Child's Play by libertineangel
Past Featured StorySummary: When Draco accidently uses a black curse on Harry and turns him into a baby, Dumbledore appoints Snape as his carer. Follow Harry's slow, strange journey back to fifteen - accompanied by Snape ...
Categories: Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Draco, Dumbledore, Hermione, Lucius, McGonagall, Arthur, Molly, Remus, Ron, Sirius, Tonks, Voldemort
Snape Flavour: None
Genres: Angst, Drama, General, Hurt/Comfort
Media Type: None
Tags: Baby fic, Child fic, Deaging
Takes Place: 6th summer
Warnings: Alcohol Use
Challenges: None
Series: None
Chapters: 29 Completed: No Word count: 98036 Read: 169340 Published: 08 Aug 2006 Updated: 02 Sep 2008
An Unwilling Baby-Sitter by libertineangel

Draco was sprawled on his bed waiting for the bell for first lesson. He absentmindedly picked at silver threads from the rattlesnake that decorated his bottle-green eiderdown. All the prefects had embroidered rattlesnakes – it was considered a privilege over the bed-covers of ‘inferior’ students. In fact there was a different snake for each different point on the Slytherin hierarchy; grass snakes for first years, adders for second years and so on and so on until you got to cobras for students in their final year. It was one of the many complex rituals that governed a Slytherin’s life at Hogwarts.

Draco sighed loudly. He was supposed to be in the Great Hall eating breakfast but he hadn’t been able to work up an appetite. He cast his eyes to the silver perch fixed to the stone wall at one side of his bed. His father’s Eagle Owl, Midas, was watching him with his haughty amber eyes. The bird’s feathers were puffed out regally and his gleaming golden beak was thrust up in the air as though he considered himself above such an environment - or Perhaps, thought Draco wryly, he knew the content of the owl he had delivered to Draco’s dormitory at dawn that morning.

Draco spun over and picked up the thick leaf of parchment that bore his father’s looped hand. He read it over for the third time.

Draco

I will be attending the Slytherin match against Gryffindor. I have business in Hogsmeade around the same time and will therefore be able to make such a detour.

I hope for your sake, as well as that of your fellow Slytherins, that the pathetic performance I witnessed from you in your second year will not be repeated. I will not be the only official from the ministry present at the match and if you can be certain that if you disgrace me then you will face my displeasure.

Be sure you heed this warning Draco; after your behaviour over summer you are flying on very thin air.

Sincerely,

Lucius Malfoy

Panic welled up from deep within Draco’s stomach as he re-read his father’s ‘oh-so-pleasant’ message. Father never wrote to him so Draco knew he must mean business.

The trouble was of course that Snape had banned him from even playing in the match. He pictured his father’s face reading an imaginary response –

Dear father,

I’m afraid I will have to let you down once again. You see I broke into your office over summer and copied down this curse and used it on the boy-who-lived – you remember, the boy you told me to stay away from this year - then got myself banned from the most important Slytherin match for decades, hope you’re not too disappointed.

Your Son,

Draco Malfoy’

It was laughable – his father would explode into a million, equally furious, pieces. Draco flung the parchment at the wall in frustration earning himself a reproachful look from Midas who had carried it from their Wiltshire home. He groaned loudly. He might as well tell Lucius that he was in love with Hermione Granger, or that he was switching houses to join Gryffindor because he preferred red and gold to green. Whichever he you looked at it he was in very serious trouble.

Draco had been on the receiving end of his father’s temper more times than he would care to remember and it certainly wasn’t pleasant. Lucius seemed to take everything Draco might mess up as a personal insult towards himself and was constantly telling Draco how short he fell of his expectations and those of the precious Malfoy name. It wasn’t like Draco didn’t try to please his father - in actual fact he was desperate to prove himself capable of ‘following in his footsteps’ – it was just that as a fifteen-year-old wizard with limited magical ability, at least in some areas, and skills at Quidditch far inferior to his Lucius’s (who had been star beater for Slytherin in his own time at Hogwarts) it was difficult.

Lucius seemed to have the stomach of a ten-foot Cyclops. He feared nothing (except perhaps the Dark Lord) and Draco knew that he had a very colourful past of in conjuring of the dark arts and destruction of muggles. Draco, on the other hand, despite maintaining a façade of bravado that his fellow Slytherins believed in because of his father’s reputation, knew he was nowhere near as courageous or as ruthless as Lucius. He wasn’t a coward, but he didn’t take pleasure from the things that he knew most death eaters did - the death of Cedric Diggory, for example, who he had supported throughout the Triwizard Tournament, had shaken him.

