Albus sighed heavily and laid his hands on his desk, "I am not suggesting that this is James, Severus. I am telling you that it is his son, Harry. There is little other explanation for him to look so much like James, for him to have Lilly’s eyes, and be the same age that Harry would be."

Severus felt his eye twitch and lowered his head into his hands. It couldn’t be, it just couldn’t be. "There has to be some other explanation, Albus. He has no memory of them."

"I’d be suspicious if he did. He wasn’t even a year old when they died, Severus. There are other indicators, dear boy, magical ones."

"What magical indicators? I didn’t sense any magic from the boy. Perhaps this is simply some fluke of genetics and he’s nothing more than an unlucky muggle."

"Severus, I am becoming concerned that this is so hard for you to accept." Severus said nothing. "The collar is a magic prohibitor. According to Harry, he has worn it since he was five. I’ll assume that his magic manifested itself in some way at that time and Voldemort felt the need to take precautions. A wise move. The boy is very powerful, no doubt Voldemort sensed that as well."

There was a long moment of silence and Severus didn’t look up. Shame was something Severus had grown accustom to many years ago, long before he joined the Dark Side. Failure, however, was something else entirely. It may have taken him fifteen years to lead the Order to the Dark Lord’s headquarters, but he had done it.

There weren’t a great many things Severus had failed in his life, but never getting the chance to repay James Potter the life debt he owed him, had always been at the top of that list. To think that he had not only failed the father, but the son as well? There had been so many clues, but he’d overlooked them all, convinced that it was nothing more than gossip between bored minions.

‘Maybe Avery’s pulling your strings.’

It had only been a week after the Potter family deaths, Severus knew Harry’s body had never been found, but it was always assumed that the curse itself had simply obliterated the infant. If Severus had paid more attention, it would have been obvious.

‘Maybe he spilled a potion on him and the result is the color and consistency of mushed carrots. I can name five off hand that would do just that, three of which would by of value to Voldemort.’

For everything everyone had said, he always came up with another reason, because it hadn’t made sense. He’d been so angry with himself for failing James that he hadn’t seen what was right in front of him and that was not something that happened often to Severus. In fact, he’d go so far as to say that he could count the number of times on one hand.

Gripping his hair tighter, he sighed in defeat. The boy was Harry, he had to be, and Severus had failed, yet again. "I should have known. I should have done... something."

Albus stood and moved around the desk, putting a hand on Severus’ shoulder, "My dear boy, Voldemort stopped trusting you the moment he realized the Potters were expecting his attack. Now, I suggest you stop brooding over what you haven’t done and start considering what you can do. There’s a fifteen-year-old boy in your quarters and I dare say he looked... curious when we left him."

*****

Harry, because that was what the old man had called him, was indeed curious. When the other two had left, the tall skinny one who had seemed so upset all of a sudden glaring daggers at Harry, Harry had tried to stay on the sofa. He really had, but without them there, there wasn’t anything interesting to look at.

At first, he had tried looking around without moving. He’d shifted around and surveyed the stone walls and the dark furniture. Two stiff, ancient looking chairs sat facing the sofa, to the right was a large fireplace, to the left was a closed door. Master had been very strict that closed doors were off limits. Turning completely, he looked over the back of the sofa at the large, wooden desk with a wooden chair and the overladen bookcase next to it, overflowing with volumes. There were no windows.

Sitting back down, he stared at the closed doorway the two men had exited through, but it didn’t move. He couldn’t hear footsteps behind it. Shifting around again, he bit his lower lip as he contemplated the desk. There was paper on it and a scale, balanced with something green and leafy on it.

Slowly, Harry stood. He waited for some sign that he’d been caught, but there was no buzzer and no house elf. He took two steps away from the couch and still nothing happened. He was rocking on the balls of his feet. After a moment, when his activity continued to go without notice, a smile spread across Harry’s face.

Removing the cloak from around his shoulders, he threw it over the arm of the sofa, sighing in relief. Master had cloaks hanging around his room and occasionally, Harry had gotten curious enough to try them on, but they were all itchy and heavy and uncomfortable and this one was no different.

