When Severus Snape had become a social worker in his early twenties, he'd made up his mind that he was going to help people as best he could, for though he'd not been helped as a child, he strove to do better for the future generations. He had been doing social work for a good seventeen years and he had a good position within the network he worked in, but he resented the fact that his co-workers seemed to want him to date, or, perhaps, just get out more, and not be sworn in marriage to his work. In Severus's mind, it wasn't as if he wasn't fulfilled in other ways; he had his family's fortune to consider but, due to his frugal ways, he'd barely had to dip into it since he'd gotten it at twenty-five, as well as the frequenting of bookshops he did on the weekends and such. With his parents and grandparents dead and having no siblings to speak of, Severus was alone, and he liked it that way.

Albus Dumbledore had been the overseer of the network Severus was based in since before he had even joined it, and although Severus didn't necessarily count Albus as a close friend, he did trust the man. Severus was on the second tier within the network, having achieved the title of "senior social worker" within a few months of his hiring, due to the shortage within the network during that period. There were three other senior social workers on staff—Minerva McGonagall, a no-nonsense widow who was tough but fair; Filius Flitwick, a short little man who took on notoriously difficult cases, and often taught children to laugh at themselves; and, finally, Pomona Sprout, who decorated her office as if it was a botanical garden, and frequently applied plants to her analogies when explaining things to the children she was in charge of.

So suffice it to say when Severus arrived at the office of Magical Kinship on Monday morning, nursing his first of two morning cups of coffee, he stepped into the lift as per usual, drinking it, and pulled out his pager, knowing that he was slightly late. He was behind that morning not only because there was a particularly effervescent gaggle of schoolgirls in front of him at the local coffee stop, but also because he'd stayed up an extra forty-five minutes to read the latest chapter in The Wicked Count and the Secret Masquerade, the fifth in a series of romance novels which Severus had picked up and couldn't put down, about the sexual exploits of a homosexual count in pre-Revolution England. In the last three books, he'd caught the attention of an older marquis, and there was just no way to guess what would ultimately happen next.

Just as the doors were about to shut, with Severus quickly snapping out of the fantasy of the marquis bending the count over the desk of his own study, one of the newer recruits barged in, and flashed Severus his smile. The smile in question, according to the newcomer, had gotten him lots of points during uni. Severus bestowed upon him his typical grimace, and mentally crossed his fingers that the man wouldn't speak, for the only thing he had to ever say was words of praise about himself, as well as personal questions about those around him.

His prayers went unanswered.

"Severus!" Gilderoy said, all the while continuing to beam at him. "How are you this morning? I trust your weekend went well."

"Quite," Severus replied, his tone clipped, hoping that Lockhart would get with the program and belt up. He was so close to smacking his head upon the side of the lift; almost none were more intolerable than Gilderoy, although Dolores Umbridge, whom he was convinced was a sadist, was easily ahead of him.

"I dozed off a bit early, myself," Lockhart went on, and Severus gritted his teeth, hating it when the man constantly nattered on. "You probably have a bigger case-load than I do. Don't know why that is," he continued, "given all the self-help books I've written."

Severus managed to win the battle of rolling his eyes; even Albus knew that Lockhart's supposed self-help books were fakes. The words and methods themselves were real, but the notion that someone as inept as Lockhart taking credit for them was downright laughable. "Tell me again which was your first one," Severus muttered.

"Tantrums with Teenagers, a bestseller!" Lockhart said, that smile of his making Severus want to smack him. "Then came Anger in Adolescents, Joys of Juvenescence, Innovators in Infancy, Yoo-Hoo to Youth—"

"Thank you," Severus said, knowing that he couldn't take much more of the man patting himself on the back. "That'll be enough."

He felt relieved when the doors of the lift dinged open, and he made his way down the corridor towards his office, relieved that Lockhart would be regulated to a cubicle with the other beginners, among them Nymphadora Tonks, Bill Weasley, and Fleur Delacour. Others in the department involved the marketing executives, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody; the analysts, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin; the therapists, Rita Skeeter, Rubeus Hagrid, and Narcissa Malfoy; the medical nurse, Poppy Pomfrey; and then there was Albus's secretary, Penelope Clearwater, who would frequently flit back and forth between the four senior social workers, just to make sure things were going well.

