ask. Or the impertinence.

“You were here at the start?” He couldn’t help the question. He didn’t think there was a soul alive who could resist.

“From the moment they sank the foundation stone, Betsy has served faithfully. Roderick and Delphine and Amaryllis were with Betsy at the Founding.”

“Thank you for attending me, Betsy. I…would it be rude to ask what the founders were like?” He couldn’t help himself.

“Dreamers.” Betsy answered definitely. “Elves needed to be the common sense. They dreamed of this, what they would never see. Terrible Latin, they had, too,” she muttered the last, more to herself than anyone else.

“Weren’t they scholars?” Betsy was his favorite, he decided. Terrible Latin, indeed.

“Self-taught, they said. Picked it up here and there. They managed, and managed well, but Betsy was with the Church before she was a Founder’s Elf.”

“So you would know…”

“Elves do.” She cocked her head to one side, thinking. “Their Greek was worse. Betsy became used to it.”

He wouldn’t laugh. “Is it indelicate to ask if that’s why some of the spells don’t quite make, well, sense?”

Betsy nodded, looking as if she wanted to laugh herself. “They did their best with a hard thing. They created a system out of nothing. Before, children learned from their parents or maybe the Church. With a school, they needed to…to standardize what was taught.”

“It must have been difficult.” He agreed. “Leaving aside how to teach. Just getting children here…convincing parents to let their children be taken to a different…well, they weren’t even countries the way we know them now, some of them.”

“Betsy helped. All the elves helped, especially when a child couldn’t go back.”

“And in the morning, the door stood open and the bed was empty and on the breeze she heard her children’s laughter drifting back to her.” Dare quoted.

“The elves helped and that was the story they told.” Betsy grumbled. “Some children weren’t safe. Home was no refuge.”

“But Hogwarts was?”

“In those days, she was a hill fort. She…updates with the times.” Betsy’s brow furrowed. “Since Mr. Riddle-Sinclair is of the line, Betsy may answer his questions.” She added the last in a murmur.

“I understand. I didn’t think you would tell just anyone all of this. I thank you for your trust, Elf of the Founders.” He said the words without input from his brain. “I will keep my counsel over what you have shared.”

“Is there something Mr. Riddle-Sinclair needs?” Betsy asked. “Master Sev—” she clapped a hand over her mouth.

“Master Severus, hmm?” Dare asked. “Does he know what the elves call him?”

“Potions Master Snape is accorded all the respect of his attainments, Betsy is sure.” Betsy answered stiffly. “Master Severus is very naughty and does not call the elves for help. Or Betsy would have been active again, sooner.”

“Have you been…please tell me you haven’t been…” how did he even ask the question.

“Until Mr. Riddle-Sinclair called, Betsy was in stasis, awaiting the call. Mr. Riddle-Sinclair should not grieve himself. Betsy and the others are content to wait until they are called to service. Elves know how to wait. We find it restful, in the Between. Betsy watched over Master Severus…in a way that was not creepy and only at Hogwarts.” She spoke firmly.

“But you’re here now.” He couldn’t help the revulsion at thinking of an elf in stasis. “You could watch?”

“A gift.” Betsy said proudly. “A gift from the Founders. Each house head is given the name when they take on the headship. Roderick and Delphine and Amaryllis were called a long time ago. Betsy is very lucky that Mr. Riddle-Sinclair found Master Severus. Betsy has found Master Severus…stubborn.”

Dare’s mouth twitched despite his attempt to remain serious. Oh yes, Severus was stubborn.

“Will of iron, that one.” He murmured.

“Betsy has had to watch pneumonia. Twice.” She sounded at the end of her tether. “Betsy did not enjoy it. Betsy is well-pleased to have help looking after Master Severus.”

“That sounds unpleasant, Betsy. Master Severus is likely to have a difficult day today. When he’s done with all he needs to do, is there something he enjoys? Something you’ve seen him do for himself at the end of a long and difficult day?” He hoped like hell he wasn’t overstepping. On the other hand, Severus could simply get used to it.

“A bath, then his warming robe and hot chocolate before the fire. He likes music – quiet and orchestral on a difficult day.” Betsy nodded more to herself than him. “Now, can Betsy do anything for Mr. Riddle-Sinclair?”

“Would you be able to wrap the room in bookcases? I’m likely to need the space. And perhaps a window to the grounds?” He liked the dungeons, but he also enjoyed sunlight.

Betsy smiled at him. “Betsy is happy to help.”

She snapped and bookcases circled the walls, leaving only the door on one side of the room and a new, wide window on the other side uncovered. She frowned for a moment and snapped again. The bookcases under the window morphed into a sideboard. Sturdy leather periodical files ranked along several of the shelves, each bearing an empty tag. The lower shelving behind his desk twisted for a moment and then turned into a long row of lateral file drawers. A tea set popped into existence on the sideboard and a combination victrola and wireless cabinet popped up in one corner of the room. Finally, the bare flagstone floor sprouted thick, plushy carpet.

“Betsy, thank you.” Hogwarts made the room for him, but Betsy made it feel like his space.

“Betsy is overjoyed to have Mr. Riddle-Sinclair in residence.” And she did seem to radiate contentment and joy. “Betsy has purpose again!”

“Why don’t you reacquaint yourself with the other elves?” Dare suggested.

“Oh, oh, yes. Betsy will do just that!” She’d grown younger as she used her magic, now looking much as she had when she first came to Hogwarts. “Betsy will always come when called, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair.”

She popped out. Dare shook his head, bemused. No matter how much he thought he understood about magic and the world he inhabited, it always surprised him. At least Betsy no longer waited, watching impotently as Severus ran himself ragged. If she was as protective as she seemed, poor Severus wouldn’t know what hit him.

Dare put aside his musings and bent back to work. He summoned several periodical files off the shelf and began the tedious task of labeling and filling them. Auntie Ro always reminded him that a stitch in time saved nine when he balked at the tedium of this sort of task.

It might save him time later when all he needed was right to hand, but the filing process remained a loathsome, foul occupation and he’d make as many faces as it as he wished. 

Chapter Text

Severus grumbled as he strode back to his quarters. He wouldn’t run. Running professors only panicked impressionable students, and this crop seemed particularly inclined to lose their heads over nothing. They would certainly get themselves into a flap if they saw him running from the Infirmary.

Why did he have to want quarters close to Slytherin? He could have been on one of the main floors with a Floo connection. But no. He’d thought it responsible to live close to his charges at twenty-one. His knees certainly didn’t appreciate his responsibility now, not when he’d taught a full day of classes and been up and down the staircases innumerable times. He longed for the tub in his quarters, filled so deep he floated.

A bath, an endless mug of hot chocolate (which he would never admit, even under torture), and an evening by the fire with Dare sounded so wonderfully restful.

He nearly missed a step at that. When, in only three days, had Darius Riddle-Sinclair become so intrinsically entwined with his idea of comfort that he appeared in the fantasy of a quiet evening? How had he given over so much of himself that even thinking of the man brought his shoulders down from around his ears? Could it be just the magic that bound them urging him closer?

No. He felt no foreign interference. He simply wanted (needed) as he hadn’t in many, many years. Something about the previous afternoon swept aside all his objections and reservations. If he was honest, he’d admit that he lost some of that iron hold on his heart the first time Dare smiled at him, standing in a shabby kitchen making toast.

Was it such a bad thing to let himself want? To let himself feel? To be the one cared for, for once in his adult life? To allow someone else to take charge?

Was it wrong to feel like a storm-ravaged ship finally sailing into safe harbor? That’s what his bonding had felt like. Their magic touched and he felt so awe-inspiringly safe. The joy of it sang in his magic still. Like he’d finally, finally found home, limping into port with half his rigging destroyed. He still couldn’t quite believe the whole weekend was…real.

His bonding band gave a disgruntled little hiss at that and tightened.

“I know you’re very real.” Was he actually talking to a metal snake? “You needn’t grumble about my feelings. I’m not going anywhere.”

A metallic tongue tickled his wrist.

“And you can stop that as well. Cheeky,” he finished with a half-hearted scold. Trust the Slytherin family to have bonding jewelry with an attitude.

He wouldn’t, couldn’t behave so shabbily as to ignore promises made in their contract, in any case. He gave a solemn oath of fidelity and obedience both and he would stand by that, designations notwithstanding. He’d accepted Dare into his life as his Head of Family, the Paterfamilias, and as a guardian. Even before he signed the contract, he’d accepted that. Something within him knew Dare as his match. His magic? His soul?

He only knew that making that oath to Dare felt like Holy Saturday, when light blazed through the Church and the bells gave voice for the Gloria.

This is the night

Of which it is written:

The night shall be as bright as day,

Dazzling is the night for me, and full of gladness.

He thought dazzled just the right word. He still felt the thrill of all of it through him, even though their Bonding was such a quiet moment between them.

He’d met so many in Society who Bound themselves, agreed to honor their Bonded as Paterfamilias or Materfamilias, and then simply ignored any part of their oath that they found inconvenient. The worst, he thought, was that their Head of House let them. Designation oughtn’t matter for something like that, not in the matter of an oath.

Old fashioned it might be, to accept another as one’s Paterfamilias, one’s guardian, and to honor that, but Severus always had been old fashioned that way. He wouldn’t shame Dare as he’d seen others shame their Houses.

He didn’t know precisely what Dare would want from him as a husband, but he no longer feared that unknown. No man who treated him so gently, who held him like something infinitely precious, would ask more than he had to give.

Bolstered by this, Severus made the rest of the journey feeling slightly less aggrieved, in spirit if not in knees. He entered his quarters, heading directly for his own study. He expected the note on his desk from Dare, letting him know his husband went out to bolster his wardrobe until he could get to the tailor. He set the note down and froze.

Draco.

He never sent Draco his own letter.

Longbottom’s wand problems could hold for ten minutes. He sat at his desk and pulled out writing supplies. Draco deserved to hear from him directly, not just from his mother.

Dear Draco,

First, I wish to offer my apologies for not seeing you off on Friday and for not writing you more immediately. If I had known you would be leaving for the week then I would have delayed my own departure. I hope you are well.

Your mother may have told you already, but I wanted you to have a letter from me as well. I was Bonded on Saturday at Gringotts. It was not an expected turn of events, but it turned out that there was a Bonding Contract left unfulfilled by our families for many generations. My now-bonded husband and I decided to honor it.

I want to assure you that I will not be leaving Hogwarts.

In a completely unforeseen turn of events, I am now Consort Slytherin. Yes, Draco, my bonded is head of House Slytherin. You can imagine my surprise.

(You can also stop making that atrociously smug face. You’re as bad as your mother on the topic of Bonding.)

He is, of course, anxious to meet my godson. When your father feels well enough, we shall have your parents to tea. I will ensure that you are included in that invitation so he may meet you as my godson and not as my student.

With love,

Uncle Severus

He folded the letter, sealed, and addressed it quickly, franking it with his Slytherin House mark. He could detour up to the owlery so Draco would receive it promptly, he thought, and groaned at the further abuse to his knees. He really ought to have worn warmer stockings. Or those ridiculous knee warmers Molly Weasley sent last Christmas.

“Betsy can take that for you, Potions Master Snape.” An elf popped into the room.

Severus barely held on to his dignity. He would not shriek at house elves, however suddenly they appeared.

“Who might you be?”

“Betsy, the Slytherin House Elf,” she answered with evident satisfaction. “Betsy is here to help.”

“I—“ he would consider it later. This had Dare’s fingerprints all over it. “I would appreciate the assistance, Betsy. Could you take this to the owlery?”

She took the letter and gave him a considering look. “Betsy could take it to the recipient since he is of Slytherin.”

“That would be very kind, Betsy. Thank you. I would prefer he receive it as soon as possible.”

“Betsy will take it!” She popped out again, leaving a bemused Severus.

He would think about it later. For now, he needed the casket of wands he kept for situations like this. Slytherin parents sometimes allowed familial sentimentality to get in the way of a properly matched wand. Oh, most students would cope, but when you had one with the self-esteem of Longbottom…that could only end in disaster. Ollivander, thankfully, saw the utility of training a Hogwarts professor to recognize poorly matched family wands.

Severus set off for Minerva’s office, considering his options. Hadn’t the youngest Weasley boy some accident with his wand? He could kill two birds with one stone if he asked for both boys. He couldn’t think of anyone else in Gryffindor who might need a replacement. Technically, as Weasley broke his wand through his own idiocy (any Slytherin student arriving by flying car and subsequently damaging property would have experienced truly hideous detentions for the entire year), he ought to let the boy swing.

Clearly bonding had addled his wits as he found that option unpalatable. He certainly wasn’t considering it simply to be kind.

He had a reputation to uphold, after all.

Perhaps if he sneered?

“Professor Snape, have you got a minute?”

Severus turned to see Bulstrode waiting patiently. He really did not have any minutes, but he could at least fob her off to later.

“I am nearly late for an appointment with Professor McGonagall , Miss Bulstrode. Is this greatly important?” He’d never known the girl to exaggerate.

“Oh, no sir. Not immediately, anyway. Would you have a few minutes before dinner? Eiluned, Immogen, and I have a question we’d like to ask.”

“Can you meet me in my office in about forty-five minutes? If you can, I can give you fifteen minutes.”

“We’ll be there. Thanks, Professor!” And she was off out of his way.

He knocked briskly on Minerva’s office door and waited for it to crack open, composing himself. The Jolly Hockey Stick Contingent would have to make do with the fifteen minutes he could spare. He still had a pile of marking to get through, in addition to meeting with Potter and then, likely, the Headmaster. He probably ought to try to eat dinner somewhere in there, but over-busy days always robbed him of appetite.

The door creaked open. Severus stepped through to a rather harassed looking Minerva at her desk. The precarious piles of parchment stacked before her quivered alarmingly as he tapped her quill against the blotter.

“Is anything amiss, Minerva?”

“Weasley twins,” she groaned. “Always those two and Jordan. I’m trying to devise a detention awful enough to deter them for a fortnight, at least.”

“Send the twins home with a detailed précis of their actions,” Severus suggested.

“I’ll keep that one in mind. What did you need, Severus?”

“Could you call Longbottom and Weasley minor in?” he set the casket down on the sideboard.

“Have they done something?” She rose and skirted carefully around her desk.

“What they haven’t done is ask you for help. Both of them are using hazardous wands.”

Minerva sighed and rubbed a hand across her face. “I knew about Longbottom, but what can one do about the Dowager? She’s adamant that he use his father’s wand. I expect Weasley’s was damaged in his…adventurous return to school?”

“With that attitude, one can’t do much,” Severus replied crisply. “I have a solution. Potter let me know about Longbottom’s wand.”

“You’ve been to see him?” Minerva asked, a bit too casually.

“I have and you were right. He is…not what I thought.”

Minerva said nothing but looked incredibly smug. Severus wondered if that was part of her animagus form. Cats could radiate the most obnoxious levels of smug he’d ever experienced.

“I knew you’d see it that way if you spoke to him. Now, what is this solution?”

He opened the casket, revealing nearly stacked wand boxes.

“Severus! How did you—no. I don’t want to know.”

“It’s been sanctioned by Ollivander, Minerva. He’s had some concerns for a long time surrounding family wands. Many simply won’t listen to him.”

“If Ollivander is involved…do you plan to fit both boys with a new wand?”

“If there’s one they match with, yes. Longbottom can either engineer an accident or pretend he’s using his father’s wand at school. Weasley shouldn’t have the same problem. I have no doubt that he simply doesn’t want to trigger another Howler.”

“I’ll call them. If Augusta gets wind of this…” she trailed off, going to the announcement board across the room.

“Send her to me.” Severus smiled thinly. “She could do with a good routing. And if she persists in being a problem, I’ll tell Dowager Prewett.”

Minerva snorted as she inscribed a quick message on the board.

“I don’t know why that woman has taken to you the way she has. There, that will go out now.”

In a moment, her voice echoed through the corridors.

“Would Ronald Weasley and Neville Longbottom please come to my office.”

“Now we just need to wait. They should be prompt. Weasley, at least, knows better than to lollygag.”

Sure enough, the two boys tapped on the door and then skittered into the office minutes later, distinctly out of breath. Longbottom skulked behind Weasley, trying to make himself as small as possible.

“’lo, Professor McGonagall. We were in the library.” Weasley sounded wary.

“It has come to my attention that both of you have wands which are causing…problems. Professor Snape would like to suggest a solution.”

“Gran won’t let me have a new one. She had a thundering row with Ollivander over it.” Longbottom blurted out, horrified.

“We needn’t tell your grandmother, Mr. Longbottom.” Severus stepped in to reassure the child.

No use having Longbottom go to pieces when it could be avoided.

“We needn’t?” Longbottom asked, as if this were an entirely new concept.

“You can see if one of the wands I have available will work for you. Then, you can either use your father’s wand only at home or you can engineer a small accident so it's unusable but not destroyed."

“But that’s lying!” Neville protested. “Are…are you telling me to lie to Gran?”

It seemed moral outrage overcame fear for Longbottom. Severus made a mental note. Minerva, whom he could see in his peripheral vision, pinched the bridge of her nose and muttered something about wretched influences.

“Yes, Mr. Longbottom,” Severus answered simply and Minerva sighed. He continued, “you are twelve and away at school. Your grandmother, while an estimable woman, does not need to know every choice you make. You can, of course, choose to struggle along with your current wand. You may also choose to tell your grandmother the truth and send her to me.” Perhaps the child would prefer the hard road.

“I’d like to see if I match with a new wand. But…I’d like to think about what to tell Gran, if…if that’s alright,” Longbottom decided.

“That’s perfectly fine, Mr. Longbottom. We can talk about how you’d like to handle your grandmother,” Minerva promised. “Away from less than savory influences.”

Weasley snorted.

Severus ignored her pointed comment. “And Mr. Weasley?”

“I’ll try. Only I might be hard to match. I went through all the family wands and only Charlie’s first one worked for me.” Ron’s hand went unconsciously to his pocket.

“We shall see.” Severus removed the boxes from the casket and removed the top of each, setting them out into rows. “Mr. Longbottom first, please.”

“What happens if we don’t match with any?” Longbottom’s voice quavered.

“Then we call in Mr. Ollivander,” Minerva answered. “Go on and try.”

Longbottom stretched out a trembling hand, steeled himself, and then ran his hand over the open boxes instead of picking up a wand directly. He bit his lip as he hovered over the row of boxes, brows furrowed in concentration. Toward the end of the row, he finally plucked a wand from a box.

Shimmering golden sparkles fountained from it as a light breeze danced through the office, ruffling parchment and hair as it went.

“This is it.” Longbottom’s voice came out unsteady. “I didn’t know….what is it, please, Professor?”

Severus lifted the box and looked at the label pasted on the top.

“Cedar and unicorn hair, Mr. Longbottom.”

“Cedar?” Longbottom echoed. “I didn’t think I…it’s a bit of a surprise.”