Then there was what had happened over summer.

“ - Draco …?”

An extremely short, fat, fourth year named Eric Argoyle burst into the dormitory to interrupt Draco’s musings. His bulbous nose and puffy cheeks were red, as though he had run the entire length of the dungeons, and he was panting slightly.

“What?’ snapped Draco scowling. “This had better be good Argoyle – you know you’re not allowed in the fifth-year dormitory.”

“S-sorry Draco,” Argoyle spluttered, his bulky chest heaving and sweat beads dripping into his eyes, “but I have a message for you from Professor Snape.”

That was just what he needed. Draco had been hoping Snape would forget about the small matter of babysitting the-pain-who-lived.

“Well, what does Snape want?”

Argoyle hesitated slightly. He was not used to hearing any of the Slytherins spit out their housemasters name so disrespectfully. Still, it was not up to him to question Draco Malfoy.

“Er – he said he wants you to come down to his quarters at lunch time – he said you’d know what it was for.”

Draoc grimaced. “Fine,” he said, “you’ve delivered your message, now get out.”

As Argoyle fled the room, grateful to have escaped the notorious Draco unscathed, Draco pounded his pillow with a balled fist.

This term at Hogwarts was shaping up to be one of the worst that he had ever had.


Harry was sucking his thumb thoughtfully watching the goldy-haired pale boy that Snape had left him with. He had had quite an eventful morning so far.

 

First, there had been the incident at breakfast. Snape, for some reason Harry couldn’t explain, had expected him to eat weird mashed up bits of stuff that looked like little twigs. He had dumped a bowlful in front of Harry in his high chair in a little red dish, provided Harry with a little plastic spoon, and instructing him to ‘get on with it’. At first Harry hadn’t realised that it was even food. He thought that Snape wanted to play. He had tipped the lot onto the little table and started using his spoon as a pretend shovel to dig a hole, pretending to Snape that he was a one of the dwarves (hap – yee?) that he remembered seeing in a story-book, and that Snape was the pretty snowy girl (which had been difficult until Harry had squinted at him with crossed eyes).

Hi – Ho, Hi – Ho …’

Potter! ‘

No, Snape hadn’t been too keen on that game at all – unless Harry thought suddenly, he had been playing one of the other dwarves – gumpy maybe?

After that, Snape had taken over and fed Harry the twigs himself. Harry had tried to protest that he was a big boy and that he didn’t need anyone to feed him, but it had fallen on deaf ears, as had the pouting and banging on the table. Harry had then tried spitting the nasty food back out onto Snape’s hand, but that most certainly hadn’t gone down very well and, after cleaning himself up, Snape had shouted a bit and tapped the back of Harry’s hand with the spoon making him yelp. It hadn’t hurt but it made Harry feel like a very bad boy and so, finally, Harry had allowed Snape to feed him the stuff. Once Harry had tasted it properly it had actually been quite nice.

Next Pomfy had returned. She had told a sulky Harry that Snape had had to go to scoool. She was even less fun than Snape. She had prodded him with the springy thing (she had been very excited with that), and lots of other objects and then changed his nappy, given him a bath and put him down for a nap, all with no nonsense. Harry had sulked and sulked in his cot, telling Pomfy in no uncertain terms that he most definitely would not be having a nap – but then she had brought out the bottle and ten minutes later he had been fast asleep, Cheep-Cheep nestled under his arm. It wasn’t fair! The bottle tasted so nice and soothing that Harry couldn’t resist it, but he knew now that it was also a secret weapon for the big people.

And then he had made the pale boy, Dayco, mad.

‘Stop looking like that at me Potter,’ Draco said. He had been baby-sitting Potter for only ten minutes, but already he knew that he must be some sort of demon from the underworld sent to drive him insane.

Draco had only turned his back for a minute when he had heard the contents of his school-bag emptying with a crash. When he had turned round he had found his freshly-pickled potions ingredients that he needed for that afternoon strewn, ruined, across the floor - a grinning Potter in the middle of them looking as though all his Christmas’s had come at once.

Draco had been livid, not least because he was hoping to catch Snape in a good mood to ask him to reconsider his punishment, not anger him more by being unprepared for that afternoon’s lesson.