Stepping into his corner office, Severus shut the door behind him, hanging up his black overcoat and making his way over to his desk. He set down his messenger bag and pulled out some of the documents on his case work, relieved that he had managed to find a home for Colin and Dennis Creevey, after their parents died in a fire in their small council estate home last winter. It appeared as if the family, Felicity and Trevor Johnson, were going to go ahead with the adoption, which was a life-saver, as Colin was sixteen and Dennis fourteen, and teenagers—especially boys—were the most difficult to place.

Sitting down at his desk, Severus pulled his coffee back towards him and sipped it, while continuing to gaze at the documents before him. One of his success stories was Hermione Granger, who, due to some odd behavior perceived by her biological parents, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, who had had a son, Dudley, who was Hermione's twin, the Dursleys had put up their daughter for adoption at the age of five. Poor Hermione had bounced around from home to home for five years, until a kind couple, Milton and Christina Granger, a pair of well-off dentists, had fostered her when she was eleven. The adoption was finalized six months later, and Hermione finally had a lovely home; she was nearly eighteen now, and had already been accepted into the University of Oxford, and sent Severus a letter once a month with updates on her personal life and such. At one such fundraiser Hermione had attended at the fostering agency office, she had met Bill Weasley's youngest brother, Ron, and the pair had hit it off, cementing a committed relationship shortly thereafter.

The call upon his desk phone did not surprise him, and Severus promptly picked it up. "Yes, Miss Clearwater?" he inquired into the receiver.

"Sorry to be a bother, Mr. Snape," came Penelope's reply. "Mr. Dumbledore has requested to see you in his office."

"When, Miss Clearwater?"

"As quickly as possible, Mr. Snape," came the girl's voice. "It's about a young man. A new case, as it were, and he believes you to be the best fit for him."

"Of course," Severus replied. "Please tell him that I am on my way."

"Right away, sir," Penelope said, before hanging up.

Severus got to his feet and straightened his typical black, nondescript uniform, before he made his way out of the office and down the corridor in the opposite direction. He went down the east wing, where, situated at the end of the hallway, was the door which led to the antechamber connected to Albus's office. Ignoring the gaudy-looking gargoyle that Albus kept outside of it, he made his way inside, nodding to Penelope, who gave him a small smile, and went towards the inner office door, tapping on it.

"Come in, Severus," called Albus.

Severus stepped inside as Albus got to his feet. "You wanted to see me, Albus?" he asked, and shut the door behind him at Albus's gesture.

"I did, yes, Severus. Please, sit down," he said, gesturing to the free chair beside the occupied one, and Severus moved to do so. "Severus, allow me to introduce Harry Potter," he said, and Severus turned to regard the young man next to him.

Severus had to grit his teeth to prevent his jaw from dropping, due to the utter perfection of the face that looked back at him. It appeared to be a Greek statue, at first glance, but, after permitting his eyes to sweep over the face once more, it was clearly a Raphael, with his unruly raven hair and shining green eyes, plus a cherry-red mouth, strong jaw, and muscles which were clearly rippling from beneath the hoodie, Severus swallowed, and inclined his head. "A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Potter," he replied.

"Harry," came the reply, and Severus detected an East London accent. "I keep expecting to see my father whenever people say that." He hesitated for a moment, and when Severus's mouth came open again, he replied, "Mum died when I was born, and Dad drank himself into a drunken stupor day in and day out, to the point where he walked out in front of a double decker bus. I was ten," he informed the man.

"Harry had no relatives, as his mother was in the care system herself, and James's parents died in a rather tragic boating accident soon after he and Lily were married," Albus explained to Severus as Harry tucked himself deeper into his chair. "Lily and James married at eighteen, and had Harry when they were twenty-one."

"How did your mother...?"

"They couldn't stop the bleeding after the birth." Harry, arms crossed, his voice hardly bearing any emotion, although his eyes seem to be filled with sadness for the woman whom he had never met. "Dad hung on for a while, but the drinking..." He shrugged.

"Harry was first taken into care at the age of five, when his teacher at reception noticed that he was a bit too thin," Albus said gently.

"I was stealing lunches from the other kids," Harry informed Severus, and he didn't seem to think it was a particularly bad thing, one way or the other. "Dad held down a job at the factory for as long as he could, but was frequently laid off. We had a friend of his staying with us—Peter Pettigrew..."

Severus noted the bitterness in Harry's voice, and Severus shifted slightly in his sea, wondering why that name sounded so familiar. "He's familiar to us, isn't he, Albus?" Severus asked, his eyes shifting from Harry over to the overseer.