“Let’s see if Mr. Weasley is as full of surprises. Which method would you prefer? The Longbottom or the Ollivander?” Severus, quite honestly, wished to finish so he could, perhaps, get an hour of marking in before dinner.

“I have a method.” Longbottom muttered to himself, looking pleased.

“Er, what’s it feel like, Nev? With hovering your hand?”

“It felt like something clicked for me. Like I’d been waiting and waiting and suddenly it was just…there.”

“Right. Could I try the Longbottom method, please?” Weasley knocked shoulders with the other boy.

“Please.”

Weasley made it to the middle of the row. He didn’t need to be told twice before he scooped up a wand, sending a rain of brightly glowing miniature globes down on the room.

Without being asked, Severus checked the box. “Rowan and dragon heartstring.”

“Rowan…” Weasley murmured, looking down at his new wand in wonder. “It’s just like Nev said, too.”

“With that sorted, I’ll take my leave.” Severus gathered everything quickly, but not quickly enough to escape Gryffindor soppiness.

“Thank you, professor.” Weasley managed, tearing his eyes away from his wand.

“Yes, thank you so much.” Longbottom echoed.

“Use them well.” Severus escaped from the room and the overpowering gratitude.

They didn’t own him that. He only did what needed to be done.

He still wanted a bath and his husband, but his wants would have to wait. As per bloody usual. The little snakes around his wrist tightened for a moment and warmed against his skin. He glanced down at the band and ran a careful finger over each little head.

“I’ll be fine,” he murmured. “Pastoral care is one of my duties to my House.”

If snakes could grumble, his band would. Instead he got a testy little hiss from each if them. He sighed and shook his head.

The Bulstrode dormitory could have their fifteen minutes. It was all he could spare if he also expected to stay ahead of his marking, especially as his afternoon had suddenly included emergency wand fittings. If they needed more, then his seventh year NEWT students would have to wait for their essays back. They just might have to cultivate patience anyway, never easy when every essay felt like a new way to fail, but he might need to fall over until dinner. They never really did fail, though, and probably could have put their energy to better use than torturing themselves.

No one ever listened when he suggested jogging or tennis or a row on the lake or snowshoeing or even just a brisk walk. They all went wall-eyed as a spooked horse if one so much as hinted at the benefits of fresh air and getting out of the library. One of the benefits, of course, being that he didn’t have to deal with nervous breakdowns if they’d just relax for five minutes.

Perhaps he could start enforcing after dinner walks? Or before breakfast if he really wanted to be a bastard. He thought he’d seen Borley harassing a group of younger students around the lake the one morning. They could make it a House activity.

He slipped into his office only moments before the Bulstrode contingent arrived. He contrived to look as if he’d spent his afternoon marking essays, most certainly not apologizing to undersized Potters or supplying clandestine wands to Gryffindors.

Millicent Bulstrode, Immogen Heartley, and Eiluned Owen made one think of wholesome outdoor games and fresh air and sensible shoes. They were, for the most part, nice girls, but each carried an air of common sense assurance that made a number of adults twitch. They were only twelve, after all.

Pomona didn’t like him and Minerva calling them ‘The Jolly Hockey Sticks’. In their defense, Immogen introduced everyone to ice hockey her first Winter in the castle and field hockey in the Spring. She back checked like a demon, too.

“I do hope your rooming arrangement has proven satisfactory?” he asked. “Splitting a cohort isn’t often done.”

“Oh, yes, professor.” Bulstrode answered. “We’re getting on splendidly. We had a request, though, and thought it best to speak to you.”

“What might that be?”

“We’d like Parkinson moved in with us, if it can be arranged.”

That was not at all what he’d expected. Severus stared for a moment, trying to formulate a response. He made a non-committal noise to cover his confusion.

They wished to room with Parkinson? Voluntarily? They may as well have told him they wished to take up snake handling. Or necromancy.

“We know it’s a bit odd,” Owen spoke up. “As Parkinson has done her best to be a prime wart this term, but both she and Bulstrode say she wants to change and Bulstrode’s right; she can’t change of she’s left in the same place.”

“I see.” Severus steepled his fingers together. He’d learnt that from Minerva. It was an excellent delaying tactic. “You believe her to be sincere?”

“Yes, professor.” Millicent answered. “She cried, properly, and apologized. Not that whimpery sniffle she used all last year. She actually let herself go all blotchy and Pansy doesn’t do that unless she really means it. And she’s written her Auntie Agapanthus to ask if she can stay with her in school holidays.”

“Her aunt…” someone had actually named another person Agapanthus?

“At least it isn’t Ranunculus.” Heartley put in, shrugging. “We spoke to Parkinson all together, too, professor, and she seems sincere to us.”

“In general, I don’t allow dormitory changes after the first week of classes. However, given that it would equalize the number of students per dormitory, I’ll make the change. Tell Miss Parkinson that her things will be moved by the evening.” Well, that was easy enough. He might need to handle hysterical Parkinson parents and Greengrass’ complaints, but he could do that in his sleep.

If the parents persisted, he could set Agapanthus on them.

Merciful Merlin. Agapanthus.

The girls filed out happily after giving their thanks, no doubt off to plan an overthrow of the government or perhaps a healthy nature walk if they’d finished their essays and reading. They were the sort who could pull it off, most likely, at least once they were adults, and with no one the wiser until they were quite entrenched as they’d do it through perfectly legal channels. Well, mostly legal channels. Bulstrode had her moments.

He’d watch that set with Interest, now Parkinson was being cannoned into their midst. She might prove to be good for them.

Chapter Text

Millicent left Professor Snape’e office feeling as if a weight had lifted from her shoulders. Pansy waited for them, leaning against the wall and trying not to vibrate with impatience.

“Your things will be moved for tonight, Pans.”

Pansy launched herself at Millicent, beaming.

“Oh, thank you! Thank you!” she squeaked, hugging hard. “All of you!”

“Yes, we’re all very happy, Pansy.” Millicent just kept them both from going over in a heap.

“I have an essay to finish for tomorrow,” Immogen groaned. “Or I’d hang about and celebrate. You’ll be at dinner? Or should we all stay away from the Greengrass set?”

“I vote stay away as much as we can. Never know how Greengrass is going to take things. She might act as if she doesn’t care or she might throw six fits,” Eiluned answered carefully.

“I might have an in at the Gryffindor table,” Millicent admitted. “Pansy and I can go and visit Potter. We’re bound to run into Weasley and Granger.”

“If we can’t do Gryffindor, then perhaps Ravenclaw? Rigsby and Hallow won’t mind. And Patil is a good egg,” Immogen added.

“Gryffindor feels like we’re making a statement, Millicent,” Eiluned frowned. “Are we making a statement?”

“We may as well,” Millicent decided. “I don’t want to have to keep…keep hiding. It’s a chance to show everyone else that Slytherin isn’t what they think it is.”

“Er, I’m not trying to be rude, but does everything get decided by committee in this dormitory group?” Pansy broke in.

“Oh yes,” Eiluned grinned at her, her Welsh accent broadening as she spoke. “Can’t pick out shoes in the morning without six meetings and a page of minutes.”

Pansy giggled at that.

“Why don’t Linny and I go to the library and you stick with Millicent, Pansy?” Immogen elbowed Eiluned, but she grinned while she did it. “If we see you head to the Gryffindor table for dinner then we’ll join you there.”

“Right, good luck with that essay, Immogen. Ready to make nice with Potter and his friends, Pans?” Millicent couldn’t help but feel a bit nervous. Potter was all right, but would Weasley react well? “I heard Patil and Brown saying something to Granger about wardrobes after Potions. That sort of thing is your favorite.”

“I suppose I could be nice to them for a bit. Granger’s at least got a brain and isn’t scared of people seeing it.” Pansy followed after Millicent as she lead the way out of the dungeons.

Millicent and Pansy met Granger and Weasley just outside the Infirmary door. They all stopped, staring at one another.

“What are you doing here?” Weasley asked, his eyes narrowed.

He probably thought it made him look threatening. Millicent thought it made him look like he had astigmatism.

“Visiting Potter. We had hoped to run into you, Granger.” Millicent answered shortly.

“Why are you visiting Harry?” Weasley wouldn’t lay off. Of course he wouldn’t.

“Because he’s a nice person and I think he could use more friends rather than fewer. And Mother said that if I wanted interhouse relations to change then perhaps I had a responsibility to make a start.”

“Well, if your mum said.” Weasley sighed. “She’s all right, your mum is.”

“Thank you, Weasley. I’m sure my mother’s life will be complete knowing that you approve of her.” Millicent answered so drily that both Granger and Pansy snickered.

“Why were you looking for me?” Granger asked, her eyes narrowing.

“Are Patil and Brown threatening to help you with your clothes?” Pansy butted in.

“They said they’d help.”

“Right, send us a note when you’re going to go over everything with them. We’ll help as well.” Millicent hoped she’d take it well.

“Why?” Healthy suspicion seemed like a good response.

“Because neither Pansy nor I trust them not to make you look a complete idiot. They both have a distressing fondness for ruffles and pink.” Millicent thought Granger would appreciate a straightforward answer. “That sort of thing looks right on them, but it would be a disaster on you.”

“Certain pinks will suit you, but they’ll try to go too far.” Pansy picked up. “You know, you really do have the most marvelous hair.”

“I suppose I could do with more assistance than just Lavender and Parvati.” Hermione mused. “I did wonder at their sudden wish to help.”

“Bulstrode’s mum runs their fabric warehouse pretty much single-handedly.” Ron put in.

“I’ll send a note round when we agree on a day and time.” Hermione nodded decisively. “And perhaps we can start to change the…the way students are siloed into houses.”

“Excellent. Now, if we’re all here for the same thing?” Millicent opened the door and ushered everyone through. Perhaps all of them showing up together would distract Potter from his moping.

Chapter Text

Potter and then the Headmaster. He only had to keep himself going for a few more hours.

Wonderful.

He’d down a wide-eye potion, but they’d never settled well with him. He didn’t think vicious bodily tremors followed by six hours of vomiting would quite set the right honeymoon tone later in the evening. He really did not want to learn what Dare thought of such stimulants, either. He knew some Tops had all sorts of opinions and seemed to think Brats should only ever drink water or chamomile tea.

Dare didn’t seem to have strong opinions on the tea front, which boded well for his continued existence. He would pry Severus’ Scottish Morning blend from his cold, dead hands. (He’d once likened that particular brew as the tea equivalent to having Minerva scream Scots Wha Hae into his ear at five o’clock in the morning)

He would, frankly, rather have his teeth pulled without painkillers than be privy to the conversation about to happen with Potter. A complicated mix of feelings left his stomach twisting. The elves, bless them, had given him a light meal that evening, far removed from the stodge they served to the children. At least the headmaster took under advisement serving fresh fruit and vegetables that weren’t boiled until even the last ghost of a vitamin fled. Despite the Headmaster’s own dietary habits, he kept a keen interest in properly feeding the young people in his care.

Pity he used such woefully old-fashioned sources. Perhaps he could encourage the man with something published after the turn of the twentieth century? He could ask, in any case. One of his neighbors had a granddaughter who did something with nutrition, he thought. Mrs. Abernathy would be pleased as anything to pass on questions, if only so she could brag about the granddaughter.

Perhaps they could finally have a salad that didn’t involve cottage cheese or pineapple. Or, Merlin forbid, the green pepper and insipid cheese one.

The hospital wing doors loomed ahead of him. Why was he always party to these conversations? He sighed. He was party to them because out of all the professors he understood what those children felt. The anger, the terror, the moments of complete despondency, the hopelessness and humiliation…he knew all of it and could, mostly, predict a student’s reaction. It allowed them to have a conversation with the least distress to a child.

Potter should prove interesting, at least. Severus couldn’t even begin to predict the boy’s reaction. He could be furious at having his privacy invaded or relieved that someone noticed and knew.

Thankfully, these situations remained few and far between. By and large, magical parents overindulged their children more than anything else. He set his shoulders and opened the door. They would fix this for the child.

Harry knew that Madame Pomfrey and his professors knew. They knew about the Dursleys and Aunt Marge and the cupboard and all of it. All the things he’d tried so hard to hide would be dragged out and talked over (and over and over) and in the end it wouldn’t help at all.

He might even wind up back in the cupboard if his aunt and uncle were angry enough.

But maybe…Professor Snape knew Aunt Petunia and he thought the professor also knew how awful she was. If he did…maybe he could tell the truth. Maybe someone would believe him, finally. He thought maybe Mrs. Weasley believed him without even asking any questions. A bit of hope, hope Harry didn’t even know he had anymore, flared to life inside him.

Maybe there was a way out. He just had to be brave because he had to tell them. Whatever they asked. He hugged the blanket his mum made for him and buried his face in it.

“Mr. Potter, could you come back to my office? Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape are both here.” Madame Pomfrey called for him at exactly eight.

Harry swallowed, wishing he hadn’t had so much dinner, but got up and put on his dressing gown anyway. He followed Madame Pomfrey into her office and stared when he saw Hedwig perched on the back of one chair.

“Good evening, Mr. Potter. I thought you might like some company tonight.” Professor McGonagall smiled at him, but it looked a little sad. “Could you sit?”

“Thank you, professor.” Harry sat and let Hedwig preen his hair. “I’ve missed her.”

It didn’t escape his notice that they left him the chair nearest the door. He could get up and leave at any time without one of them between him and the Infirmary. Something tight and twisted under his breastbone eased just a little bit.

“She’s missed you, as well.” Madame Pomfrey shook her head. “Tapping at my office window all hours.”

Hedwig barked quietly in response, as if to say “Well, let me in and we won’t have a problem.”

“Mr. Potter, before we begin this evening, I’d like you to keep one thing in mind: you are never going back to your aunt and uncle’s dubious care. We will find another place for you, where you’ll be cared for properly.” Professor Snape started, looking as fierce as Harry’d ever seen him.

“Yes, Professor.” He managed to speak around the lump in his throat. He wasn’t going back? Not ever? “But the headmaster said I had to go back there because of the protection from my mum.”

“I’m going to speak to him directly after we finish here. I think he’ll agree that living with your aunt and uncle isn’t good for you, especially once he hears what I have to say. If it comes down to it, Mr. Potter, we can send an adult from our world to live in their spare bedroom, but I don’t believe it will be a problem.” Snape looked as if he’d enjoy being that person.

Harry kind of wanted to see that.

“Now that you know, we need to talk about what happened to you in that house. After that, we’re going to discuss your health assessment and why we needed to call on specialists. We all thought you would do better having more information than less.” Madame Pomfrey explained. “Professor Snape is here in part because he’ll need to brew some potions for you.”

It helped, Harry thought, knowing what they wanted to talk about. He thought he could manage two things. They were big things to talk about, but it was just two of them.

“All right.” Harry took a deep breath. “What…”

“Can you tell me what an average day was like before you got your Hogwarts letter and what changed after? There’s a Dictaquill and parchment on my desk and it will write down questions and answers so you only have to answer once. We don’t have many questions, Mr. Potter, but we do need to hear this from you.”

That helped even more. He could do that. And he would only have to say it once. He hoped no one interrupted.

“Before the letters came…” Harry trailed off, staring at his knees. It was easier if he didn’t look up. “Before, my room was the cupboard under the stairs. Aunt Petunia woke me up early every morning to help with the breakfast. I can’t remember when I didn’t have to do things like that. They had a step for me when I was really tiny, because I couldn’t see the pan and kept burning the bacon. Uncle Vernon likes a proper breakfast every day. I…I usually got to eat something for breakfast, but not much. I got school dinner, though, when we were in school. I, er. I wasn’t allowed to do better than Dudley. He threw a tantrum when we got our first reports and I spent a lot of time in the cupboard after, so I had to do either the same or just a little worse. He liked it when I did worse. Aunt Petunia always said I cheated and told all my teachers and the neighbors how horrible I was. They believed her.

During the summer lunch depended on whether or not I did my chores to Aunt Petunia’s standards. She didn’t like me touching much in the house other than in the kitchen, so it was mostly doing the floors inside and the garden unless she was having people over. Then I did the bathroom and the floors and made the snacks. She didn’t like that I was better at pastry, but she had me make all the little fiddly things anyway. I didn’t mind too much, because I could be out of the cupboard, even if it was hard.

I had to help with dinner, too. Aunt Petunia didn’t make me do all of it because she didn’t trust me not to poison them. I usually got some dinner, at least.

I…I spent a lot of time running away from my cousin and his gang. My aunt and uncle didn’t like to touch me, but they encouraged Dudley to…to beat me up when he caught me. Or…they didn’t get angry with him and Uncle Vernon would praise him for being so strong. The only time Aunt Petunia got angry was when he smacked my face into the pavement. She didn’t like having to explain that.

When…when I did something ‘freaky’, they would lock me in the cupboard for a while. It could be just a day or go on for weeks. If it was during the school year they’d let me out to go to school. In the summer, I’d get let out twice a day for…for the bathroom. Aunt Petunia didn’t think a bucket was hygienic so I got two minutes twice a day.” Harry stopped as Snape erupted from his seat and slammed out the door.

A metallic clang rang through the Infirmary, and Harry could just make out ‘horse-faced, walrus-fuc…’ before McGonagall hastily shot a spell at the wall, silencing him.

“We’ll just let Professor Snape have his little  moment. Would you like some water, Mr. Potter?” Madame Pomfrey poured a goblet for him from the pitcher on her desk even before he nodded. “There you are. I’m afraid I’m going to need a new wastebasket. We lose more wastebaskets every year to Professor Snape than even the Weasley twins, you know.”

She shook her head, smiling conspiratorially, and Harry found himself smiling back. He didn’t have much more to say. He could wait a few minutes. Professor Snape finally returned, much more quietly than he left.

“I apologize for my lapse in temper, Mr. Potter.” He spoke gravely.

“It’s all right.” Harry answered quietly. “Can I finish? I’m almost done.”

“Of course.” Professor Snape nodded at him.

“They…they didn’t hit me much.” Harry continued. “Not like every day or anything, and Aunt Petunia only tried to hit me with a frying pan once. Other than Dudley, they didn’t want to touch me. It was mostly even less food or none at all and the cupboard. If they really didn’t like what I’d done, they took the light bulb out of the socket. That’s…that’s probably about it. They moved me to Dudley’s second bedroom after the letters came since they had my cupboard on them. It was better for a bit after the letters, then they found out I couldn’t do magic at home. Being locked in a room wasn’t as bad as the cupboard, not really. I was just worried because Hedwig wasn’t getting enough to eat.”

He stared at his knees, wishing he had mum’s blanket. Hedwig hooted softly, tapping her beak against the side of his head.

“Just a few more questions, Mr. Potter. You’ve done very well. How did they usually speak to you?” Professor McGonagall asked.

“As little as possible, Professor. Er, Uncle Vernon usually just called me ‘boy’ and they all said freaks like me shouldn’t be around normal people. They really don’t like magic.”