With another quick glance around the room, Harry made for the desk. The papers were in various handwritings, some with red marks on them, some without. There was a large bottle of red ink sitting on the edge, and a much smaller bottle of black. Harry sat on the desk chair experimentally. It was too stiff and hard. He leaned against the wooden back, trying to imagine sitting there for hours, but his tail bone was already hurting and it had only been a few minutes.

Getting up, Harry moved to the bookcase, surveying the titles for anything that looked like it might be interesting; or at least had pictures. Technically speaking, Harry wasn’t supposed to be able to read. Master got upset when he caught Harry even looking at the pictures. Not that he’d ever been hurt for it, but he’d had to sit through hour long lectures about the outside world tainting him.

‘Ancient Celtic Rituals of the Northeast Druids.’ Hm, Celtic books had some of the best pictures. Pulling it down, he flipped through it, pleased to see that it was filled with black and white sketches.

Faint footsteps caught his attention and he quickly went back to the sofa, shoving the book under it and sitting down, crossing his legs and positioning himself exactly as he had been before he’d gotten up. The door swung open and Harry caught a brief glance of the painting on the other side. It looked like an old man sitting in a green chair, reading a book. For a second, Harry thought he saw the picture move, but then it closed again and Harry knew he must have imagined it.

Severus stopped short, his hand still on the knob. Harry saw Severus’ eye brows synch together and his upper lip twitch. For a minute, he thought maybe there had been some kind of spell set up to let Severus know that Harry had disobeyed, but then he realized that a spell wouldn’t have been necessary. He’d forgotten about the cloak.

Severus’ hand moved up to pinch his nose before he stepped past the sofa and opened the closed door. Harry craned his neck, trying to see through the opening. The footboard of a large bed was just visible, made with the same thick, dark wood as the desk and chair.

After a moment, Severus returned, holding something white in his hands. "Put this on."

The white something was tossed at him and Harry caught it. It was... a shirt. A long sleeved shirt with dull silver buttons running down the front. Harry tried giving Severus his best ‘please don’t make me’ look, usually reserved for when Voldemort wanted him to eat squash. Severus countered with a raised eyebrow and by crossing his arms over his chest, one foot tapping on the floor.

With a sigh of his own, Harry pulled shirt on, cringing as the harsh fabric scratched against his skin. "Why do I have to wear this?"

Severus sat in one of the chairs across from Harry, resting his elbows on his knees, sizing up the boy across from him. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this. Albus was equipped to deal with this. McGonnagal was equipped to deal with this. Hell, even Hagrid would have been better than him.

"You have to wear clothing, Harry. Wearing nothing is... inappropriate."

"Inappropriate?" Harry licked his lower lip, his hands twisting around each other, "Interrupting Master while he’s talking is inappropriate. Having a temper tantrum in front of Master’s guests is inappropriate. Forgetting my table manners is inappropriate. I know what inappropriate is and it has nothing to do with my clothes. Why is wearing nothing inappropriate?"

"It..." Assuming that his suspicions were correct, Harry had been with Voldemort since infancy. How was he supposed to explain that clothes were a part of society to someone who had never known society? "It just is. Keep that on. It’s too big, but we’ll get you something that fits later."

Harry picked at the sleeve of the shirt. "When..." His voice faltered, but he didn’t need to hear the rest.

"You’ll be staying here from now on."

Severus was surprised when Harry’s gaze lifted to meet his. "Until Master comes to get me."

There was no hostility in his voice, no recrimination. It was a statement of fact, pure and simple. It was the same voice he’d used when he’d proclaimed he was a pet. "Harry, you’ll be staying here with me. You aren’t my pet..."

"Of course, I’m not. I’m Master’s Pet."

That word, Master, made Severus feel cold. "No, Harry, you’re not anyone’s pet. Do you know what Hogwarts is?"