Albus nodded, his blue eyes, which usually sparkled over those half-moon spectacles he insisted upon wearing, looking grave as he tugged at his snow-white beard; he was always Santa during the holiday parties when very young perspective foster children were paraded around, in the hopes that they would be adopted. "I'm afraid so, Severus," he replied, giving a cursory glance over at Harry before turning back towards the social worker. "Pettigrew the Pedophile, they call him at Manchester..." does Peter have more victims? Is that how they know of him?

Severus looked over at Harry, who was tracing the already-made scratches in the arms of the chair he sat in with the pad of his finger. "Perhaps this conversation would be best-suited elsewhere," he said, looking at Albus for permission.

"A splendid idea, Severus," Albus said, getting to his feet. "Harry, my boy, just follow Severus, then, as he'll be your social worker."

"Haven't had one of those before," Harry muttered, his tone filled with sarcasm as he made a grab for a black overnight bag which had clearly seen better days, and got to his feet, immediately moving to follow Severus out of the office and past Penelope's desk.

Severus remained silent as they walked down the hallway and towards his own office, knowing that he and Harry would definitely get off on the wrong foot if he sought to correct him about his words to Albus when they'd left his office. When they arrived at Severus's office, Severus ushered Harry in and nodded to the chair he could occupy, before walking towards the little kitchenette his office boasted and turned, looking over his shoulder at the young man. "Would you like something to drink? I've got sodas, water, juice... Whatever you like, really."

Harry swallowed. "Hot chocolate?" he asked.

Severus nodded, turning away to hide his smile. "Of course," he replied, filling the coffee pot with water and putting it on to boil. He helped himself to a second cup of coffee and poured the hot water into two different mugs, stirring in some instant coffee to one and the cocoa mix into the other, the little marshmallows in the latter immediately floating to the top. Turning, he brought the mugs over, setting them down upon coasters on his desk and gave Harry a tight smile. "Careful. It's hot."

"Thanks," Harry replied, watching the steam for a moment before looking up at Severus. "So, I guess you want to get this shit over with, then?"

Severus blinked. "Pardon?"

Harry grimaced, leaning back in the chair. "I mean, it's all the same with social workers, no offense," he said quietly. "They want us to come in here as soon as we're dumped, tell them our sob stories about why we're here and all that nonsense, and then go over the available placements within the networks and such to find a match that's suitable. Unless, of course, if they're damaged goods, like me," Harry went on with a bitter smile, "or come from the ghetto, also like me, or are too old, me again, or a guy, or a gay guy—"

"Harry," said Severus softly, causing the tirade to stop, and he leaned forward, bracing his palms upon his desk. "I'm on your side, all right?"

Harry sighed. "That's what they all say..."

Severus nodded, allowing that. "I'm sure a great many of them have. It's a tactic to get the child or young adult to understand that they're not alone," he explained.

Harry blinked. "Were you in care, too?"

Severus shook his head. "No, I wasn't, but I should've been. My mother was too weak to stand up to my father when he'd come home, drunk, and beat us for the littlest things. It was not a pretty existence, and I've got many scars from the experience—both physical and emotional—but because of that experience of a dark childhood, I was able to overcome my fears of being antisocial and turned it into helping people."

"So, you help people, kids, because you weren't helped?"

Severus nodded. "Something like that, yes. Previous generations believed that airing your dirty laundry, so to speak, was a shameful practice and, therefore, shouldn't be done. As a result, many children were kept in environments inappropriate for their wellbeing and, as such, grew up in a bad way."

"I guess I can understand that," Harry said, his tone soft, all defensiveness gone.

Severus smiled tightly once again, before digging into his desk for a notepad and a pen, knowing that it would likely be a good opportunity to get the full story from Harry in regards to what had happened with Pettigrew sooner rather than later. "Why don't you tell me about the events that led you to returning to your father's residence," he said. "I believe you mentioned that Pettigrew lived with you?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah. Dad and Pettigrew got a flat together when they were working at the knitwear factory," he said quietly. "Since they had enough room at the flat, and were making good money, the evaluator decided that it was safe for me to come back, so I did. I'd been in care for about two years at that point, so I was about three months away from my eighth birthday. All I had to do, according to the social workers and the courts, was go to school, keep up with my assignments, and not steal other kids' lunches..."