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. One last question, if you would. What happened when you were about eight?” Madame Pomfrey asked that one. “It would have been accidental magic, most likely.”

“I…I apparated to the top of the school when my cousin and his gang were chasing me. I went to jump behind the dustbins and then I was on the roof. They had to get the fire brigade in. It was right before school let out and…and I was shut up in the cupboard all summer. Uncle Vernon liked to stand by the door and talk about how he wanted it locked, permanently. How they could just keep me in there forever and no one would care. He took the bulb for that one, too.” Strangely, he felt no shame as he once would have while talking about his relatives. Telling the truth felt like breaking free. Maybe knowing they believed him before he even said anything helped?

“Thank you, Mr. Potter. You’ve been very brave this evening.” Professor McGonagall looked rather sad at that. “From what Madame Pomfrey has told me, it seems you being locked in that cupboard triggered something in your magic.”

“It’s a condition called Complex Magical Trauma, Mr. Potter.” Madame Pomfrey picked up. “When you’ve been through something like being locked away with the worry that you won’t be let out, your magic can manifest in strange ways. With CMT, it usually halts your growth at that point until you feel safe again, or your magic decides that you’re safe. For you, worried that you’d have to stay locked up in a small space, your magic decided that you needed to stay small enough to fit. You haven’t actually aged since eight. It’s why you’re so much smaller than your classmates.”

“But why would…” Harry started, horrified. It answered a lot of questions, but he had no idea magic could do that.

“Because sometimes, Mr. Potter, our magic is very, very stupid when it’s trying to keep us safe.” Madame Pomfrey sounded about as done as Harry felt. “It’s quite a rare condition, and it’s something you’ll have to manage, but we can discuss that more this week.”

“How can I get it to stop?” He asked. “Will it stop?”

“It will stop, Mr. Potter. For a start, you need to be well away from your relatives. Professor Snape has a plan for that.”

Harry appreciated that they didn’t just him that the adults would handle it, that they thought to tell him what was planned for him.

“One of the upper year classes will be brewing a genealogical potion similar to the one Gringotts uses. The second years will be the test subjects this term. The goblins agreed to spot check a few of the results with their own potion and treated parchment, mostly as they have been trying to reach you since your eleventh birthday.” It didn’t seem like the professor blamed him for anything, but Harry found himself bristling.

“Well, no one said anything when I was there.”

“They don’t shout your business through the bank, and both the teller you saw and the cart manager missed the notice on the board, apparently. You have what’s called a post ward on you right now.”

At least one person in the magical world didn’t expect he’d know everything.

“Can it be removed?” he asked cautiously.

“If you wish it to be. Right now it might be better to keep it.” Professor McGonagall took over. “You wouldn’t want fan mail following you everywhere, would you?”

“What?” She didn’t just say fan mail, did she?

“Surely, Mr. Potter, you don’t believe that only Hogwarts, the bank, and your friends would send you post?”

“Er, yes? Why would anyone send me anything? I only really know a few people. Who writes letters to people they don’t know?”

Professor McGonagall muttered something about self esteem. It wasn’t like he didn’t hear that from Hermione frequently enough.

“The post ward means that anything sent to you, aside from specific senders, goes to the central post office first. They have an entire staff dedicated to this sort of thing. Your post is checked, the safe items are stored for you, and they send a thank you note to the sender. Anything financial in nature is sent to your account manager at Gringotts. Letters from your friends or to people you’ve written to first are allowed through as a matter of course. It’s quite a neat system and it protects a large number of people.”

If Snape ever explained potions concepts like he did the post system, Harry thought he’d get much better marks. Although that new book…

“Er, yes, I’d better keep it, then.” He had visions of being bombarded with owls.

“Once we have your genealogical information, we should be able to find a suitable guardian. We are not making this publicly known, Mr. Potter, as a warning. If it got out that you needed a new guardian…” Snape trailed off.

“The political climate is such that it could be dangerous for you.” Professor McGonagall finished. “Don’t give me that look, Poppy. I won’t beat around the bush with this. If it were up to me, I’d send you right off to the Weasley family. Unfortunately, there may be some with closer ties and better connections at the Ministry who could interfere.”

“Oh.” He never really considered himself a political anything, but he supposed it would make someone look good if they were ‘Harry Potter’s Guardian’. What if it was Lockhart? Or Fudge? Or the Malfoys?

It could go so horribly wrong.

“In terms of your overall health,  Mr. Potter, I’ll need to see you weekly for at least the rest of term. You have some worrying vitamin deficiencies and you need all your inoculations. Your magic has been working overtime trying to keep your system going. And…the scar. It appears that it retained some kind of residue of whatever was done to you that Halloween night. It’s gone now, but you’ll need a weekly potion to fully remove all the after effects.” Madame Pomfrey seemed as if she couldn’t say too much. “You’ll need to be careful of cold and damp going forward, as well as being extra careful during cold season. Your lungs were damaged at some point and you’re going to be more susceptible to bronchitis and pneumonia as a result. You’re also going to find that you tire more easily for some time. The end goal, of course, is to get everything working as it should so your magic isn’t working to heal you. As your body heals, your magic might feel a bit overpowered for a time. You’ll finally have access to all of it, though.”

Harry blinked at the barrage of information. “Could I have this written down?”

“Of course you may. I’ll make up a schedule for you so you know when to come and write down everything we’ve talked about.” From Madame Pomfrey, that was as good as a promise.

“Thank you. It’s…a lot…with everything.” He’d known he wasn’t in the best health, but hearing it together made the situation seem dire. “Could I…” he looked to the door.

“Go right ahead. Try not to fall asleep, though. I have a few potions for you before bed.”

Harry escaped gratefully back to his bed with his head swirling with information. He needed Hermione and Ron. And maybe Bulstrode, since she seemed to know everyone. But mostly, he wanted a little bit of quiet and his yellow blanket.

Chapter Text

He regretted losing his temper. He always regretted giving into it the aftermath, especially in front of students. He tried so hard to tamp down on those little flares of irritation, on the fierce, biting sarcasm in response to ridiculous children. Some days if felt like the harder he tried the more annoyed and irascible he became. At least he’d stopped making firsties cry as a regular occurance.

That Lily’s sister, who claimed to love her so, could leave her child in a cupboard and only let him out for two minutes to use the bathroom…he rather wished he had another wastebasket to kick down the hall.

Or a pair of snogging students to terrorize. The regular culprits seemed to have gone in for the evening. He checked a few of their usual haunts as he strode from the Hospital Wing to the Headmaster’s office, reeling in his temper as he went. Banging cupboard and closet doors certainly helped.

 Dumbledore, while the architect of much of Harry Potter’s suffering, likely hadn’t done it purposefully and deserved his ill temper about as much as Potter. Dumbledore possessed a rather more rosy view of family life than Severus could believe. It was, hopefully , unlikely that he knew the full extent of Potter’s experiences. He’d learned to read between the lines of ‘I just like it better here, professor’ or ‘We don’t get on very well’ when necessary, mostly pulling from his own life. Albus Dumbledore…unfortunately retained some of the marks of a Victorian childhood, despite his best efforts to keep up with the times. His imagination also failed when asked to consider how family might mistreat family. He simply couldn’t imagine not doing one’s duty to one’s family and doing it properly.

He’d make it crystal clear to the headmaster that going back was not an option. Not for this child. With his Mark gone…it ought to be easier to make his argument. He let the twisting staircase do the work for once, too tired in body and soul to march up it as he usually did. At the top, he stood for just a moment to gather his thoughts before he raised a hand and knocked, Potter’s thick file clutched against his chest.

“Come in, please, Severus.”

The door swung open and Severus stepped into the office, steeling himself. He would not lose his temper again. And after this, he would go and get some bloody sleep, marking be damned. Perhaps he could even have some time to soak in a hot bath.

His NEWT students could just cultivate patience. For the good of their souls, of course.

“Are you well, Severus?”

The quiet question startled him as he made his way to the chairs before Dumbledore’s desk.

“I find myself somewhat inclined to headache this evening, sir.” He answered truthfully. He felt the dull throb of an incipient headache at the back of his skull.

Hopefully it wouldn’t bloom into migraine. Even magic had few solutions for the misery of a migraine.

“I hope this won’t keep you long then. You said you had something to share?”

In lieu of an answer, he set Potter’s file on the chair next to him and rolled up the sleeve of his left arm. He showed Dumbledore, the skin not even scarred, as if he’d never carried the Mark.

“Severus, you’re certain…”

“I made some delicate inquiries. It’s gone, sir, as if it never existed. Apparently some of the older guard attempted a ritual. It did not go as planned.” Bonding to the man who certainly was not marking anyone had its benefits.

Tiberius Nott should never have been in charge of anything. He’d completely lost his wits and started shrieking the moment Severus poked a head into the Floo on the pretense of asking after Theodore’s dietary needs this term. He wondered if that was the sort of thing one ought to tell one’s husband before racing ahead with it.

Probably. This whole problem was precisely why he’d declared at eighteen that he never wanted a husband because they stopped you doing anything interesting. Given the sort of men Lucius tried to interest him in, he’d probably avoided a good deal of trouble in the intervening years, whether or not it did anything for his overall health. Lucius never quite understood that others had differing needs. He’d never have considered someone like Dare, for instance.

“Then…it’s over. We’re…we’re free of Tom Riddle,” Dumbledore seemed to cast off his premature old age as he spoke.

They might be free of Lord Voldemort, but Slytherin certainly wasn’t free of Tom Riddle. They currently had him supervising Monday evening in the common room. Given his personality, Slytherin might wish to be free of him in about an hour once they discovered that he meant what he said and cared not one whit for complaints. Severus didn’t think it quite the moment to divulge that bit of conversational dynamite. My husband is a transdimensional Tom Riddle would likely go over like a lead balloon.

“And he can be moved,” Dumbledore breathed. “He can be safe.”

“Who, headmaster?” Severus found himself asking.

“Why…why Harry, of course. I looked back today, at every letter Arabella sent in the years she kept watch and…I don’t know how I missed it. If you read…and I told him he had to go back at the end of last term.”

“Mr. Potter asked, as he seems to have been suddenly remembered by quite a few people, if there could have been some additional magic done to him to make him…overlooked. Could…” he wasn’t quite sure how to finish the question.

Dumbledore blinked at him for a moment, slowly dawning horror creeping across his face. “That’s precisely the sort of thing Riddle would have done. He was a particularly cruel and vicious young man. I…I only hope young Harry can forgive me.”

“He has a forgiving disposition, if you apologize sincerely.” Severus spoke quietly, staring down at his unblemished forearm. “You wish him to be moved?”

“I know that you, Minerva, and Poppy have formed a bit of a war council on that front. All I ask is that you keep me apprised.”

Severus almost bit his tongue at that. They’d been so careful…how? How did he always know?

“There isn’t much that goes on here I don’t know about, at least in the general sense.” Dumbledore explained gently. “Now, is there anything I should know about Mr. Potter?”

“Are you sure you don’t know about it all already?” He couldn’t help the acid comment and felt himself flushing as the words left his mouth.

“Only what Poppy has shared, Severus. I do try not to pry into specifics until absolutely necessary. People do deserve privacy.”

Why the bloody hell did he feel scolded? Severus swallowed and steeled himself.

“In general, Potter’s continued existence is nothing short of miraculous. He…” how much should he reveal? Technically, the headmaster had the right to know everything as Potter fell under his guardianship during the academic year. “Due to a harrowing incident when he was eight, he is currently suffering from Complex Magical Trauma and certain issues caused by undernourishment from a young age. His lungs are also not as robust as one might hope. In addition…there’s damage from whatever was lodged in his scar. The Unspeakables gave Poppy a potion for him to help clear it, but he’s going to be more easily tired while it heals.”

The headmaster sighed deeply, looking grave. “Eight, you said?”

“He apparated to the top of a building. They locked him in the cupboard under the stairs for months, in the dark. The…the elder male Dursley liked to stand by the door and threaten to keep him locked up forever.” He wouldn’t dignify Vernon Dursley by calling him an Uncle. The man barely scraped to ‘bottom-dwelling slug’ in his book. The slugs, of course, were of more use to society.

Dumbledore looked as ill as Severus felt, having to explain that. “He knows he won’t have to go back?”

“I think it was the only reason he told the truth.” Severus paused for a moment. “It took a great deal of trust for him to speak at all.”

“I remember another boy, struggling with CMT. I failed, then, to be at all trustworthy. I won’t fail a second time, Severus. I promise you that.”

The words fell into the quiet like breaking crystal. Severus pressed his lips together to stop the quiet, anguished gasp that threatened.

“I sent you away when you most needed help, when the only people your father knew to ask were the Malfoys. If I had taken five minutes care, I could have found another route for you. I am sorry, my boy, that I never did.”

Once, he would have reveled in the Headmaster’s obvious grief and guilt over the past. Now, though, now he most wanted to disappear to the least populated island in the North Atlantic.

He and heat did not get on.

“I…I was seventeen at diagnosis and I told Poppy she couldn’t disclose to anyone but my father.” He managed, finally. One more emotionally charged scene and he really would test whether he could disapparate from Hogwarts. “I never told either of the Malfoys precisely what happened to me.”

Something niggled at the back of his mind at that. Something about telling.

“I’m still terribly sorry for all of it, Severus. Looking back, I couldn’t have handled everything worse in those years if I’d been assigned ‘handle everything like a complete idiot’.”

That startled a laugh out of Severus. “As much as I appreciate the apology, sir, could we please…” he trailed off, uncertain of what he even wanted. “I’ve spoken with the Weasley boys regarding Potter, Potter twice, and Bulstrode and her dormitory mates and if I have to…”

“I understand completely.”

On second thought, he loathed that gentle, quiet understanding more than the grief and guilt of five minutes ago.

“Is there anything else, sir?” He tried to salvage some dignity.

“Have you checked, recently, Severus? It’s been quite a few years since eighty-one.”

That question hit like a cosh to the skull. If he hadn’t been sitting, he would have reeled.

“I completely forgot.” He murmured, staring down at the ring that anchored the complex enchantment that allowed him to appear to age, no matter what his magic decided. He hadn’t removed it since the day in nineteen eighty-three that the headmaster finished the enchantment. How could he have forgotten something like this? “I forgot I…that this…”

“Are you…Severus!”

Albus hadn’t known he could still move that quickly. Quite frankly, until about fifteen minutes prior, he probably couldn’t have. As Severus went an alarming gray and started slipping down in his seat, Albus darted around his desk. He caught the young man around the back of his neck and shoved his head between his knees before he went completely arse over teakettle.

“I was certainly not trying to frighten you into a swoon, my boy.” He remarked gently.

“Not swooning.” Came the sulky, muffled reply.

“Oh no, of course not. You simply turn gray and start to topple sideways every Monday at this time, hmm? Terrible of me to have interrupted your schedule.” He sounded far less concerned (and more sarcastic) than he felt. “When did you last eat, Severus?”

Cautiously, he let Severus up and faced the ferocious glare. Prouder than a cat, that one.

“I attended dinner in Hall. The elves provided a light meal for me.” He answered with great dignity and accuracy, if not truthfulness.

“Ah.” Albus guessed the rest. “And mostly picked at your plate and moved things about? Harriet, could you attend, please?”

A house elf popped in. “Yes, headmaster?”

“Could you please bring a tea tray? Professor Snape wasn’t able to eat much at dinner this evening.”

“Oooh, yes, headmaster. Harriet will be right back. And Harriet will be telling Betsy of this!” She popped out again.

Severus glared at the room in general. “Why is everyone hell-bent on coddling—” he cradled his head in his hands.

He broke off, clamping his mouth shut before he could finish. Albus shook his head fondly and moved Harry’s file off the seat next to Severus. He sat, cheerfully ignoring Severus’ icy reception, and patted his hand.

“It really is all right, my boy. You aren’t losing your touch or whatever else ridiculous notion is bothering you. Put simply, people in this castle care for you. You really must get used to it. I’m sure crashing blood sugar hasn’t helped even a bit this evening.”

“I never told him.”

Albus didn’t need to ask which ‘him’.

“What does one even do with a husband anyway?”

He nearly missed the softly, miserably murmured question. Instead of an answer (he didn’t think Severus in a receptive frame of mind for ‘climb him like a tree’ and in any case they did try not to upset the boy’s sensibilities. Pomona often bemoaned the bizarre prudery of the current generations), he patted Severus’ hand again.

Harriet popped back in with the tray, frowning at the pair of them. She set up tea things on his desk quickly, handed an  already made up plate to Severus, and popped back out. Albus rose to pour himself a cup of tea, giving the poor young man a moment to compose himself.

“You really must be easier on yourself, Severus. I don’t doubt that your condition is not one you regularly consider. Of course you might forget, especially with everything on your mind this weekend.”

“I should have…the contract…no one asked…”

“Dear boy, could you perhaps have a sandwich? I fear you’ll hurt Harriet’s feelings otherwise.” He hoped he could interrupt Severus’ self-flagellating spiral.

Severus stopped muttering long enough to get egg and cress down, at least. Albus leaned against his desk (really he felt quite spry all of a sudden) and studied him for a moment. He looked dreadful. Usually after a weekend away Severus appeared well-rested and comfortable in his own skin. The current set of his shoulders, the restlessly twitching hands, and the deep smudges under his eyes spoke of no rest, entirely too much stress, and poor sleep. Although, the poor sleep may have been an ongoing problem. If it were even forty years ago he’d have sent Severus for a seaside rest cure.

Sometimes, just sometimes Albus wished he had authority in Severus’ life beyond being his employer. He tried, but his own stubbornly neutral dynamic kept him from reaching Severus on a deeper level. What he’d read in the past few years made that patently obvious. Most of the professors in residence simply could not give Severus what he needed. Forty years ago Severus would have been under his guardianship, not tossed out upon the world to make shift as best he could. He knew why they’d changed the laws—he’d championed the changes—but some days he wished for nineteen-fifty again. He could have got the school to fund a rest cure then, as disgusting as the paternalistic view of Subs was at the time.

That was the crux of it, wasn’t it? If he had the power to send Severus on a rest cure, then he wouldn’t have a Severus who felt free. He would be bound—by law and by convention—to obey, to submit. A Severus who felt constrained against venting his spleen or even simply having an opinion was not a Severus he wished to know. As much as he ached to help some days, he wouldn’t go back to that system for anything. Severus (nor any Sub) should not cease to be a person due to an…an accident of biology. Perhaps accident wasn’t the correct word. He knew he was woefully out of date in some ways, a relic of an unkind past. At least he knew treating people as things lead to a dark place. Now. He knew that now.