"Yes. Master says that it’s a place full of people that don’t like him. He says it’s dangerous." Harry’s eyes shifted to the hem of the shirt, then back up to meet Severus’ gaze. "That’s where we are, right? You said so when we were outside. You said this was Hogwarts."

Severus had expected perhaps one of two reactions from Harry, the least likely of which was gratitude for having been freed from the clutches of the man who held him as a slave. Having been raised in captivity, Severus thought the odds were more favorable that Harry would be fiercely loyal and demand to be taken back, infuriated by the very idea that he was someplace that opposed his master. What he had not expected was this - complacent acceptance of the situation - and somehow, that infuriated him more than anything else.

"You do realize that I brought you here against his wishes."

Harry scoffed softly and shrugged. "It doesn’t matter. I’m his pet, he takes care of me and he’ll come for me eventually. I don’t mind staying here until he does."

"He doesn’t know you’re here."

"He’ll find me."

"No, he won’t."

"Yes, he will."

"I’m a spy, a traitor to his cause."

"So?"

"I’ll tell him you’re died."

"He won’t believe you."

Severus could feel his temper getting the better of him. "You trust me to take care of you?"

Another shrug. "I don’t have any reason not to."

"I took you away from him. I’m keeping you here against your will, against his."

"You haven’t hurt me. In fact, I think you’re very nice."

"I am not nice."

The boy’s face broke out into a smile. "Yes, you are."

"No, I am not."

"Yes, you are."

"Insufferable brat!"

Harry didn’t flinch at the outburst and Severus stood up. He’d been trying to get a reaction, some kind of anger or upset, but all he’d succeeded in doing was riling himself up.

Severus attempted to stare him down, but Harry didn’t avert his eyes. Finally, Severus felt himself cave. It had been a very long night and as much as he may wish it otherwise, it wasn’t over with yet. Already, Voldemort and Lucius would be speculating about his failure to apparate to Malfoy Manor and eventually, Voldemort would call him and he’d have to answer.

"We’ll finish this discussion later."

"I know he’ll come." The strength of his conviction was in his steady gaze, his refusal to look away from Severus. "Even if it takes years, I know he will. I’m his pet."

There was that word again. Severus closed his eyes, willing himself not to be perturbed by the statement. He couldn’t expect miracles. If this boy had spent fourteen years being told he was a pet, Severus could not think that one hour and a short conversation would convince him otherwise.

For now, though, sleep was a necessity. Severus needed to get as much of it as he could before he was called and, he suspected Harry did as well. As if to confirm this thought, the boy stifled a yawn.

"It’s time for bed."

Harry stood up with youthful agility, unwinding his limbs and stretching so that the bottoms of his leather shorts peaked out from under his oversized shirt. He didn’t say anything as he followed Severus into the room, but once there, the boy stopped, still standing in the doorway. Looking back, Severus saw the wide green eyes looking around, moving too fast to be taking anything in.

Before he could ask, Harry looked back at him, "Where’s my bed?"

Severus gestured to his own king sized monstrosity. "You’ll sleep in mine for tonight, I’ll take the couch."

"But..." Harry’s hands were clenched around the ends of the sleeves again, the left one worrying a lose string.

"But, what?" Severus prompted.

"When Master isn’t there, I sleep in my cage."

Oh, bugger, he’d forgotten about the cage. His mind immediately called up an image of the large object that had sat at the end of Voldemort’s bed, it’s silver bars gleaming in the dim light of the room. It had been just big enough that Harry could have sat straight upright in it and wide enough that he could have stretched out his legs. Severus’ imagination put an image of Harry there, sitting cross legged as he had on the couch, his back straight.

Shaking the image from his head, Severus pulled back the quilt and pointed firmly at the bed. "Get in bed."

To his relief, Harry did. Without another word, the boy pulled himself onto the bed and laid down, tucking his legs under the bedding. Harry watched closely as Severus sorted the quilt out on top of him and left the room, pausing to glance back before turning the lights off and leaving the door cracked open.