"And, I take it, it fell apart?"

Harry swallowed, reaching out and taking ahold of the hot chocolate, which still steamed ever so slightly, but seemed to be a good temperature for him, for he drank a little. "Yeah. It all went wrong that summer," he remarked, swirling the brown liquid in his mug.

"What led up to it?"

"Dad and Pettigrew would go out every night after work to drink," Harry replied. "They taught me how to make simple meals—T.V. dinners or ramen, things like that—because they didn't want to get into trouble with the courts for not feeding me..."

"So, you were left alone, at night, at eight-years-old?"

Harry nipped at his lower lip, his green eyes radiating the pain he must've felt, due to the neglect of his own father, due to his addiction to the bottle. "Yeah. Wasn't too bad. We had a T.V., and plenty of books. And I had quiet to do my homework. Most of the building was filled with families anyhow..."

"Did anyone look in on you?"

Harry shook his head. "No. They all preferred to mind their own business."

That caused a bad taste to enter Severus's mouth, but he forced himself to ignore it. "Did your father ever hit you?"

"Sure, when he didn't have enough quid for the pub, or came home too drunk to see straight," he replied, sounding numb to it, likely due to the frequent occurrences of it. "He'd backhand me and I'd go flying..."

"And Pettigrew?"

"Wouldn't do it in front of Dad—despite everything, he was scared of Dad," Harry told him, hunching his shoulders slightly then.

"What would he do?"

"Wait until Dad was passed out drunk before he'd do it," Harry whispered. "He'd, y'know, touch me and stuff like that." Harry leaned back in his chair, gripping onto the mug and attempting to focus on the rug beneath his chair.

"Did he rape you?"

Harry scoffed. "'Course he did. He likes little kids, Pettigrew does."

"How old were you the first time?"

"Almost nine," Harry told Severus. "He told me he loved me, and that's what made it okay, but that other people wouldn't understand our feelings, so we had to keep quiet."

Severus felt sick, but nevertheless documented Harry's words to pass onto Albus. "That's a frequent tactic with abusers," Severus told him, his tone gentle.

Harry scoffed. "Yeah, I know..."

"Harry, you know that it's not your fault, don't you?"

Green eyes flashed to his, unbridled rage seeming to bubble just beneath the surface. "Are you implying that I fucking asked for it?!" he demanded.

Severus shook his head then, remembering his training, and knowing that he would have to remain calm at all costs. "Absolutely not, Harry." He sighed. "Abuse comes in all shapes and sizes, but no accounts should ever be made out to be worse than other forms. While I myself was never raped by my father, I can tell you that he beat me black and blue dozens of times, and not just with his fists or his belt. His favorite was a fireplace poker," Severus said bitterly, and recalled it being shoved—

"Yeah, well, I finally coughed up the information to a copper on the corner, and Pettigrew got twenty in the bin," he muttered, crossing his arms. "Still writes to me, you know..."

Severus blinked. "Does he?"

"Yeah. He's not supposed to or anything, but, you know..."

"Do you have his letters?"

Harry reached downwards and opened his backpack, grabbing ahold of something and dumping it onto Severus's desk, different colored envelopes and spindly handwriting greeting the social worker's eyes. "Every single one," he said, shrugging.

Severus's eyes widened then but he forced himself to remain calm. "What does he...?"

"He says that my arse won't be the same, because I'm too old," Harry said, coloring at the words, which were likely direct quotes, just as he finished his hot chocolate. "Says he liked my arse when it was small, and like a virgin, back when he didn't do it as much..."

"How do you feel about him?"

"Pettigrew?!" Harry spat, narrowing his eyes, his hands gripping the arms of the chair. "No! I fucking hate him! That son of a bitch destroyed my childhood! He got Dad hooked on the bottle, didn't pay a scrap of rent for the flat, and he fucked me behind Dad's back! How can you ask me how I felt about him?!" he whispered, his voice shaking with emotion. "Of course I hated him. I mean, he was a coward, and as cowardly as they come. He was like a fucking rat... I don't know why I eventually just lay back and took it, but, maybe I do. Maybe I was so desperate for love that I just didn't know the goddamn difference anymore..."

"Harry..."

"Why couldn't my dad have loved me?" he asked, his voice trembling. "All I wanted was for him to love me, and he couldn't... You know what he said to me, that night?" he queried, and looked up at Severus.