They all tried to take care of Severus, at least. They could say that much. Perhaps dropping a word to his new husband would do the trick. Once the initial shock wore off (and he would get Minerva back for that), he liked the look of the man, questionable parentage aside. One could not help one’s parents, after all. He thought Mr. Riddle-Sinclair had the fortitude to bring order to Severus’ personal brand of emotional chaos. He’d had his own sort of Riddle-Sinclair once, back in his student days. He’d tried to mold himself along those lines, to be one of the steady people of the world, a rock for others. Albus thought he managed it seventy-five percent of the time. The other twenty-five…there was always an alchemy shed for that.

(How Bertie would have scolded over the alchemy shed. How Bertie had scolded over the many and various places Albus found to practice the art in his younger days. Scolding and that bloody slipper were Bertram’s forte.)

“Now, are you feeling a bit steadier?” He asked once Severus finished his plate.

Severus blinked at him for a moment and then nodded. He looked even more exhausted than he had entering the office, poor boy.

“Excellent. You are going to remove that ring and see where you are, have a bracing cup of tea, and then off you’ll pop through the Floo,” Albus spoke decidedly, taking the empty plate from Severus. It was best to simply tell him what would happen on some occasions. “You look exhausted and I’m not having you try that many staircases this evening.”

“Headmaster—” Severus began, haltingly.

“We are not tempting fate this evening,” Albus said firmly. “Now, the ring?”

Severus stared at his hand, took a deep breath, and slid the ring from his finger. The changes were subtle, but there. Instead of a man in his early thirties, Severus clearly looked as if he’d only reached his middle twenties. Which, as he’d still looked barely out of his teens at twenty, showed an improvement. Complex Magical Trauma, Albus decided, was an absolute bitch of a thing. By the calendar, of course, one progressed in age. But physically and emotionally, one remained mired until one’s magic decided the threat passed. And it reoccurred.

Severus accepted the looking glass he conjured and studied himself.

“I suppose is isn’t as bad as it could be,” he tried for a light tone. It came out shakier than intended. “At the very least I don’t still look like a seventh year.”

“Do you wish to discuss this or would you rather have that cup of tea and speak of something else?” Albus asked, already pouring fresh cups.

“Was there something you wished to speak of, sir?” Severus sounded a bit desperate.

He’d always prided himself on knowing his staff. He passed a cup to Severus and sat next to him again.

“Actually, yes. You once gave me two rather interesting proposals—one to develop a community of scholars centered here and another to require a certain amount of physical activity of our students daily—would you still have copies of those?”

Severus blinked at him. Oh dear. Had he broken the boy?

“I…most likely yes. Why now?”

“With Tom Riddle gone we can focus on the future. Do you think I enjoyed watching my professors run themselves ragged? We were on a war footing, Severus. The only new person I could bring in, in…well really rather troubled conscience to be honest, was a DADA professor. But now, now we can staff appropriately and begin new projects, like revamping the first and second year Potions curriculum.” Albus tried to rein in his enthusiasm. Overwhelming Severus would get them back to a swooning Severus grumpily swearing he never swooned.

“How do you hear of everything?” Severus stared at him.

“In this case, Minerva told me yesterday. Your plan had her quite giddy. I think she’s going through all her own selected texts as we speak.”

“She…really?”

Sometimes Albus had the irresistible urge to go back in time and hex himself. A course of overpowered stinging hexes in the seventies might have stopped him from being such a colossal idiot. How could he have so consistently and, quite frankly, maliciously behaved in a way that eroded students’ self worth into their adulthood? From staffing choices to ignoring obvious problems, he’d failed the students under his care. Severus ought to have left Hogwarts with a place at one of the better universities and several research papers already published. He ought to have ensured it.

Perhaps he should see Poppy and rule out magical interference. Merlin knew he’d taken enough curses over the years.

“Of course she is. She’s an extremely sensible woman. I’m going to suggest we all look to see what can be changed at our next staff meeting. You may have quite a few requests for that clever runic sequence. Minerva was all a-twitter. Wand movements can be so much more clearly demonstrated, you see.”

If it ever got back to Minerva that he’d described her as ‘all a-twitter’, he might not live to morning.

Severus went rather pink and busied himself drinking his tea. “Oh, well, I’m sure it will be no trouble.”

“Wonderful, wonderful, my boy.” Dumbledore rose when Severus did.

“I really should be going, sir.” He tried heading for the door.

“I said the Floo and I meant it.” Albus herded him to the fireplace. “You’ve run yourself ragged these last few days when you were meant to have time to rest.”

He tossed Floo powder on the fire and gave the direction. As the flames turned green and Severus stepped forward, he said,

“Oh, and don’t worry about your morning classes tomorrow. You simply must get some rest. I’ll cover them for you, of course. I’ll just send a note down in a moment as a reminder, dear boy.”

The Floo whisked Severus away before he could even reply, but by the stiff back and outraged shoulders it would have been a corker. Albus poured himself a fresh cup of tea and conjured a comfortably squashy armchair. He had personal correspondence to catch up on—Dahlia and Mehitabel both wanted the latest chapter of the ongoing saga of Hogwarts. They’d eat up one of his professors bonding to the Slytherin Paterfamilias. Both of them had a soft spot for Severus.

Albus made a mental note to never introduce Vera and Severus. She’d simply adore him, but he didn’t think magical society could handle the two of them together. He was bad enough with the Lady Patronesses of Almack’s.

Thankfully, his friends knew how to keep their own counsel, as uninhibited as their letters might be. He waved his wand and his lap desk soared over. Setting aside his tea, he took out a stack of paper and took up his pen.

Darling Dahlia and Hitty,

You will never believe what’s happened now…

Chapter Text

Severus stepped out of the Floo in his study, outrage pouring off him. He turned, ready to step right back in to give the Headmaster a piece of his mind (how dare he behave in such a high-handed manner!?) when the green flames died back much more quickly than they usual. He cast a furious glare at the closest stone wall.

“I know you’re in cahoots with him!” He hissed, making for the door. “I can walk if need be.”

“Severus, is that you?” Dare’s voice carried from the sitting room and Severus froze.

In his ire with Albus Dumbledore, he’d forgotten for just a moment. Apprehension returned, churning his stomach. He couldn’t do it. He simply could not muster the courage to…to tell his husband that he’d effectively lied to him. Darius Riddle-Sinclair didn’t seem like the type of husband to take that well. Severus, for all his other faults, knew good and well that lying to one’s dominant partner was a non-starter. Truth and trust had to be the center around which their relationship revovled. Just that afternoon he’d resolved to be the sort who respected Dare’s position as Paterfamilias and the vows he’d made. Would their contract even be valid since he hadn’t disclosed everything?  Had he ruined everything? He certainly had a genius for alienating people. His stomach clenched harder and he bitterly regretted the sandwich he’d eaten.

“Severus?” Dare appeared in the doorway, holding a folded piece of parchment. “What on earth is the matter, pet? You look as if you’ve taken ill. Is that why you’re not teaching in the morning?”

“I…” Severus couldn’t get the rest of the words out. “I don’t…I…” to his horror, his eyes prickled.

“Oh, Severus.” Somehow the soft, understanding tone was worse than any censure. “Come out to the sitting room with me.”

Severus trailed miserably after him, trying to find the words to explain himself. How could he explain this? Any of it? How could he have been such a colossal idiot as to forget?

“Now, what has you so distressed?” Dare asked gently as he settled onto the sofa.

Severus wrapped his arms around his middle and paced before the fire.

“I don’t even know how to tell you.” His voice sounded small even to his own ears. “I…it’s not something I even think of, most days, but…I signed that contract under false pretences.”

“You haven’t made a bigamist of me, have you?” Dare sounded faintly amused.

“This isn’t funny!” Severus snapped, whirling around. “I’ve just told you that I lied to you and entered this contract under false pretences and you…you…” he stamped a foot and hissed, unable to find a word to express the depth of his feelings and returned to pacing.

“I had hoped to bypass the Cheltenham tragedy tonight, my lad, but it seems you’d prefer the full three acts and an encore. Precisely what false pretences are we talking about? Just so I’m aware.” Dare hadn’t lost the faintly amused tone.

Severus stopped and stared at Dare, his temper, already primed by self-directed anger, flared.

“A Cheltenham…as if I’m behaving like a moody fourth year? I have lied to you and you’re sitting there like it’s teatime. I withheld vital information that you should have had before entering into any contracted relationship and you…you…I cannot believe this!” His chest heaved with the strength of emotion.

“And if you would just tell me what has you in a taking instead of giving me the full Lady Bracknell treatment, then I can tell you that it doesn’t matter a jot. You’re sailing awfully close to the wind, my lad, and you may want to trim those sails.”

Dare never moved from his place, but he suddenly seemed to take up more of the room.

“Trim…” Severus repeated, thoroughly outraged. “This is what has me in a taking!”

He ripped the ring from his finger and flung it aside, not caring where it landed in the moment. Time seemed to stretch out as he stared defiantly at Dare. He didn’t see his husband move. One moment Dare sat on the sofa and the next he stood behind Severus, divesting him of his heavy teaching gown. Severus startled when Dare’s hands went to the laces of his over-kirtle. 

“I’m not going to struggle with seventeen layers, my lad.” He growled. “Not when we discussed throwing things in a temper not twenty-four hours ago.”

Severus shivered, suddenly realizing exactly what kind of scene he’d made. He let Dare strip him down to his last under-kirtle, too miserable with his conduct to mount any defense. He’d promised himself never again after the last time. How could he have so thoroughly lost his temper and indulged in what Dare was certain to call a tantrum, again? He’d never behaved like this before. He’d always felt in control of himself, but something about Dare sent him spiraling. He let Dare move him back to the sofa, barely noticing as he was yet again pulled down over his husband’s knee.

“What, precisely please, is this tantrum in aide of, Severus?” Dare pulled the skirts of his under-kirtle up to the small of of his back and unfastened the seat of his underclothes.

“I’ve told you and shown you!” Severus thumped his toes off the floor, temper unaccountably flaring back to life as cool air prickled sensitive skin.

Why would he continue to challenge Dare when he was already so vulnerable? What the bloody hell was wrong with him? Dare answered his temper with a stinging smack to his seat and Severus squeaked.

“For a brat about to be smacked, Severus, you’re showing remarkably little sense of self-preservation. Mind you manners.” A sharp, stinging swat accompanied every word if the last sentence.

“Why won’t you listen to me?” Severus thumped the floor again, wriggling at the sting.

“I’m trying to, you obstreperous bratling.” Dare sounded perilously close to the end of his tether. “Why are you wearing a glamour, if you require a simple question.”

Severus squirmed as Dare patted his backside in warning and realized that he hadn’t actually explained anything. He’d been so busy swinging between outrage and misery and making it his Top’s problem that he hadn’t explained.

“It’s called Complex Magical Trauma,” he answered quietly, his anger draining away as suddenly as it flared up. “It can take a few forms. Mine stopped me aging from about fifteen to eighteen and then again from twenty-one to…I’m not entirely certain. The Headmaster developed the ring for me when I began teaching and I haven’t removed it since eighty-three, when he finished the work. I looked barely older than the seventh years those first few years.”

“That’s what you forgot to tell me, the whole of it?” Dare asked.

“Yes, sir. I…I became so used to wearing the ring that I completely forgot. I should have told you before we signed anything. I’m sorry. I never meant to…to deceive you.” Severus buried his face in his arms, thoroughly ashamed of himself.

“And you threw a truly splendid tantrum because…could you help me here, pet? I’m not entirely clear on why explaining yourself required shouting at me, stamped feet, and dramatically throwing things to get your point across.”

The question, along with Dare’s exceedingly polite tone and a palm resting against his backside, set alarm bells ringing in Severus’ head.

“I…” he really had no explanation, other than having gone out of his senses temporarily.

“I thought as much. You, my lad, are officially short-leashed. If you are not seeing to your duties as a professor or house master, then you will be in my sight. You clearly need more from me and you’ll have it. Is there anything else you’d like to confess before I give you the spanking you’ve earned?”

Something in him relaxed at Dare’s pronouncement. Strange how knowing that consequences were at hand could give such relief.

“I encouraged a student to lie to his guardian  and didn’t actually eat at dinner,” Severus recited.

“The first is Hogwarts’ own problem and has nothing to do with me. The other…Severus, you assured me before dinner that you only felt a bit tired but otherwise fine. Was that a lie?”

“No!” Severus wriggled, feeling caught. “I truly felt just a bit tired at the time. It was only when food arrived that…and then a headache began and…”

“Don’t fret so. I believe you. For the record, Severus, and I want you to listen and listen well.”

Severus hastened to assure him that he was listening.

“You bear no fault for not telling me of your condition before we signed that contract. You did not purposefully withhold information from me, nor did you lie. You did not enter into this relationship under false pretences. You forgot to disclose a medical condition, one we will discuss in more detail, that has little bearing on your life. You may as well have forgotten to tell me you suffer from hayfever. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir. I understand.” His voice quavered as he answered.

“Good. Other than answering my questions, this topic is closed. You are being spanked only for the tantrum this evening. We discussed my feelings on throwing things not twenty-four hours ago, did we not?”

“We did.” Severus loathed hearing Dare sound so stern.

“Then I don’t believe much more needs to be said. I will always listen to you, but I will not be shouted at, or have you stamping your foot and throwing anything. I do not take broken rules lightly, my lad, nor will I countenance such naughtiness.”

“Yes, sir.” Severus all but whispered his reply as he felt Dare shift him further over his lap, much too easily.

The prior afternoon’s smacking hadn’t left any reminder by morning. From the first swat, Severus could tell that this one likely would. Dare smacked crisply, layering sting and heat where his hand fell.

“You, my lad, have been without any kind of outside structure for far too long. I won’t have you winding yourself up and torturing yourself. I have a feeling this evening’s performance was half to earn yourself the consequences your misplaced guilt felt you needed. Am I getting close to the truth?”

Severus wriggled under the steady cadence of Dare’s hand, gasping at the sting. His temper twisted again at Dare’s question and he bit his lip. What had got into him to be so volatile?

“Severus?” Dare prompted.

“I don’t know!” Severus bit out, irritation winning out over common sense. “But perhaps you can explain everything since you’re so omniscient!”

He wouldn’t laugh. He could not laugh at Severus’ bratting. For one, it would embarrass Severus horribly. For another, it would set a terrible precedent. Trust his husband to pull this so early in their relationship. By way of answer, Dare closed a leg over Severus’ and swatted where he sat, hard. That generally worked to get the attention of a recalcitrant Brat. Severus squirmed, yelping at the sting, and Dare got himself back under control.

“For a Brat being smacked, my lad, you have remarkably little sense of self-preservation. Venting your temper at me will not lead to anything you enjoy.”

Poor Severus must be terribly confused, swinging between relief and resentment, contentment and anger, as he was. Near every Brat he’d ever known went through something similar, but it usually came in their teens and early twenties. Considering Severus’ halted aging…he looked to be on track. He’d never had a chance to be settled in his own skin, to get used to a more immediate outside authority in his life. He clearly wanted and needed someone else making the rules for him and enforcing them, but he would chafe against it at first, too used to complete independence.

Should he have set more rules from the outset? Had he fallen into the trap of thinking this Severus so similar to the other? Neither of them had had enough time to stop for ten minutes and think for the last few days. No wonder they were running slap into an emotional mire. Merlin, they’d both been so caught up in getting everything settled and him established that they never sat down and fully discussed expectations. If he’d been able to court Severus properly, that would have been part of the whole process. Instead they’d sped through to the end and now needed to work backwards.

“You worked yourself into a state thinking you’d done something unpardonable and now, well now I’m not cooperating. I’m not scolding and disciplining you for your perceived lapse and you’re furious at me and miserable over it all at the same time. But you don’t decide what you deserve. I am your Paterfamilias, and it is my decision. Honoring our vows and my place in your life means honoring my decisions on discipline as well.”

Severus’ backside reddened under his palm, but his recalcitrant Brat shook his head against the sofa cushions, his back rigid.

“No? You don’t want to do that? You can count it a rule, then. You do not attempt to punish yourself for perceived wrongdoing. Nor are you to try to push and brat your way into consequences I wouldn’t mete out. You have met your immovable object, my lad, and I won’t have it,” he lectured, dropping his hand to spank the crease of bottom and thigh. Severus squealed and squirmed. “You’re no longer alone, Severus. I’m here, with you. You’ve borne and been asked to bear far, far more than anyone had a right to ask of you. It’s time to set down that load.”

Severus shuddered, shaking his head even as the tension bled from him.

“Yes, my lad, it is. You don’t make that decision any longer. No more, Severus. I won’t have you hurting yourself this way, sweetling. You’re exhausted and stretched to the end of your tether. Let me be your rest, my heart.”

At those last words, Severus went limp over his lap and wailed into the sofa cushions. Not the wild, choked sobbing of the other afternoon, but in sheer relief at the weight taken from his shoulders. If anyone needed to do some therapeutic weeping it was Severus, Dare thought. He’d perhaps stopped a bit short of what Severus truly needed before, but he’d get the full measure of it now.

“That’s it, pet, let it all out. You’ve been so brave and so strong, but you can lean on me now.” The tender words felt right.

Dare stopped and rubbed Severus’ back for a moment, under the edge of his underclothes. He poor boy’s backside fairly glowed, but in their bond Severus felt calmer, less frantic. Severus made no move to rise, just laid over his lap and wept, and Dare let him.

“You did well, Severus. We have all the time we need, sweetling.” He rubbed Severus’ back, grounding him, and slowly the weeping tapered off.

“I’m sorry…for throwing something again. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Severus had to clear his throat twice to get the words out.

“Thank you, pet. You’re certainly forgiven. As to what might be happening…are you ready to come up?” He gently patted the back of Severus’ thigh.

Severus nodded. “Please.”

“Because if you think you may decide to start throwing things again…”

“I won’t!” Severus answered fervently, coughing a bit. “I promise!”

“Which is probably best for your poor backside.”

Dare didn’t bother fastening Severus’ underclothes again, not when he wore a full-length kirtle. Mindful of Severus’ modesty, he brought the skirts down before he helped his husband up. Severus went where he was directed and curled into his lap with little prompting. Dare smoothed a hand over Severus’ hair and enjoyed how that had his husband near melting into him.

“Now, you asked what might be wrong with you? Are you feeling calmer?” he asked gently, handing Severus a handkerchief.

“Perversely, yes,” Severus sighed and shuddered with the aftershocks of crying, his voice still thick. “I don’t know why I keep swinging from one emotion to another. I’ll be just fine and then my temper goes up like dry tinder.”

“I’d say it’s the years you spent without a Top or any sort of proper Dominant in your life. You’ve had to exercise iron self-control and you’ve been under considerable stress for most of that time, as well. Have you ever had a Paterfamilias?” Dare rubbed a hand up and down Severus’s back.

“No. No one wan…no, I haven’t.” Severus flushed miserably.

“So that’s new as well. There’s a reason people usually go away together for a time after a Bonding, especially when there’s a new head of a house involved. There’s old, deep magic at work between us. With that and me being your first Top, of course you’re unsettled and pushing. You want to make sure that I meant what I said and that I can handle you, bratling.”