If there was one thing Harry was good at, it was waiting. He’d been doing it for as long as he could remember, so it wasn’t very hard at all to lay snuggled into the bed, listening to the sounds of Severus moving around in the other room. The wooden chair scratched against the stone as it was moved, then footsteps clumped across the floor, before he heard Severus sit down on the couch.

Harry looked at the clock in the corner and watched the minutes tick by. At first, Severus mumbled to himself and seemed restless, shifting against the fabric and sighing deeply. Then the room went quiet.

Just to be sure, Harry waited an extra five minutes before sitting up. Just like with the sofa, nothing happened. He swung his feet over the edge of the bed and pushed himself off, landing on the floor with a soft thud of his bare feet against the thin rug. Creeping forward, Harry peeked through the open door.

Severus was laying on the couch. His cloak had been removed and left on the desk chair, but his shoes and the rest of his clothes were still on. Harry thought about it for a moment, he considered going back to the bed, but he’d never slept on something so large alone. Usually, if Master wasn’t there, he spent the night in his cage, comforted by the close walls and security it provided.

Finally, Harry made up his mind and slipped through the door, tiptoeing across the floor until he was next to the couch. A large rug was laid out on the floor between the couch and chairs and Harry sat down it, looking up at the sleeping figure of the man that had taken him from his Master’s room.

He was a Death Eater, but he also said he was a spy. Harry knew what spy meant, he’d heard Master ranting about them. They were bad, they threw kinks in Master’s plans and their mere presence among his ranks aggravated Master to the point that he sometimes stayed up all night. Only, Severus didn’t seem like a bad man. Of course, Harry hadn’t met a great deal of people, but he imagined that someone who was bad would have hurt him by now. He remembered the way Voldemort had said the name Albus Dumbledore, his voice dripping in disdain and loathing. The other man, the one with the great white beard, had been Dumbledore, Harry knew that, what he didn’t know, was why Master would hate him so much, because he hadn’t seemed all that bad, either.

Maybe they would be. Maybe if he just waited, they’d do something and he’d see that Master had been right about them.

With a large yawn, Harry shucked the shirt, folding it up under his head and laid out on the floor, eyes closed.

Maybe.

*****

The familiar burning sensation coursing up his arm woke Severus from a strange dream involving a Sagittarius, Professor Flitwick, and a stool. For a minute, Severus laid on the couch, willing himself to forget it, but he never could forget the ones he wanted to.

A few deep, seething breathes and the pain subsided to a dull throb. Sitting up, he swung his feet around... and put them on top of a warm body lying next on the floor next to him. What the bloody hell? He looked down and found himself staring at Harry, the shirt Severus had told him to wear, removed and bunched in a poor excuse for a pillow.

Harry’s eyes opened groggily and Severus had to nearly bite his tongue to keep from reacting to those vivid green eyes, glassed over with sleep. For a second, Harry stared up at him, confused, then he seemed to nod to himself, remembering where he was.

Belatedly, Severus remembered to move his feet. As he did so, Harry sat up fully and stretched again, a frown across his face. "He’s calling."

Severus’ heart skipped a beat and he grabbed the boy’s arm, turning it up to look at the underside near the elbow, where he half expected to see the dark mark burned into the ivory skin. He’d thought he would have noticed it by now, it should have been obvious, and he wasn’t sure what difference the boy being marked would make, if any, but the thought of it made him feel vaguely sick.

Relief washed over him as he saw nothing but bare skin. "You’re not marked." Leaving the question ‘how did you know he was calling’ unasked, because he half feared it was something he had done that had tipped the boy off.

"Of course not. I would never have something that garish." Harry pulled the buckle on the left wrist cuff, exposing the inside, and a strange glittering, green and silver serpent tattoo coiled around his wrist like a bracelet. "It does much the same as yours. He can use it to call you, or if he uses someone else’s, I’ll feel it, but it doesn’t hurt, just tingles funny, and I’m not suppose to go when it does."

The mark on Severus’ arm burned again and he let go of Harry’s elbow before he inadvertently tightened his grip. "Stay here, don’t go anywhere."