"What night?"

Harry swallowed. "Dad didn't die immediately following the double-decker hitting him. He was in hospital for about a week before his organs failed, and the doctors said it was mainly due to the rotting of his kidneys and liver that did him in... I went to see him," he went on. "He told me why, why he couldn't love me, or even look at me..."

"What did he say?"

"Said it was because of my eyes," Harry replied bitterly. "I looked just like Dad, but his eyes were brown, not green. Mum's eyes were green..."

"Harry, he was the adult," Severus told him gently. "He shouldn't have..."

"I may not have good authority on parents here, Snape, but I sure as hell know what's considered appropriate behavior," he shot out. Rolling his eyes, he looked up at the ceiling, exasperated. "I suppose now you're going to call yet another group home for me..."

"What?"

"A group home, where all the undesirables with several strikes to their files go," he muttered. "I suppose one could say I'm a lost cause, what with my background and shit..."

"Harry, you're hardly..."

"Don't feel sorry for me," Harry said, cutting across him as he looked up. "That'll just make me feel worse about the entire thing, y'know? I can't stand people who feel sorry for me. I stopped feeling sorry for myself a long time ago, and I'd prefer not to enter that frame of mind again, if it's all the same to you."

"All right," Severus said, lifting his hand and silencing Harry, and lifted his coffee to his lips; the instant stuff never did it for him like the coffeeshop down the road, but it was better than no discernable caffeine until lunchtime. He knew that many other social workers would likely send Harry to a group home before even looking at his file, just to be done with it, but Severus knew better than that. He'd been doing this for such a long time, and he knew defensive mode when he saw it, and it was enough now. "Can you wait here a moment?"

Harry shrugged. "I've got nowhere to be," he replied.

"Good," Severus said, getting to his feet and moving to leave the office. "Um... Don't touch anything," he said, and he hoped that Harry would listen to him as he left the office and moved down another hallway.

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin had been a couple since they were at Eton together as teenagers, and they'd wanted a family ever since they'd joined the fostering agency. Although Magical Kinship permitted same-sex couple fostering and adoptions, it was difficult to do, as they were not sanctioned under the law. While Sirius and Remus had fostered plenty over the years, they had yet to find the right person to join their family. Now, however, Severus believed that he had found just the right person to make it complete.

He knocked at the door of their shared office and, once he was granted entrance, quickly moved inside the place. "I've found him."

Sirius lifted his black head from the computer he was on, while Remus looked up from the newspaper he'd been reading. "Found who, Severus?"

"Your son, if all goes well," Severus told them, smiling.

"What on earth are you talking about?" Remus asked, getting to his feet.

"His name is Harry," Severus told them. "He's seventeen; parents both dead. Mother died when he was born, father when he was ten. He's been in care ever since, and while he would do well to sit down and talk with a counselor, I think what he needs are two loving parents who know just what he's going through."

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "He's gay, then?"

"Let's just say that you have more in common with young Harry than you might think," Severus told him, knowing that he couldn't reveal too much. "Why don't you come and meet young Harry, and we can see if it's a good match?"

Remus sighed but nevertheless took Sirius's hand. "Let's go, then."

Severus swept out of the office and moved down the corridor again, and returned to his office, quickly spotting Harry fiddling with the zipper upon his backpack. "Harry?"

Harry turned, looking up with those captivating green eyes of his and gazed at Severus for a moment, before looking at Sirius and Remus. "Hi," he said softly.

"Hello, Harry," Sirius said, stepping forward. "I'm Sirius, and this is Remus."

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Remus put in.

Harry nodded. "Nice to meet you both." He looked back up at Severus. "Just... Tell me one thing here, Snape. They're not cops, are we?"

"We're in marketing," Sirius said firmly.

"Although some people call us robbers," Remus joked.

Harry smiled. "So, why're you here, then?"

Severus smiled at Harry then and looked between them before speaking again. "I didn't think that a group home would be the best fit."

"I'm sorry?" Harry asked.

"We're going to apply to be your foster carers, Harry," Sirius told him.

"If that's all right with you," Remus said quickly.

Harry looked shocked for a moment but looked resolved to it. "Well, anything can beat that hell hole I just left," he admitted, and Sirius and Remus turned to look over at Severus, who shrugged, knowing that Harry's story likely had many layers to it, and he'd more than likely just scratched the surface. This was truly the beginning.