“I’m not even making sense half the time, to myself or anyone else,” Severus objected.

“Feelings rarely do.” Dare smiled into Severus’ hair. “And you’re having all of them at once, it probably seems like. Don’t fret so. I can handle a little bratting from you. Your bottom may not enjoy it, but you won’t be left to swing.”

Severus scoffed, likely at the idea of inviting further disciplinary action, but nestled closer all the same. “Do you have any questions for me?”

“Not tonight. You’ve looked done in since this morning. What I’d like is for us to have the quiet evening I’d planned. There’s a hot bath waiting for you.”

Dare could just see the tip of one of Severus’ ears. It turned crimson as Severus curled in on himself.

“None of that, now,” Dare scolded mildly, patting Severus’ hip. “You’ve nothing to be shamed by.”

“You planned a nice evening for us.”

The quiet misery in his voice had Dare holding him tighter.

“And we can still have one. A bit of a scene and a spanking don’t make a ruined evening, pet. Go and have your bath and make yourself comfortable. There’ll be hot chocolate waiting.”

“I thought I wasn’t to be out of your sight?” Severus pulled back to look at him curiously.

“As much of a tyrant as I am, I don’t feel the need to supervise bathing,” Dare answered drily. “Off with you, bratling.”

Severus uncurled from his lap and went.

Severus emerged from the bathroom three quarters of an hour later, wrapped in a thick dressing gown. It reminded Dare of a houppeland in cut, with a high collar and wide sleeves. The collar made him want to slide it down Severus’ lovely neck and leave a love bite under it. Dare closed his eyes for a moment to get ahold of his libido. When he opened them, Severus stood before him, hair damp and down about his shoulders, wafting the soft scent of sandalwood.

“Thank you.” He said, and bit his lip. “The bath things…I…how did you know?”

“I’m unpardonably nosy.” Dare stood and pulled Severus close. “I noticed the sandalwood bath salts in your bathroom. The apothecary was on my way today and I thought you deserved a bit of a treat.”

If Severus ever discovered he’d gone well out of his way and halfway across London just to pick up a little gift for him, they might be having another scene. But his lad deserved nice things…and he’d be damned if he dried off after a shower with the towels Hogwarts provided. Someone somewhere probably thought that kind of privation good for your soul. Likely the Board, as they pinched knuts until they screamed.

“And the towels?” Severus asked drily.

“Those are for both of us, pet. I’ve no idea how you used the Hogwarts ones without coming up in a rash.”

Severus looked shifty.

“Severus, is there something you’d like to disclose? Are you in the habit of wearing and using things that irritate your skin?”

“I am a Potions Master…nothing stays irritated long…ow!”

Severus jumped and squeaked at the heavy-handed smack Dare gave his backside.

“You may consider that another rule,” Dare said. “Because if I find you downing or dousing yourself in potions to handle a fabric easily changed, then there will be consequences.

Severus muttered something too low to hear, but nestled close again. “Thank you, anyway. They feel lovely…and you knew it was white sandalwood I liked best.”

Such an innocuous comment, but something between them shifted when Severus trailed a hand down his chest. Desire thickened the air, and Dare couldn’t help but ask,

“May I kiss you, dear heart?”

Severus’ breath quickened and Dare watched him swallow hard.

“Yes,” he breathed.

Dare leaned down as Severus came up on his toes. Their lips brushed and—

“Er, Professor Snape, I’m so sorry to bother you this evening but Greengrass and Fitzroy are kicking off and no one is helping Smethwyck and me.” Prefect Borley’s voice punctured the moment.

Severus dropped his forehead to Dare’s chest and groaned.

“Why did I ever want to deal with eleven-million bloody annoying children?”

Dare dropped a kiss on the crown of Severus’ head and sighed.

“Right now, I’m wondering the same thing.”

Severus stepped away and smoothed his dressing gown. “I’d best go see to them.”

Dare let him go, and watched as his Severus transformed into Professor Snape as he walked to the hidden door between his quarters and the Slytherin common room. Just before the door shut again, he heard Severus demand

“What is the meaning of this deplorable scene?”

in a tone so stern and growling that he debated a cold shower.

Chapter Text

The fire crackled to life in the grate and Severus stirred from slumber. He stretched luxuriously and turned to find Dare smiling drowsily at him.

“All right, pet?” he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“Mmm, yes, lovely,” Severus murmured and dropped back into sleep.

Pure decadence.

That’s what he felt, sitting up in bed with tea and his post while he ought to be teaching. Dumbledore would, no doubt, teach the little gremlins something entirely frivolous which would no doubt still illustrate an important potioneering concept. They’d likely make candy. The headmaster enjoyed teaching what Severus would, under duress, admit was a branch of potioneering. Perhaps they’d retain some concept of the importance of temperature control whilst brewing. One could only hope.

He put most of his post aside to handle later—parent letters were only answered on Friday afternoon—and stared at the last two. He opened Draco’s first and couldn’t help but smile at the well-wishes for his new-formed Bonding…and an apology for his conduct his first year at Hogwarts.

I deeply regret that I allowed myself to be led by the likes of Fitzroy. I understand now that I ought to have Ignored His Blandishments and my own stung pride and been a true leader among my year. Mother and I had a long talk and after it Father agreed. He said that a true gentleman is Above Bending to Flattery and he hopes that I’ve learnt something. I have and I promise I’ll do better. That’s a promise to both my Esteemed Godfather and my Esteemed Head of House. I plan to make public apologies to those I have hurt and offended over the past months at Hogwarts, starting with Bulstrode. I don’t expect to be forgiven—Mother says I must remember that while I may be truly remorseful those I have hurt may not feel they can trust me enough to forgive—but I must begin as I mean to go on.

They would see how that went, but he had some hope that Narcissa caught Draco in time and that her intervention would help. Hearing what Draco, who had always before been a reasonably considerate child, said to Bulstrode…he’d been hard pressed to keep his temper under wraps. Draco, though, had never broken a promise to him before. Perhaps he’d be able to keep this one, despite the temptation young men like Fitzroy dangled before him.

He put it aside to answer that afternoon and turned to Narcissa’s. It began much the same way, although he detected an undercurrent of smug satisfaction with each word. Narcissa had, from the beginning, believed that he would make ‘a brilliant match’.

The next paragraph has him frowning.

I hope you know, Severus, how highly both Lucius and I esteem your friendship. He knows he has wronged you, although he isn’t certain how. It is much the same for me. He knows he has wronged me, and wronged me gravely, but he cannot fully remember what he’s done. Every time he tries to hold the memory, it slips away. I fear this may have been caused by his Occlumency lessons with the late paterfamilias. He seemed dazed after them. Could this have been caused by his father? Now, I must ask a difficult question. Would you be willing to come and look into this? You are perhaps the one Legilimens I trust with my husband’s memories. You needn’t answer immediately, but please, Severus, consider my request. Lucius is currently housed in the Consort’s Chamber, but I would much prefer to allow him to have the run of the house again.

Severus frowned over that. Could this have been Abraxas? Lucius had always seemed rather dazed after Occlumency lessons with his father, but Severus put that down to Lucius’ utter incompetency with it. Abraxas Malfoy was, certainly, enough of a nasty customer to try to twist his own son. Lucius always took after his mother more in temperament. He’d nurtured the younger students, made them feel special while teaching them little tricks to help them get ahead. Who among his year hadn’t come out of a tete-a-tete with Lucius standing a bit taller?

When had he changed? For he had. The Lucius who took him under his wing was not the Lucius who escorted him into Gringotts (and thank Merlin he’d only ever gone once) that morning so many years ago now. Morning…he’d insisted on going early in the morning, before anyone else was about. Severus realized with a thump that it was only that which had saved him from social ruin. If he'd been compelled but managed to mitigate the harm as much as possible…

That sounded more like the Lucius he knew, the man who would fight against any compulsion to harm those for whom he cared. Lucius had ever been a protector. Severus stifled a grin, remembering his own youthful conviction that Lucius must be numbered among the archangels after watching him descend on a pack of Hufflepuffs bullying a Ravenclaw firstie. And how many times had Lucius claimed, just when Voldemort was about to send out a raiding party, that ‘Oh, Severus is a martyr to the headache!’ and booted him off to the Dower House so he wouldn’t have to experience any of it?

To fight the kind of compulsion Abraxas could have laid on him (would have had to to overcome Lucius’s character) spoke of a strength of will…you could likely bend titanium around it before Lucius himself would bend.

“I’ve received a letter from Narcissa Malfoy,” Dare said, breaking the cozy quiet.

“You have?” Severus willed his voice down three octaves. He would not squeak with nerves at his husband, no matter the shock to his system.

“Mmm, she asks if you might be able to have a look at her husband…something about his father possibly monkeying about in his head.”

“Yes, she wrote the same to me.” This might spare him the awkwardness of having to ask his husband if they could go.

“And if we might spare the time to take tea with them this afternoon.”

“Oh…I hadn’t thought…so soon?” He hadn’t even had time to sort out his own thoughts on being Bonded, at least not beyond the immediate practicalities. Could he face Narcissa Malfoy giving him very version of a speaking look over the tea table? He might have to pull up his socks and get on with it.

“You haven’t any classes today, have you?”

“No, the headmaster took my morning classes and I haven’t any this afternoon.”

“I’ll write her and accept, then. Severus?”

“Yes?”

“When a friend asks for your help, I’ll never deny you helping. Remember that, pet. If you aren’t restricted to my sight, you also needn’t ask. You can tell me you must help.”

“I’ll remember.” He felt oddly breathless.  

“Now, I think I heard a breakfast tray. Find your dressing gown and we’ll eat. If I keep you from breakfast, Betsy will have my hide.”

Severus stared about the room, blinking. Where had his dressing gown got to last night?

Narcissa smoothed her skirt down for the eightieth time that afternoon and suppressed the urge to pace the room. She’d been on tenterhooks since she received the letter accepting her invitation. And letting her know Severus would be delighted to see if he could help a friend. For once, she hoped that Severus would find something, anything to explain Lucius’s conduct over the last eleven years. Her heart ached for him…and for herself.

Had Severus the time to analyse what she’d sent? Had he even remembered?

Why was it ever the way of the world? That when you most needed someone they had everything and a bit extra happening in their own life. She wished she could leave Severus to whatever type of newly Bonded happiness he’d managed to find. She hoped, desperately, that he’d managed to find some happiness in this. That was really all she wanted for him.

The Floo chimed and then flared green. A tall man stepped out first. Narcissa let herself take him in — tall, broad, and wearing impeccably tailored gray flannel. She did like a man who knew how to dress.

“Good afternoon, Madam Malfoy.”

“Good afternoon.”

He had a lovely voice, too. How nice for Severus. Oh, and he practiced the old courtesies. Narcissa suppressed a happy sigh watching him hand Severus off the hearth and brush non-existent soot from Severus’s robes with gentle hands.

“Good afternoon, Narcissa. May I present my newly Bonded lord, Mr. Darius Riddle-Sinclair.”

“It is an honor to receive you into my home. May magic bless your Bonding today and for all the days to come.” Saying the old words and watching Severus flush and lower his eyes at them healed something in her heart. She’d waited so long for this.

“Thank you,” Severus murmured.

“Now,” she spoke briskly and took Severus’s hand. “We have perhaps half an hour before my son realizes that he heard the Floo chime and demands access to his godfather. Might I acquaint you with…” she stopped when her voice trembled.

“You should. If I’m with Lucius when…well, we could avert a riot,” Severus spoke lightly and tucked Narcissa’s hand into the crook of his elbow. “Dare, we’re headed to…”

“The study.” Narcissa supplied. “The house won’t let us be disturbed and we can go directly up after.”

“Would you prefer I wait elsewhere?” Riddle-Sinclair asked.

“I wouldn’t have written you if I didn’t expect your presence, Mr. Riddle-Sinclair.” Oh Lord, she sounded like an exasperated McGonagall. “Please don’t feel as if you need to be elsewhere. Severus is family and that now includes you.”

That was better.

“That is generous of you, madam.”

“You should call me Narcissa.” In general, she wouldn’t offer her given name freely, but she liked Severus’s husband.

“And I am Darius.”

“And I had best explain why you’re here.” Narcissa sighed and opened the study door.

That afternoon, for the rest of her life, would replay in snatches at the least opportune moments.

Severus telling her just what Lucius had put in her tea and the inkwell exploding.

(Mother’s Mourning…she’d been given Mother’s Mourning for nearly a decade.)

Severus’s newly Bonded husband dripping ink and blood and assuring her that he was just fine, thank you, crystal shards barely hurt at all.

Severus, cleaning up the mess (and Darius) and shouting for an elf to fetch tea and brandy, sharpish.

Only minutes later, Draco running in, wondering why Mother felt so upset. Darius intercepting him and taking him out to show him his Quidditch moves.

The sensation of falling down a tunnel into freezing darkness.

Waking later (how much later? Had it gone dark) in her own bed…next to Lucius, who snored like a congested elephant.

Severus, nearly asleep in a chair near the bed, jerking awake at the slightest movement and…

“He was interfered with, Cissa, just as you thought. I’ve cleared away as much as I could. We’re lucky that Abraxas never thought much of anyone else. He didn’t bother laying traps or covering much up like Rookwood. You’ll get him back. He may be a bit…scrambled at first, but you’ll get him back.”

She broke, curled in on herself and rocked, shoved a hand in her mouth to muffle the sobs wrenching her body. For the first time in her life, control deserted her entirely. She only just kept from giving voice to the shrieking wail that clawed at her chest.

How many years, how many children has been stolen from them? Stolen by that...that...venal, grubbing bastard. Had he done anything else to Lucius? To Draco? Why had she not seen?

She heard Severus move, felt the bed dip, and him climbing in next to her. When had he grown enough to hold her?

"You don't have to bear it alone," he whispered.

He rocked with her, bearing the storm of her grief at years stolen from them all. Where had he learned to do that?

“Sev’rus, tha’ you? Tol’ you not to read tha’ bloody vampr novel. Wallop you mysel’ one these days.” Lucius grumbled sleepily and suddenly Narcissa wept and howled with mirth at the same time.

She be mad as great grand auntie Celestine at this rate.

“Cissa?” Lucius sat upright and stared. “Good God, darling, whatever’s happened to you?”

Chapter Text

Lucius gathered his wits and his wife into his arms. It seemed the right thing to do upon waking to your beloved in hysterics. She clutched his nightshirt and shuddered, breathing as if she’d just run from the front receiving room and up all the stairs. Over her shoulder, he saw Severus reach out and then check himself and draw back. Lucius sighed, made a long arm, and hauled him close too. When had Severus grown reluctant to reach out for comfort? Why?

“What in Merlin’s name is going on?” he asked, plaintively. “And when are we? My brain feels as if I’ve just sat my NEWTs again and old Hellfire Halloran turned it inside out with Transfiguration questions.”

“It’s…it’s nineteen ninety-two, darling,” Narcissa informed him, rather wetly. “And I’m being silly.”

“Nonsense,” Lucius retorted, ignoring the year for the moment. His last clear memory was of nineteen eighty-one. “You’re never silly.”

“I should…er…that is…” Severus, clearly sensing a ‘marital moment’ approaching, tried to ease off the bed.

Lucius gripped his wrist to keep him from going anywhere and froze. Severus stared at him in the dim light, eyes wide, the pulse in his wrist hammering under Lucius’ fingertips.

“Severus, is that a Bonding Band?” he asked slowly.

Severus coughed and then answered with a very small “yes.”

“I have clearly missed quite a lot of I don’t remember that. When was the blessed event? I do hope Cissa at least has memories of it.”

Severus closed his eyes and Lucius felt Cissa shake against him. He knew that feeling; she was trying to suppress laughter. Whatever happened, she knew of it and likely approved. And she found what Severus would term his ‘high-handed interference’ amusing.

“Saturday,” Severus finally admitted, keeping his eyes closed.

“Saturday. As in this past?” Had Cissa mentioned it at all? Something tugged at the edge of consciousness. She’d probably told him all about it already.

“It…this was an unexpected development in my life.” The reply came with as much dignity as Severus could muster.

“Since you weren’t Bonded out of our house, I would imagine it was unexpected. And precipitous. You do know the…to whom were you Bonded?”

“Er…Riddle-Sinclair. He was recently recalled to England by Gringotts. There were extenuating circumstances.” Still on his dignity, Lucius noticed, but his pulse hadn’t slowed one bit.

Lucius leaned back and flailed at the bedside table until he caught the switch for the lamp. A soft glow enveloped them and he peered at Severus.

“I don’t even know whether or not I ought to be cross with you, Severus.” He loosed Severus’ wrist. “I very likely should be thoroughly put out with you, but I have no idea what’s even happened the last many years.”

Severus stared at him for a moment, opened his mouth, and then closed it again. His hands trembled. “You’re really you again.”

“Who else would I be?” Lucius demanded.

“Why don’t we tidy ourselves, my darling. Severus, could you go see about a tea tray? And bring your Bonded back with you, please? I think this calls for a larger discussion.”

“To our bedchamber?” Lucius stared at her for a moment.

“To the sitting room. Go start a bath, darling.”

Lucius opened his mouth to argue and then caught the look in her eye. He scrambled for the bathroom, dignity be damned. That was the There Will Be Consequences for Argumentative Subs look. He didn’t think that would improve his memory at all. Or the evening. What had he been for the last eleven years to have Severus looking like that?

When Lucius shut the door behind him, Narcissa turned to Severus.

“You’ve taken care of both of us, dear heart. Are you…”

“I’ll be…I don’t know how I’ll be,” Severus admitted quietly. He stared down at the band on his wrist. “This is almost too much.”

“And the joy of it is nearly extinguished by rage. We all had eleven years stolen from us. And you, Severus, were left quite alone in the world.” She watched his face carefully, noting the way his lips wobbled at that. “I regret, deeply, all the hurt you’ve borne in this mess.”

He stared at her, seemingly shocked out of countenence.

“You were denied your health, children, Cissa—”

“And you were denied the two people in your life who had ever given you the stability you deserve, dear heart. You are also allowed to to grieve what was lost.” She reached out and cupped his cheek. “I realized today that you’ve given so much to Slytherin and through them to the world all without the support and care you ought to have had. I’ve watched children leave Hogwarts better than they entered all because you nurtured and directed their natural talents in ways that would benefit us all. And you’ve done it quite alone.” Once the words started, she couldn’t stop. “You kept going, even when the two people you should have been able to rely on were torn from you by cruelty.”

“It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault beyond Abraxas. It…it’s something that happened that we must move past. I…” he fell silent again.

“You may well regret bringing our Lucius back to us,” Narcissa teased lightly. She’d said what was needed and she still knew Severus well enough to see he could not handle one more kind word without breaking entirely.

“I’d forgotten…” he swallowed hard. “I’d forgotten how much of an overbearing bastard he can be.”

“He sees you as his younger brother, who clearly needs care and guidance. I look forward to the first time he presents you to your Top with his compliments, but he thinks you could benefit from a smacked backside.”

Severus groaned and fell back, hauling a pillow over his face. “I hate you both already.”

Narcissa laughed. “Go, dear heart, find your Dare and see about tea.”

Just like Lucius, he knew an order when he heard one, no matter how lightly worded. He scrambled off the bed and made for the door.

“Take your time and make certain any love bites are covered!” she called after him, too tempted to resist seeing the blush suffuse his cheeks. “Lucius will raise hell over that, Bonded or not!”

He shut the door firmly, just shy of slamming it, and it did her heart good to see that loss of restraint. Severus desperately needed to loosen the death grip he kept on restraint and respectability. Oh, he’d never be one of the Brats one occasionally saw pitching a tremendous fit in public, but he could benefit from the occasional indulgence of giving in to instinct.

Severus crept down the hallway, simultaneously trying to keep his step quiet and cool his flaming cheeks.

Lucius wouldn’t.

Would he?

Would he actually…no, he couldn’t even contemplate anything of that nature. He’d…he’d just have to stamp down hard on any instinctive reaction that would mark him out as a Brat. He didn’t mind so much designating as a submissive, but that Brat marker made him squirm every time he looked at it. It marked him out as…dependent. Lucius could always find other ways to satisfy his need for submission, but he couldn’t.

Dare blazing into his life had laid bare to him just how difficult it had been before. He’d spent all those years alone and managing, but he couldn’t fool himself any longer. He’d barely managed. He’d poured every ounce of care in him out for the children in his House and had left none for himself. Now that he knew what he’d missed, he could see that what he considered functioning very much wasn’t.

Shaking off the wretched imagery Narcissa planted in his mind (no, he was not thinking about that, at all, ever), he made his way down to the kitchen. It was only quarter to ten, so someone should be about.

In short order, Severus sorted out a tea tray, enduring the kitchen elf’s probing questions and absolute horror that the three of them hadn’t dined that evening. He knew the tea table would groan under the weight of much more than the requested light meal, but there was only so much one could do with house elves. He’d never quite developed the skills to deal with them gracefully.

Back up on the family floor, he hesitated. Would he wake Dare or would his husband have waited? He bit his lip and considered his options. If he went back to the Pater’s sitting room alone then Cissa was likely to march him straight back out and ‘assist’ in collecting his Bonded. He didn’t think he could bear disapprobation from both of them on top of the day. He’d learned early that Cissa would not countenance disobedience, though she always tried to temper her natural inclinations for him.

He sighed and made for the Blue room. If he knew his godson, Draco would put Dare in the best guest room. He knocked lightly on the door, half hoping that Dare would be asleep. He couldn’t even underatand his own reluctance in this. Dare and Cissa got on well enough…before. Why should he feel so nervous? Was it the larger implication that they were both family? That he was still…cared for?

The door opened slightly. “Severus?”

Dare’s voice had his shoulders relaxing immediately.

“They’re awake and they’d like us both in their sitting room.” He sounded almost breathless.

“They can wait a moment,” Dare replied and pulled Severus into the room, shutting the door softly behind them. “How are you, pet?”

“I…” he trailed off into something half laugh and half sob and shrugged.

How would anyone be after having to pick carefully through a friend’s head, seeing the wreckage left behind by someone who should have protected him, after seeing Narcissa break down?

“Oh, darling, you’re done in.” Dare enfolded him in a hug, tucking him close. “How bad?”

“He doesn’t remember the last eleven years.” His voice twisted on the last word.

“Will he…”

“He might. I think he will, in time. I just don’t know when and…he’s himself again. It’s…he can’t remember anything but he…he scolded about the Bonding. And Abraxas Malfoy is dead and I can’t even curse him with something wretched!”

Dare cupped the back of his head. “Oh, my poor love, no wonder you’re in such a state.”

“And we’ve got to go and…and drink tea and they’ll ask her questions and I’m…”

“Exhausted? Starving because you didn’t have a chance for dinner? I’m sure that isn’t helping you at all.”

Severus froze at those words. Would…they hadn’t discussed his eating habits in terms of household rules, but anyone with a working brain could realize how Dare likely felt about willfully skipped meals.

“I didn’t even realize until…”

“I’m not upset and you’re in no trouble with me, pet. You’re an adult and sometimes that means you’ll be too busy handling a crisis to stop for dinner. Now, should I find you avoiding meals to punish yourself for some perceived fault, then I will step in.”

Severus shivered at the implied threat but nodded against Dare’s chest all the same.

“It’s a pity I’m not ravishing you in the library right right now,” Dare sighed. “There’s a secluded little alcove that would be perfect for a midnight tryst.”

Severus choked on his own saliva at the abrupt change in tone and topic.

“I beg your pardon?” his voice cracked.

“You heard me, sweetheart.” Dare’s voice dropped low.

Severus startled when he felt one of Dare’s broad hands slip into his pocket slit, palm his arse, and squeeze. He couldn’t suppress his breathy moan at that. Dare lowered his head and mouthed gently at Severus’ neck. Severus whined as the soft graze of teeth on delicate skin sent lightning skittering over his nerves. His head fell to one side, giving Dare better access. His hips canted forward, seeking friction, as Dare’s clever fingers unfastened the drop seat on his underclothes and ghosted over one cheek.

The strong arm across his back lifted for a moment, but only so Dare could raise Severus’ heavy skirts and pull him firmly up onto his canted thigh. Severus bit back a squeak at the sudden friction he’d sought and collapsed forward, his arms around Dare’s shoulders, his toes just finding purchase on the floor.

“Mmm, someone’s been naughty,” Dare teased, tracing his fingers over the crease between cheek and thigh. “Still warm from last night.”

Severus moaned in reply, too undone to form words, and nodded. The delicate touch and the feeling of cool air wafting of heated, hidden skin sent him squirming.

“So responsive for me, aren’t you, darling boy? You like how it feels, after, don’t you, when the stinging stops and you’re left with heat and ache every time you sit, reminding you to mind your manners, that you have a Top now who’ll turn you right over a knee every time you let the Brat off the leash. Is that it, bratling?”

“We…we should…go,” Severus managed between shuddering breaths. “They’ll be waiting.”

The words. Those words. How could anyone expect him to be coherent with Dare growling in his ear like that. Saying those things?

“Let them wait.” Dare stole a fast, hard kiss. “Will you be good for me?”

A soft pat where Dare raised the most heat yesterday evening had him nodding. Dare treated him to another long, thorough kiss.

“That’s my sweet brat. Remember that you’re mine, sweeting. I should mark your pretty throat so everyone can see. I wanted to peel down that high collar last night and leave you marked.”

The low, dirty growl in his ear had his hips bucking forward.

“Oh, you like that, hmm? You like people knowing you belong to me, that I’m the only one who will touch you. No other hands will ever have the delight.”

Fingers teased the sensitive skin of his cleft and Severus felt his body go taut in anticipation.

“No matter how it makes you kick and wail, you love knowing it was my hand that reddened your bottom, marking you as mine. You love knowing no other hand will discipline you or bring you pleasure. You wear my band, but there are other ways to mark you as mine, darling boy.”

Severus gasped like he’d just run from the dungeons to the Astronomy tower. His wits had fair deserted him and all he could do was hold on. Dare dipped his head again and Severus felt warm lips on his neck, the graze of teeth had him grinding down on the firm thigh between his legs.

Then Dare bit where neck met shoulder, sucked hard at the same time one of his fingers brushed between Severus’ cheeks. Severus keened, shuddered, and went limp against his husband. Dare held him up, easily taking his weight until he could stand again.

“I…” Severus trailed off and rested his forehead against Dare’s shoulder.

“Mmm, lovely, and so good for me.” Dare rubbed his back.

Slowly, Severus’ breathing returned to normal and he squirmed down, flushing at the damp at his front and the still-unfastened underclothes letting in a draft at his back.

“How am I meant to go talk to Lucius and Narcissa now?” he demanded.

“Would I send you out even into the hall looking so debauched?” Dare teased. “I thought you might like to freshen up, pet. You were so busy this afternoon and evening that  surely you’d like to bathe and change now you have a moment.”

Severus blinked. Yes, he would very much like a change of linen. He’d wanted that even before.

“We didn’t bring anything.”

“I called for Betsy and asked her to pack a few things when it became clear you had your hands full. She was delighted to help and it meant I didn’t have to leave Draco. He’s a delightful child, but boys of twelve are not generally known for their good sense in all circumstances, and he was worried enough without me disappearing.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at that. “No, they are not. Thank you, Dare.”

“You first, sweetheart. I’d say I’d join you, but if we wait much longer we might have your Lucius breaking in the door,” he laughed. “The bath should be hot for you. I’ll bring your clothes in.”

Severus escaped for the bath.

Half-an-hour later, they knocked decorously on the Pater suite sitting room door. Severus hoped they’d judged the invitation correctly, for he wore a heavy, trailing dressing gown over a high-necked under-kirtle. He knew precisely what Lucius would say if he turned up with a love bite practically glowing on his neck. It would be neither polite nor appropriate.

The door swung open for them and Severus walked in, his heart in his throat. Lucius stood to meet them and crossed to him.

“Narcissa has explained everything. I’m so sorry, Severus. You of all people should never have been treated so shabbily.”

Severus opened his mouth to say something, anything, but no words came. Lucius pulled him into his arms. Severus swallowed hard against a wash of emotion and closed his eyes for a moment. Lucius tensed, and he tried to look back, but found himself shoved behind his taller friend.

It brought back memories of Death Eater meetings. Lucius spent a good bit of time at those blocking Severus from seeing anything unsavory and hustling him out before anything really kicked off.

“What the bloody—” he started, and stopped, peering around the gigantic idiot in front of him to the sight of Lucius wielding a fireplace poker at Dare, who had just entered the room behind him.

“Don’t take one step closer.” Lucius shook the poker. “I know who you are. I saw the pictures from Father’s school days.”

“Oh, have you?” Dare asked mildly.

“I won’t have you in my house or…or…tell me you didn’t, Severus?”

Severus, trying to edge around Lucius, found himself shoved firmly back.

“I’m afraid we have a case of mistaken identity, Mr. Malfoy. I am not the man in question.”

Severus breathed a sigh of relief. If Dare had called Lucius anything but Mr. Malfoy, there really would have been bloodshed.

“That is precisely what he would say if he were trying to weasel his way back into the world.”

“I’m his son.”

The words stopped Lucius dead.

“Circe’s circlet, Lucius! Drop the poker, immediately!” Narcissa chose that moment to enter the sitting room.

The poker dropped from nerveless fingers.

“He…he’s…ugh.” The implication of Voldemort having a son seemed to have broken something in Lucius’ brain.

Narcissa ignored his complaint entirely.

“Everyone sit. I’m famished and I won’t have either of you wasting away on my watch. We will eat and then we will discuss what we must discuss.”

Severus had forgotten how much energy a healthy Narcissa possessed. She served Lucius and urged him to eat and managed to keep an eye on Severus’ plate as well.

“Cheese toasties make me feel like I’m having an illicit midnight picnic again,” Narcissa smiled.

“I’m surprised Whitlow didn’t stop you.” Lucius polished his off and took another.

“That’s because we invited Whitlow,” Narcissa admitted. “You couldn’t do anything without getting a note off her unless you invited her.”

Severus, who’d had his share of notes from Whitlow, made a face at his soup.

“She also liked you, Cissa,” he pointed out. “She hated some of us in house and we knew it.”

“I suppose it was best for us all that her parents pulled her after her OWL results. She finished at home, didn’t she?”

Even if it left Dare out of the conversation, Slytherin history seemed somehow a safe topic. He and Narcissa managed a creditable conversation between them, with Lucius joining in at times. Too soon, only crumbs were left on the table. Narcissa poured tea for them all and cleared her throat.

“Now, what was that scene I walked into?” she asked.

“A case of mistaken identity, I’m afraid,” Dare answered. “I expect that I do look rather like my father.”

“Tom Riddle,” Lucius spat. “He used to come and visit before…before he became…”

“Oh…oh, dear.” Narcissa knew that tone from her husband.

“He never mentioned a child.” Tension radiated off Lucius.

“He had no idea. He didn’t know he’d got my mother pregnant. She went to the Sinclairs for help since they were kin to him, distantly, but it counted. She died soon after I was born and they raised me in secret. I went to India in the seventies and other than knocking about Europe a bit I remained there until Gringotts recalled me.”

“Where they no doubt informed you that you were heir to a vast fortune and family name of great antiquity. It’s a pretty tale. Who cried? Sprout?”

Severus just refrained from dropping his face into his hands. Trust him to forget that Lucius, when in his right mind, could sniff out the whitest of lies.

“I don’t expect Dumbledore to have believed it. I may not like the man but he isn’t an idiot.”

Severus slanted a look at Dare, who nodded slightly. They would have to trust.

“I think they were all too thrilled that I’d found a partner to think too deeply about it.” He forced himself to make eye contact with Lucius. “You’re going to think me more hair than wit. He was trying to save my reputation.”

“What has he done—” Lucius jumped as if someone kicked his ankle.

“Nothing I haven’t asked for and enthusiastically participated in,” Severus ground out. “You overbearing sod.”

“You still look so young,” Lucius said by way of apology. “Barely older than you did in eighty-three.”

Severus knew him well enough to know that was all the apology he’d ever hear on that subject.

“I’ll get to that.” Severus shifted in his chair, unsure of where to begin. “I arrived home on Friday, later than usual for my weekend away, and found Dare in my sitting room. He…resembled a certain person we both once knew, but I realized quickly that he wasn’t. Some of his school fellows attempted a ritual and bollocksed it up. Our former compatriot is gone, Lucius. Look at your arm.”

Slowly, Lucius pulled up the left sleeve of his banyan. He stared at his inner arm, blinking in disbelief.

“We’re free?”

“Of Voldemort, yes.”

“Were you ever…” Lucius trailed off, staring at Dare.

“I never became Voldemort. I believe that was the problem with the ritual. They called for Tom Riddle, only the being inhabiting this plane refuted that name decades ago. He was destroyed, scattered utterly, and magic pulled another from another plane. I knicked the parchment on my way out so I’d have some idea of what they were about.”

Lucius pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. Narcissa covered her mouth with a hand, but Severus saw her eyes dancing with suppressed mirth. He did not miss the look shared between Narcissa and Dare, either, the one that told him to let Severus and Lucius fight this one out.

“And how,” Lucius asked, not opening his eyes, “did the Bonding come about?”

“There was a contract between our families. I…hell, it’s going to have to come out. I allowed Dare to stay over night. I accompanied him to Gringotts and allowed him to officially chaperone me that day. We…”

“You are incredibly lucky that magic or sheer incompetence or whatever being that happens to keep watch over idiot Brats landed you in the pink, Severus,” Lucius interrupted. “What would possess you to throw all caution to the wind?”

Severus quailed at the stern reprimand.

“I’ve no idea,” he answered, voice quiet. “It simply seemed the best course of action at the time.”

“And it’s worked out beautifully, Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake call me Lucius. A blind man could tell that you’re utterly besotted and you are not my problem. Severus taking complete leave of his senses is. More hair than wit is just the beginning.”

“Lucius, darling, must you harangue Severus so? While I agree the circumstances surrounding their Bonding do not do credit to Severus’ general good sense, I think we ought to take a celebratory tone.”

Lucius bowed his head at his wife’s words. “Of course. You know I wish you every happiness, Severus.”

“And I know that you harangue because you care. This is just a more fraught topic than untidy shirt cuffs.” Severus reached across the table to clasp Lucius’ arm.

“You would take notes on them.” Lucius reached over to cuff him lightly round the ear. “Didn’t you say earlier that you’d explain why you still look so young? Am I allowed to harangue about that?”

“Not at the table. I think this might be a tale that requires a more fortified brew.”

Narcissa rose and led the way to the sofa and arm chairs. She hooked a low pouffe out from behind her chair and smiled at Lucius as he sank gracefully onto it, somehow managing to lounge against Narcissa’a legs. Severus wished he could submit as gracefully as Lucius. Even curled at his wife’s feet, he looked powerful and leonine. Severus felt that he looked more like a wet and pathetic kitten, especially when he sat on the sofa with Dare and was summarily hauled close. No sultry lounging for him. He supposed he was lucky Dare hadn’t pulled him into his lap.

He let his soft slippers drop to the floor and pulled his feet up under his skirts, leaning into Dare’s side. Usually, he would sit properly upright with his feet on the floor, but…but it was Lucius and Narcissa. He could be wholly himself with them again.

“Now, Severus, what have you to say for yourself?” Lucius asked.

Severus sighed and stared at his hands. “Have you ever heard of Complex Magical Trauma?”

Chapter Text

“Cissa, my own?”

“Yes, darling? Narcissa ran gentle fingers through his hair. His favorite softly green herbal scent wafted gently up and she relished the intimacy between them. They lay together in the dark, his head pillowed against her breast as if there had never been distance between them.

She ought to have known something went terribly wrong the first time he came to her scented with leather and sea spray, uncompromising and cold where her Lucius had always been warm and inviting.

“What sort of man had I become that Severus would shrink from me?”

She stilled. The bare facts of the last decade hurt enough to disclose. How could she explain to this man how he had been twisted?

“Cold,” she answered after a too-long silence. “Calculating and distant, though both Severus and I believe the distance was to protect us. You fought against every compulsion your father laid on you.”

“Not hard enough, it seems.” He laid a gentle hand on her abdomen.

Narcissa sat up abruptly and swatted at the lamp until she found the switch. Lucius stared back at her, pale and startled in the sudden light, half upright on his elbow. She gripped his jaw.

“Do I have your attention, Lucius?”

He nodded, as much as he was able. His pulse quickened under her fingertips.

“Listen well, my love. You fought as hard as your could. Your father tried to change your entire personality. Still, you only dosed me with Mother’s Mourning so I could not conceive. I saw what else lurked in that cabinet; had you been a weaker man I would be dead. Your strength of character kept me alive. We have a second chance and we will not squander it. Am I understood?” She gave true orders rarely.

Lucius nodded, eyes wide.

“Good. I would hate to disturb our night by asking you to tie a birch. The vase is still refreshed daily.”

He made a low noise, half trepidation and half arousal. She loosed her grip and patted his cheek.

“Don’t worry, darling, soon. You’ve been unmarked too long.”

Another strangled noise answered her.

“You undo me,” he murmured. “You always have.”

She put the light out again and lay back, tugging until Lucius lay full against her, and brushed her fingers lightly up and down his back.

“We’ll find our balance again, my love.” She promised. “What did you make of Severus this evening?”

“I’ve never seem him so happy,” Lucius replied.

“I wish you were there when we met this afternoon. I nearly squeaked at how utterly adorable he was, though I restrained myself so he wouldn’t disappear into the curtains. He still hasn’t any idea what to do with anything he terms ‘fussing’.”

“If I’m correct, he’s going to have to get used to it or suffer the consequences. His husband clearly has him well in hand,” Lucius smiled. “And he doesn’t mind it one bit.”

“Cats on hot bricks usually come to mind with him. He’s never sat that long without being up and down like a jack-in-the-box.” Narcissa agreed. “I’ve never seem him so settled in his own skin.”

“If I was as cold as you say, it’s no wonder he never told us. I wouldn’t have been safe at all.”

“Mmm, it wouldn’t have been safe for him to tell anyone once he knew for certain. We got him away for a few years to Master Cavallieri, but with the war in full swing at home I doubt he felt much safer in Italy than he did here.”

“Spying…Merlin, Cissa. I think about how it all could have gone wrong. He was what? Calendrically all of twenty and going double agenting? We could have lost him.”

Narcissa heard what he didn’t say. “One day, my darling, I will get you to understand that you are not responsible for keeping the entire world from falling apart. Your service does not need to be nearly so grand. You only need please me.”

He shuddered under her hands. “I was never happier than on our Bonding day. I…I barely recognize myself now. I…”

“It isn’t wrong to grieve all that was taken from us, and specifically from you. You were denied the support and care you ought always have had from me, darling, as much as I was denied you.”

The first, racking sob came at that, and Lucius near spasmed against her with the force of feeling. She rubbed a hand firmly over his broad shoulders, not to soothe but to anchor him in the present. She couldn’t imagine the horror he must feel, unable to remember near a decade of his life, but she could be with him in this moment. He was not a man who wept easily, but he desperately needed the release. Narcissa held him through the storm, glad she’d put out the light. He would allow himself to break fully in the dark where he never would if anyone could see, even just with her. Another scar from Abraxas, and one they would excise eventually.

For the moment, she held him.

Dare shut the door behind them and turned to survey his husband. Severus always carried a certain tension in his frame, no doubt from too many years of keeping ruthless control over instinct, but with his shoulders practically up to his ears he radiated distress. He’d shared…a good deal more than a simple health condition and had to feel wretchedly vulnerable. He was so used to relying only on himself that discussing any kind of personal information, even with friends, likely felt like an intolerable intrusion. He stood in the middle of the carpet, staring unseeing out the window with his arms wrapped about his middle. Hunched in, protecting himself. Dare’s heart ached for him.

“I didn’t know just how bad your fifth year was.” Dare spoke quietly, moving past Severus to open the window and locate night clothes.

“It was over a long time ago. Dwelling on it is useless.” If anything, Severus drew in even further while speaking.

“Mmm,” Dare kept his own council for the moment. Severus’s magic clearly disagreed with his words.

“It is. There’s no worth in…in malingering and moaning over what’s been done. It’s over.”

That, Dare reflected, sounded like the sort of claptrap he’d heard as a child. The war is over, why are you still terrified? The children who tormented you are gone, why do you still flinch and shy away? The question now, though, was which parent was speaking through Severus? He’d bet on Mr. Snape.

“Complex Magical Trauma is malingering, is it?” Dare selected night shirts for both of them.

Severus started and wrapped his arms harder around himself, dropping his eyes to the carpet. “What else is it?”

“You magic trying desperately to protect you from what sounds like an utterly hellish year at school, topped off by your mother dying. You had no one to help you past any of it, no one to keep you safe…of course you got…stuck in that time. Your magic gave you more time to heal. That’s all it is, pet. It’s your own magic trying to protect you.” He kept his voice calm and level and his movements slow and fluid. He had no wish to try to find a panicking Severus in an unfamiliar house, and even less to have to enlist the help of people who had also been stretched to breaking by the day.

“It feels like unpardonable weakness. Malingering and whinging over how hard done by I was. I didn’t exactly take anything lying down.” Severus hadn’t moved, but his shoulders lowered fractionally.

“With the temper I’ve seen from you, my lad, I’m shocked anyone came out of a tangle with you still in possession of their kidneys.”

Severus snorted. “I wasn’t quite that savage. I knew if I did anything like that I’d be expelled, even with Lucius fighting for me. It was made perfectly clear that I didn’t matter, at least until I could be useful.”

Dare resisted the urge to head back to Hogwarts and strangle every professor and the headmaster with Dumbledore’s beard. He wrestled the sheer rage at that quiet admission into quiescence and sat on the bed.

“Come here, pet.” He held out a hand.

Severus didn’t move. He seemed rooted to the spot.

“Are we going to need to discuss obedience, my lad?”

Severus started at the question, not one any sub ever wanted to hear.

“I…I can’t…” Severus looked to him, trembling.

“Would you need my help tonight, sweeting?”

He nodded, desperately.

“Thank you, Severus. You’ve been exceptionally brave today, my darling.” Dare rose and went to him.

Severus’s breath came in breathy, shallow gasps as Dare took his hands and led him gently back to the bed. He followed, shaking but utterly willing to be where Dare put him. Dare sat and pulled Severus down into his lap, wrapping strong arms around him, tight. Severus made a high, distressed noise and the tension bled out of him. He went so suddenly limp that he’d have slithered to the floor if Dare held him loosely. Dare tucked him closer and rested his cheek on the top of Severus’s head.

“All right, it’s all right sweeting. You’ve been so brave today. You shared so much tonight, too, I’m sure you do feel frightened by it. All the secrets you’ve kept to protect everyone else all laid bare. You can’t know whether you’rw coming or going right now, my darling.” He rocked slowly side to side, soothing Severus through the fear and panic.

He'd been exactly where Severus was once, but much, much younger. He’d finally admitted everything that happened to him at Wool’s and his first few years at Hogwarts, and after…he’d felt so stripped bare, so unable to mask anything that he’d had a similar breakdown. He remembered his uncle talking him gently onto his knee and enfolding him in a hug he felt all the way down to his bones. He’d never felt so safe or so loved before. That really was their turning point, that night he fully accepted his uncle as his paterfamilias.

Slowly, the shaking subsided and Severus lifted a tentative hand to grip at the front of his robes. Dare ran a hand down his hair and held him close. Finally, Severus rested his forehead against Dare’s shoulder and let out a long breath.

“Why don’t you let me get you a bit more comfortable, sweetheart, and then we can go to bed?”

Severus nodded against his shoulder. Dare eased him off his lap and stood him between his knees. Severus blinked at him, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He cooperated as far as he was able as Dare slowly and carefully removed every layer of clothing from him. He took his time over it, lavishing Severus with the care he deserved but seemed incapable of accepting. He’d had to unlearn that as well, the whole bloody scaffolding of what it meant to be a man. The non-magical world was much more rigid about that than the magical world. He remembered the first time he saw a fourth year, a boy older than him at the time, flop onto sixth year Alphard Black’s lap and demand to be read to. The shock of a boy of fourteen seeking that kind of comfort and wanting a story nearly broke his brain. What really threw him was Alphard readjusting the boy to a more comfortable position, calling him a horror, and then reading aloud for the better part of that rainy Saturday afternoon. Dare remembered hanging back, unsure of his welcome, until Alphard made a long arm and yanked him into the circle, telling him to stop hanging about with a face like a wet Monday.

The casual way they all showed affection in Slytherin House (although decently and behind the firmly closed door of their common room), started the change in him. It helped that the sixth and seventh years refused to countenance any nonsense from any of the younger years. They’d ruled the House with Professor Slughorn like a pack of kindly dictators (unless you really stepped in it, in which case they were less kindly and more apt to go and find a slipper…or send one to wait for Slughorn with the dreaded Note About Behavior). He remembered one particularly nasty altercation with—Albert Henshaw, it was, and there was a nasty piece of work—where they were each picked up in the middle of a flaming row and plunked in a separate corner to cool off.

Severus, unfortunately hadn’t had the kind of upper years he experienced, other than perhaps Lucius Malfoy and the then Narcissa Black. Well, they all came to what they needed eventually. Dare helped Severus step out of his combinations and slipped a heavy, wonderfully soft flannelette night shirt over his head. Generously cut, it fell to the floor, hiding his feet. Severus startled as Dare buttoned each cuff, kissing the inside of his wrist before working the line of buttons closed.

“There, lovely, that should keep you warmer tonight.”

Severus stroked the fabric and smiled slightly. “Thank you.”

“Can you make it to the dressing table?”Dare asked.

Severus gave the question some serious thought before nodding.

“I just feel wrung out, now, but I think I’ll be fine.”

Dare gave him and arm anyway and they slowly made their way over. The furniture in this room was old and good, but certainly did not speak to either of their taste. The dark, heavy mahogany table and mirror were carved all over with a profusion of magical creatures. Dare helped Severus sit and took a place behind him, slowly removing the decorative pins from his plaited hair. He placed them in the little dish that sat next to Severus’s brush and comb and gently worked his fingers through the loosened plaits. He picked up the brush and drew it slowly down the length of Severus’s thick hair.

Left to his own devices, Severus rarely took the time to enjoy caring for himself. He always had sixteen things on his mind and another twenty on a list on his desk, all marked urgent. He rushed from one task to the next and only took time over brewing and teaching. All the care for his House and none for himself. Dare tried to imagine what it might be like if they both designated neutral. He couldn’t imagine not loving Severus, but their life would likely include blazing rows instead of the calm and order he preferred. And which he knew helped Severus regain his equilibrium at the end of a long day.

How lucky for both of them that he thrived on creating a calm and orderly home with clearly marked boundaries and that Severus thrived on living in that exact environment. He’d meant precisely what he said last night, he was Severus’s immovable object. His lad might not want to sit this side of Christmas (or the other side of it, if he kept testing the limits), but he’d be cared for whether he liked it or not, and in whatever way he most needed care. Even without their deepening Bond and this place as Paterfamilias, he’d have known just how much Severus enjoyed the physical care lavished on him. He was near to purring at each gentle stroke of the brush, his shoulders slowly relaxing under the gentle ministration.

Dare finished with a few more long, gentle strokes, then gathered the heavy mass into his hands and deftly plaited it, tying the end with a bit of ribbon that exactly matched Severus’s night shirt. Severus, near boneless with pleasure and exhaustion, rose at his touch and let himself be led to the bed. Dare turned back the counterpane and helped Severus settle between the sheets.

He perched on the edge of the bed for a moment and smiled down at his husband.

“Has anyone ever read just to you?” he asked, tracing a finger down Severus’s nose.

“Lucius, at Hogwarts. Sometimes in the evening he’d make me leave off studying and go to…er, sit with him. He liked reading aloud.” Severus sounded half asleep already. “I read independently early, but it was nice with Lucius.”

Dare read between the lines but kept his opinions to himself. At least Seveus had some positive attention somewhere in his past.

“I’m another of those strange men who likes reading aloud.” Dare smiled down at him. “Give me a moment and I’ll be right with you.”

Dare quickly shouldered into a soft shirt and loose trousers of the sort he’d worn frequently in India and pulled his dressing gown over top. He wouldn’t usually select velvet, but it was what the shops had and he thought…well, he thought Severus might like the texture. He didn’t want to put on nightclothes yet; Severus needed to get accustomed to being in bed and headed toward sleep at an earlier hour than he otherwise might, but he also wanted the comfort of looser clothing.

Dare sat against the pillows mounded in front of the headboard and encouraged until Severus rolled over and rested his head in his lap. Dare opened the book to the first page and began,

“Mr. and Mrs. Brown first met Paddington on a railway platform…”

“Are you reading me Paddington?” Severus demanded, popping up onto one elbow and looking thoroughly befuddled.

“I am absolutely reading you Paddington. Magical children’s literature is dire and I wanted something familiar and calm tonight, and absolutely not anything related to your work. Settle down, pet.”

Severus settled again at the word, one hand coming up to brush gently at the pile of the velvet. Dare held the book with one hand and let the other rub slowly and firmly over Severus’s back. He began again, reveling in the peace and calm he’d created for them.

Chapter Text

Severus woke slowly in the dark. The heavy quiet of this house in the small hours of the morning had always soothed something in him. It sank deep, calming frazzled nerves. How often had Lucius found him, half frozen but reluctant to sleep lest he missed one moment of feeling like this, in the library? Too many memories to count flitted through his mind all of them featuring Lucius, somehow even taller and broader in a dressing gown, glowering at him while asking pointedly if he was aware of the time.

 It didn’t seem to be working tonight. He’d no idea why, only that he felt oddly disquieted for someone who had dropped peacefully to sleep mere hours ago.  

Dare, he thought, wouldn’t ask. He seemed to prefer actions over words, which Severus appreciated. He could twist words into a mire of meaninglessness. He’d learned to do it early, to spare himself first of his father’s wrath and then of the dark lord’s torments. Dare simply did things and expected one to keep up. It helped immensely that Severus knew, down to his bones, that Dare would never push him farther than he could bear. He had to trust in his husband’s inherent decency as he had so little practical knowledge of what…what this was between them.

Everything he knew about this sort of relationship and even his own designation had been so…so academic before Sunday afternoon. He’d known only what he’d received with his designation results and then later what little he’d found in furtive searches through the anonymously giant library in London. He’d never dared try in any of the various private libraries in which he held membership. Anyone discovering that his designation went beyond simply Submissive haunted his nightmares. He’d gotten away with wearing a blank at Hogwarts and a general submissive disc out in the magical world. Typed designations were rare, so no one really thought anything of it. He’d simply given everyone to believe that teaching somehow fulfilled him totally. Or they imagined Dumbledore as some kind of sex fiend, using an innocent sub for his own pleasure. He’d heard things (when he and the Malfoys were still close) while ensconced in a curtained alcove, avoiding whichever Dom of the Month Narcissa had invited to meet him. The absolutely filthy imaginations some people had…it left him desperately wanting a shower.

Mostly, working eighty-to-hundred-hour weeks and managing reasonable pastoral care for his House left him so exhausted he could barely remember his own name, let alone have any urges beyond sleeping. Overwork had saved him for over a decade…unfortunately he didn’t imagine Dare would appreciate his strategy. At all. His backside prickled at the thought of that particular conversation awaiting him.

Especially as he had no idea how to stop the eighty-to-hundred-hour weeks given the current levels of staffing. He couldn’t imagine any Top agreeing to that level of overwork. At all. Full stop. One like Dare? Even after so short a time with his husband, he knew precisely what Dare would have to say about his workload.

Once he discovered the full extent of it. Vile thought that it was.

Everyone would know now. Dare wore Top like one of his perfectly tailored jackets. Together? There wasn’t any way to hide how they were, how they related to one another and the bond between them. He deferred to Dare in ways he’d never deferred to anyone before. More terrifyingly, he wanted to. It wasn’t just the doing of it that set part of him on edge, it was the wanting. He wanted the care, the tight boundaries, all of it. He might not like or enjoy some parts (and he would never understand a general sub who got off on the pain, as they might never understand him wanting boundaries that tight), but he felt the right of it. He’d never needed anyone before. He'd never let himself. He couldn’t. Starting down that road meant never turning off it.

What would happen to him if he let Dare in, fully, as he so desperately wanted to? He’d near to melted for the man only a few hours earlier. Could he continue to function as he must if he gave way? The idea of their Bonding as a battlefield, of having to resist him to keep any control, set Severus’s stomach twisting. With Dare, he didn’t want control. He wanted all of it, everything that bloody pamphlet he’d set alight all those years ago promised. He barely recognized himself in some ways, and that was after a handful of days. What would it be like after a year? Two? Fifteen? Could he continue to keep order in Slytherin?

He’d never considered surviving to forty. Before Dare, he’d known he wouldn’t live past the next war, and he’d known it would come soon. Before Dare, he’d welcomed the idea of that release. Now? Now he wanted every moment he could steal.

He was turning into a wet mess, is what he was doing.

Would he still have a place at Hogwarts? The board could be terrifyingly old-fashioned. Would they think a Brat incapable of keeping order, no matter his impeccable record since eighty-one? There were laws, now, that offered some protection, but they were easily ignored for the dependent Types. General subs, especially those who needed little dominant intervention, were still the most palatable of submissives. If one absolutely had to designate submissive, a fairly low rated general sub designation was the most desired. Especially when that sub was also masculine. Male or female barely mattered in a social sense, but there were still attitudes present from the seventeenth century around masculine people and appropriacy of expression. And Brats? Masculine ones, especially those like him, whose emotional energy tended to be cranked up high? (He may have burned everything from his designation paperwork, but the content seared itself into his memory) He’d heard what society thought of that type frequently.

Needy. Willful. Childish. Incapable. Uncontrollable. Insufficiently masculine. Soft.

He’d disciplined himself ruthlessly since the day he received his designation letter. He’d barely allowed himself any emotion lest it all leak through. Perfect control of himself and every situation he experienced seemed to help him slide under the notice of much of society. He thought a few of the higher level general dominants he’d run into had some idea of what he was, but as he wasn’t theirs to sort out they’d let him be. He didn’t think he’d actually met any Tops before Dare; they were as rare as Brats among those who designated. Would a Top have been able to leave him be? Narcissa hadn’t managed to produce one for him, so he’d never know that particular answer. He’d hidden in plain sight until now, until he could no longer hide himself.

Just thinking of the social implications of his designation…the shame of it all washed through him.

“Severus, pet, what is it?” Dare sounded much too awake as he rolled over and got an arm around him.

He couldn’t even brood properly without waking his husband. Lovely.

“I’m fine. Just remembered something.”

“Mm, pull the other one. It’s got bells on.”

Severus felt Dare’s hand on him the moment before he yanked and rolled so Severus wound up full length on top of him, head against Dare’s broad chest.

“I really am…”

“If I hear ‘fine’ again at silly o’clock, we’re going to have a problem, my lad.” Dare rucked the back of his nightshirt up and patted his backside meaningfully.

How could anyone manage a coherent reply to that? Who wouldn’t take ‘fine’ as a reply in the early hours of the morning and leave one alone to brood oneself into madness?

“It isn’t any kind of problem.” Hopefully, that would be vague enough but offer some kind of answer.

Dare snorted by way of response.

“I think I’ll be the judge of that, sweetheart. When you wake me up trailing enough distress around—"

“I’m not…ow!” Severus yelped the last as Dare managed an almighty smack across his seat. The constricting bedclothes didn’t slow him down in any appreciable way.

“Do not interrupt, and certainly not to lie to me, darling. I very much will not have that. Now, what has you in such a state?”

He couldn’t answer. Further, he did not want to answer. At all. How could you tell a man like this that actually, you’d quite like to keep fibbing about your designation because it would make life easier? That you were going round and round on exactly how the best thing that had ever happened to you could also end the life you’d built? And that, just to make everything even better, you thought it would be interesting to suggest that you continue working at your current place and you were working out how to manage that without him discovering any of it.

Dare sighed. It was the sigh of a man who would much rather be sleeping than sorting out mardy brats in the small hours of the morning.

Mardy Brats After Midnight sounded like one of those wretched pulp novels he kept having to confiscate from the upper school for leaving the in the common room where anyone could pick them up. Having read a few chapters, that was not the view on relationships he wanted the lower school developing. Further, he wished to shield the delicate sensibilities of the upper school from Miss Bulstrode and Co.’s pithy marginalia.

He could only imagine the reaction to “This is physically impossible. We checked”. Likewise “If one is going to be this utterly wet, one should endeavor to be interesting with it. Lydia has only inspired us feel Roderick should have smacked her harder.”

“Is this a can’t situation or a shan’t situation, bratling?” He sounded entirely too entertained for whatever ridiculously early hour it was.

“I don’t need to bother you with mithering,” Severus spat and cringed. He’d never quite managed to lose the Yorkshire completely when upset.

“I thought it might be shan’t.”

The mild comment set Severus’s stomach twisting, but he still kept quiet. He knew, academically, at least, that he had a responsibility to Dare to tell him everything rattling around in his head and to let him help. The reality of opening your mouth and unburdening yourself when you’d spent your entire adult life relying only on your own judgment…that was a new and wretchedly exquisite kind of torture. Your own judgment, your own priorities were…moot, in a way. Not in a way that eliminated one’s general responsibility as an adult living in the world, but personally. Personally, all that really mattered was…obedience. Dare asked him what troubled him, ergo, Dare received a truthful answer. In theory.

He'd never been terribly good at obedience in practice, and especially not the kind of non-sulking compliance he had a feeling Dare might prefer. Sometimes, he wished desperately that he’d designated as a general sub. They could have a headache and decide they didn’t want to engage. He didn’t have that luxury.

“Right, my lad, don’t fret.”

Somehow, he swung them around so he sat on the edge of the bed with Severus draped over his lap before Severus could assure him that he absolutely had no intention of fretting. His toes didn’t reach the floor and Dare had him positioned so his head hung down rather than giving him the support of the mattress. Their height difference and the height of the bed left his hands with no purchase on the floor either, unless he felt like testing the strength of his fingertips. He gripped Dare’s pajama-clad leg and shivered as Dare pushed his nightshirt right up. He squirmed at the cool air drifting across his backside and thighs, feeling extremely vulnerable.

Dare’s broad palm rested against his backside, the other heavy at the small of his back.

“I had hoped that we could get through today without a spanking, sweetheart, but if that’s what you need to loosen your tongue, then that’s what we’ll do.”

Go to hell didn’t seem either a politic or a sensible response. He had no idea why he wanted to spit that at Dare, but that was at the tip of his tongue.

“This is all very new, pet, and this past day couldn’t have helped at all. I’m sure you aren’t feeling terribly stable or safe right now. I told you that you had to stay in my sight and then we had to ignore it, but your emotions don’t really understand emergency changes. No wonder you’re refusing to speak to me; I didn’t follow through on consequences.”

Severus startled at that. No, thank you, he was not angry due to any sort of wanting the promised consequences for his actions nor was he feeling in any way unsafe or destabilized. He wasn’t that much of a wet mess.

“Mm, yes, I thought that might be the case. Well, sweetheart, we’re going to have a thorough discussion of shan’t. We’ll get ourselves clear on that point. First, though, you are going to answer my question. What has you so distressed?”

Severus kicked a foot testily in lieu of flicking his toes on the floor. He regretted it immediately as Dare lifted his hand and landed it in a sharp smack across the fullest part of his backside.  He didn’t stop at one. He laid down a dozen steady, hard spanks, moving cheek to cheek, leaving a sharp, hot sting in his wake. It woke the lingering tenderness of last night’s spanking and Severus found his hips twisting without any input from his brain.

“Ow…Dare, I’ll talk, I will!” Stubborn temper fled before Dare’s apparent willingness to smack the arse off him. Before they even got to the main event.

“Good lad. Why are you trailing distress about, love?”

Severus shivered as Dare rested his palm on his backside, the message clear.

“I kept thinking about…about everything. This..between us. What…” he trailed off, summoning his nerve. “What society thinks about…about Brats. And work and how you really aren’t going to be happy when you know exactly how many hours I work in a week and that there isn’t any way around that and…and I want this, between us, to work as it should and all I can think is that I have to hide myself or…or…”

“And, I’m going to guess, that it will all end in some kind of complete disaster? Job lost? Social scorn?” Dare asked as gently and kindly as he’d spoken since Severus woke him. “And perhaps a bit of self-castigstion for wanting anything for yourself? For wanting the comfort and the care and the discipline that comes with it?”

“Yes sir,” Severus answered miserably.

“And now you’ve interrupted my sleep after a long day whilst feeling utterly miserable and panicked over the future and, without knowing, angry with me that I couldn’t keep a consequence I meted out, which all turned into a fairly spectacular silent tantrum?”

Hearing that word had Severus’s stomach twisting. “Yes sir.”

“A tantrum during which you very clearly told me ‘shan’t’?”

Severus squirmed a bit, unwilling to answer until Dare patted him firmly where he sat.

“Yes sir.” He felt as if he was sealing his own doom.

“Right, my lad, we will solve all the problems your corkscrew brain pulls up, but after I’ve made my position on shan’t exceedingly clear.”

Severus managed a squeak by way of reply as Dare shifted him to put his backside at a more acute angle. He had a fairly good grasp that assuring Dare he thoroughly understood and that no iteration of shan’t would ever cross his lips again would get him precisely nowhere. Also that refusing to communicate was top of the non-starter list, for ever and ever amen.

Pity he’d only sussed that one after going down the road of disaster. On the bright side, he hadn’t thrown anything.

From the first smack, he very thoroughly understood Dare’s position. No wonder the man never used anything beyond the flat of his hand; he didn’t need it. His broad palm landed heavy, hard, and fast. Over top of yesterday’s handiwork and the dozen he’d already doled out, it stung like a lorryload of wasps. Severus squirmed under his restraining arm, kicking and yelping with each smack, dignity having fled the building along with his common sense. He clutched at Dare’s leg, stifling the urge to swear as the heat built steadily behind. Even with Dare’s swiftly falling palm taking up most of his attention, he knew swearing in this position would be suicide for his arse.

“Shan’t, won’t, and no are banned from your vocabulary, my lad, when I’m asking you to answer me,” Dare lectured. “It doesn’t matter how much I won’t care for the answer. It doesn’t matter how much you don’t want to answer. You open your mouth and you talk. You do not,” he punctuated that with a particularly sharp smack. “Refuse to engage with me with a sod you attitude. That will land you right back here, over my knee, getting your bare bottom spanked.”

There ought to have been a law passed about revolting statements like that coming from a Top. Severus yowled in reply to the volley of spanks that followed, twisting as much as he could. Dare just shifted him right back into position.

“I will never accept that type of attitude from you, my lad, and you won’t enjoy indulging in it, ever, on my watch.”

With that, Dare addressed himself to the lower slopes of Severus’s backside. Severus near levitated off his lap at a crisp smack where backside met thigh then collapsed, the first sob choking him. He could only weep, wretchedly sorry he’d ever tried Dare’s will, as Dare spanked soundly where he sat and the tops of his thighs. All thoughts fled his brain beside hot! and OW!

He didn’t know how much later it was when he realized that Dare had stopped spanking and instead ran a hot palm up and down his back under his nightshirt, the other patting soothingly just below his scorched thighs. Tears leaked down his face as Dare righted him in his lap and he hid in Dare’s shoulder.

“Sweetheart, you’ve had one hell of a day.” He slipped a hand under the hem of Severus’s nightshirt and kept rubbing his back.

Severus managed a shuddery laugh in reply, curling closer in response to the deep, soothing pressure of Dare’s hand. The absolute hell of it was that he felt immeasurably better than he had even before they went to bed. Despite a quite frankly blazing backside and thoroughly torched thighs, he felt calmer than he had since…since Friday. Or possibly longer. The safety he felt curled in Dare’s lap and utterly engulfed in his arms sank deep into him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so…so together. More tears dampened the shoulder of Dare’s pajama jacket, an overflow of long-suppressed emotion, but Severus couldn’t bring himself to care. He thought he’d felt as safe as he could before, but that had nothing on how he felt now. He’d never felt like this before, that bone-deep sense of belonging to someone, of being another person’s first priority. He’d covered for himself, but telling Dare that no one has ever wanted him was the truth. His parents had, once, until the difficulties of life overcame both of them, but no one had really and truly wanted all of him, difficult bits and all.

And he was under no illusion about his difficult bits. He was, and always had been, an awkward sod on a good day. On a bad one? He shuddered to think of Dare’s probable reaction to a bad day. Perhaps, just perhaps, Dare had a point about him feeling unsafe and destabilized. Possibly. If he could consider such a thoroughly wet proposition without gagging.

“I’m sorry,” he managed thickly. He thought he may have howled something to that effect while Dare apparently poured petrol over his backside and lit a match, but a coherent apology seemed the right way to proceed.

“Thank you, love. Are we very clear on shan’t and sod you attitudes?”

“Yes! Yes, sir.” Severus answered fervently.

“Good. You won’t enjoy a repeat of this discussion, my lad.”

“I…I’ll do my best?” he hazarded. He knew himself too well to make ridiculous promises of best behavior. He’d cultivated a sod you attitude for too many years to hope this had routed it utterly.

Dare snorted and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “That’s all I ask, Severus. Now, what is it about your current workload that I won’t like?”

Severus tried curling deeper into him, but Dare wasn’t having it.

“Severus?” the mild interrogative had Severus’s stomach clenching. “I asked you a question, pet.”

“I…I’ve perhaps been working extremely long hours since I began at Hogwarts?” the answer came haltingly.

“How long?”

Severus closed his eyes and rested his forehead on Dare’s shoulder. May as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb.

“Somewhere in the realm of eighty hours a week? Sometimes more, depending?”

“There are laws—”

“That don’t much matter when you have a student in tears in your office because they just got their designation letter and whatever it is is wrong. Or they’re being pressured to accept a match they find repugnant or they’ve fallen pregnant or they’re simply homesick or ill. Children unfortunately can’t be put aside like a stack of marking. I have responsibilities both teaching and pastoral.” And he’d spent years considering all options. “The headmaster has said he’ll look at staffing this year, but until we reach an appropriate level…I’m stuck. We’re all stuck and students suffer for it.”

Dare sighed. “We’ll look at options together, pet. You’re right that I loathe the idea of you stretched that thin. It’s dangerous to your health, for one. There may be something I can do to help encourage appropriate staffing levels, but until that can happen, we’ll do what we can to keep you from collapse.”

“Yes sir.” He knew that was about as much of a compromise as he could expect.

“And…was it societal attitudes toward brats keeping you awake as well?”

Severus sighed. “I don’t see a way around that. I don’t want to…to lie about myself any longer. I can’t, not if I want to do this properly.”

“And you do?” Dare asked it gently.

“Yes, wet as it makes me sound. I want everything, the full measure of it with you. I can’t be your husband, can’t accept you as Paterfamilias without…everything.” Severus forced himself to answer, feeling his cheeks heating at the admission.

Dare tipped him back so they could look at each other properly. His eyes were so kind, so tender, that Seveus almost couldn’t bear it.

“Then you wear a general sub disc, darling. I can wear a general Dom one as well. We know who we are and how we function together; the true shape of it isn’t anyone’s business. Or we can both wear blanks and Society can go chase itself. Did your disc change when we Bonded?”

He’d thought it an insurmountable obstacle and Dare cleared it so easily. His eyes filled again, humiliatingly, and spilled over his cheeks. “I didn’t notice until earlier tonight. It…the Hogwarts board and work and…”

Dare let him curl in again, holding him tight. “It isn’t their business, either. You are under no obligation to disclose anything so personal, especially if they’re going to be difficult about it. You are allowed to have privacy.”

Severus nodded against his shoulder and yawned hugely. 

“I think we should try to get some sleep, hmm?”

“I don’t want to move,” Severus complained. “And someone decided to torch my arse tonight, which I did not enjoy at all…”

Dare snorted. “For one, bratling, you’ll go where I put you. For another, if you enjoyed it then I’d be concerned about the designation system here.”

Severus heaved a put-up on sigh but let Dare settle them back under the coverlet. He hummed in pleasure when Dare turned them both on one side and spooned behind him, one arm heavy over his waist.

“Sleep, darling, it’ll be better in the morning.”

Severus didn’t see how it could be any better, not when he felt so wonderfully safe cocooned on his husband’s arms

Chapter Text

Breakfast proved to be an interesting affair when one was reluctant to sit for any long period. Interesting in a novel and entirely unnecessary way. There’d been a slight…wobble while dressing when he realized that the bright spark of an elf who packed for their overnight had found the box marked Trousseau that he’d stuffed in the bottom of a wardrobe roughly when he began teaching. He’d never had a use for elaborate undergarments, and especially not for open combinations. In handkerchief linen.

They left very little to the imagination. He felt…wanton wearing such a garment, even under several other layers. He wasn’t entirely certain he required quite so many new experiences all at once. New linen, even handkerchief linen, against a still warm and exceedingly sensitive backside was not an experience he recommended, at all.

And knowing that he didn’t even have the slight protection of buttons, that if he pushed as he’d been Dare could simply bend him over, flip up a few layers, and have a bare target at his immediate disposal…urgh. It had a…a concentrating effect on one, mostly on being on one’s best behavior. He hadn’t felt like that since he was a firstie under Lucius’s eye.

But breakfast managed to be a tolerable meal. Narcissa, heavy-eyed as she always was before eleven o’clock, said very little. Lucius kept up his usual revoltingly hardy patter, which thankfully required little input from anyone else. His eyes slid regularly to the door, clearly waiting for Draco.

Draco. How would he react to this new version of his beloved father? They heard footsteps in the hall, pausing at the morning room door. Yet another change as Lucius refused to eat any family meal in the large dining room. The door opened and,

“Good morning Mother, Father, Uncle Severus, Uncle Darius.” Draco paused and gave a formal bow.

Severus realized that he’d dressed for Lucius’s usual level of required formality. Of course he wouldn’t know anything else; he’d been an infant the last time Lucius was wholly himself. His wardrobe likely didn’t run to casual, in any case.

Lucius goggled at the boy in the doorway.

“Cissa, darling, are we going to meet the Minister and no one told me?”

“Good morning, Draco.” Severus kicked Lucius under the table.

“No dear, you believed that dressing formally at all meals showed respect to one’s House and Family.” She sipped at her tea and stared at the toast rack before shuddering delicately.

“Yes, Father. Mother is perfectly correct. That’s precisely what you always said.”

“I’m amazed no one pushed me into the pond, if that’s the case. I sound like an appalling fathead.”

Draco made a scandalized noise.

“Don’t interrupt your papa whilst he’s insulting himself,” Lucius continued easily. “You should be tidy and appropriately dressed. I’ll bet I never ensured you had play clothes in your wardrobe, did I?”

“I have an exceedingly smart riding habit?” Draco shifted in the doorway, biting his lip.

“Then we’ll remedy that, posthaste.” Lucius rose and went to Draco, mussing his tidy hair.

Draco made another scandalized noise, rather like a stepped-on kitten.

“Come now, Draco, you can’t go riding with me dressed like this. Or in what I fear is a riding habit cut for fashion and not hacking through the park.”

“Riding?” Draco sounded delighted. “But aren’t I in disgrace for behaving like a wart at school?”

“You can be in disgrace later. It isn’t every day a man gets to meet his son again. I’ll have breakfast sent up!” With that, he hoisted Draco under one arm and exited the room.

“We’ll have to see if I have anything that isn’t spangled and embroidered within an inch of its life.” His voice drifted back to them. “I refuse to go about looking like a perambulating haberdasher’s window.”

“Father!” Draco snapped. “I’m creasing terribly!”

“Mmm, and I think something in a nice tweed will do for you.” Lucius carried on as if he hadn’t heard.

“Father! Father, will you…”

Severus wondered when he’d realize.

“Papa! Creases!”

“Oh, are you? I expect the elves will be able to get those out. If you keep wriggling I may drop you on your head.”

Their voices faded out and Narcissa snorted.

“I forgot just how…hearty Lucius is in the morning. I have a feeling they’ll end up at the tailor this afternoon.”

“Isn’t Draco in disgrace?” Severus asked, teasing.

“He can be in disgrace later,” Narcissa looked toward the door with a softness in her eyes.

Severus and Dare shared a look and applied themselves to breakfast.

Shortly before they left, Lucius ran him to ground in the library. His lips quirked into a gentle, teasing smile when he clocked Severus doing his best to stay in Dare’s line of sight. Severus started at Dare clearing his throat from behind a newspaper and scuttled around Lucius, back to where he could be seen.

“It hasn’t even been a week, Severus.”

Severus swallowed hard, feeling his cheeks heat.

“It’s been a…difficult transition for me,” he admitted, ears burning.

“You were squirming like you had itching powder in your drawers at breakfast. I thought you’d prefer Draco elsewhere.”

The consideration…Severus’s breath caught in his chest and he felt his eyes fill, humiliatingly.

“Refusing to answer questions properly went down like an erumpent at a tea party.” His voice sounded thick to his own ears.

Lucius immediately enfolded him in a hug. The familiar comfort of it, and the understanding in it, went deep.

“I imagine your Dare isn’t much for refusing to cooperate?”

“He made his point exceedingly clear.” He knew he sounded a bit sulky, but he didn’t much care. “Refusing to answer is essentially telling him shan’t and he classes that as…”

Really, who could expect him to say what Dare thought of it?

“A tantrum, I’m going to guess?” Lucius sounded gently amused. “You do throw an amazing paddy,  silent or not, when the mood takes you.”

“Well, it can stop taking me,” Severus replied shortly. “And the elf who packed apparently found my Trousseau box, how I’ll never know, and packed the underclothes from it. The linen hasn’t been worn or washed nearly enough.”

“My poor boy, smacked and sentenced to new linen. Your backside must be threatening secession.”

Severus ignored the amusement and held on to the warmth and sympathy from his friend. He’d missed this—the easy teasing and sympathy from Lucius—the warmth of this man. He hadn’t fully realized what a hole had been left in his life until last night.

“Draco is incredibly lucky to have you back.” Severus tried pulling back and moved not one inch.

“Mm, he’s currently complaining to his Mama that Papa is a terrible tyrant who changed his hair and is threatening a trip to the tailor and in addition to all that, Papa has no concept of the utter, vital importance of formal behavior at all times. He was thoroughly scandalized at what I gave him to wear and at the concept of Papa having fun. Or making a joke.”

“He’ll adjust. He’s a bright child.”

“Yes, he is, isn’t he?” Lucius sounded so smug that Severus dug him in the ribs until he crunched, letting him loose.

Tickling, while thoroughly undignified in an adult, remained the only way to level the field with giant bastards like Lucius. And Severus was nothing if not a consummate Slytherin. Dignity be damned, he’d take any advantage he could get.