So now Draco had put Harry in his playpen which he had very satisfactorily high bars. Whoever had invented playpens, Draco thought, was a genius.

Harry, however, was unimpressed. He pulled his puckered thumb out of his mouth and wiped it on his bumblebee playsuit that Mwolly had brought for him.

"Na – ba – dee – da – doo!" Let me out, he said frowning. The stupid Dayco boy had put him in prison and not even given him anything to play with. Harry was hoping it had only been a temporary measure but it had been at least a hundred minutes now and he was getting restless.

“You brought it on yourself, Potter,” Draco said dismissively, “so you can stay in there and rot as far as I’m concerned!” He thought it quite amusing that he had enclosed Harry in his own mini-prison.

“NA – BA – DEE – DA – DOO!” shouted Harry angrily.

Draco winced. Trust Potter to be able to make more noise as a baby than as a teenager. “Scream all you want,” he said, “you’re not getting out.”

Draco fingered the wand in his pocket. He wished that Snape hadn’t forbidden him, on pain of death, to cast any magic on Potter; a silencing spell was just what he needed.

Harry, sensing that reasoning with the pale-boy was not getting him anywhere, felt himself get more and more frustrated. This grown-up wasn’t smiley at all. He didn’t pick Harry up or feed him like the batman. All he was doing was sitting at the table reading a skinny book full of moving pictures. Harry wanted to be out! He had found that his toddling skills had greatly improved since yesterday and he wanted to toddle over to the bag he had found before and explore it again. More to the point, Harry thought, if he could just get out of the stupid wooden bars he might be able to go and find Snape. He wasn’t sure he liked not seeing him for such a long time.

Feeling sorrier and sorrier for himself, and getting more and more angry, Harry felt his face begin to crumple. A few moments later he opened his mouth and started to scream as loudly as he could, hot tears running down his flushed cheeks.

Waah.’

Five minutes later and Draco (in direct violation of Madame Pomfrey’s instructions) was pretending to ignore Potter. He hoped that if he didn’t show any reaction to the screaming eventually it might just stop. Unfortunately Harry seemed to have other ideas. For every second that went by he increased the volume until the screaming, wailing, howling, beating fists and kicking legs were such that no normal person would be able to ignore it. Sighing Draco knelt down next to Potter’s playpen.

“Can’t you just shut it Potter and go to sleep – behave like a normal baby or something?” he said, peering in at the defiant looking Harry. “I can’t believe that Snape puts up with that racket. In fact,” he added wryly, grimacing as Potter let out an ear-piercing scream, “you’re lucky he hasn’t turned you into a something ten times worse than a toddler. I’m sure my parents would never have let me get away with it.”

That was most certainly the truth. Draco thought back to his own childhood. At one time, maybe when he was two or three, he had been afraid of the dark. He had thought that masked monsters would get him in the middle of the night. But when he had screamed Lucius had simply moved him to a higher floor of the manor so that he and Narcissa couldn’t hear him. ‘No son of mine will be afraid of the dark’ he had heard Lucius say to Narcissa, after he had sneaked out of bed to sit on the stone steps near the dining room, where the lanterns were always lit. After that, and though the images of the masked fiends still haunted him, Draco learned it was better to keep quiet.

“Fine,” Draco said to Harry, relenting slightly. He stooped down and picked the screaming Harry up, holding him awkwardly. “Now be quiet!”

Harry opened up one of his screwed-up eyes as he felt himself lifted in the air. He immediately dropped the volume of his screaming to whimpering and gulps.

“So,” Draco said, wondering what on earth he was doing with his arch-enemy in his arms, “what do you want to do except cry like a baby.”

Harry thought for a few moments. Dayco was jiggling him around a bit, which Harry liked. Forgetting that he was supposed to be mad at the pale-boy he giggled.

“Me pway!” he said at last, rubbing his eyes with his fists.

Draco looked around the room. There was a padlocked wooden chest with stars and moons carved on it in one corner. He supposed that it might be a toy box. He tried to balance Harry on his hip so he could draw his wand to open the lock, but as he did so Harry seemed to prove that he had little need for toys. He reached and grabbed a fistful of Draco’s hair.

“Ouch!” Draco said glaring at the Potter.

Annoyingly his hard look had the opposite effect than that Draco intended – instead of scaring Harry it made him giggle more. Pleased with the reaction he had gotten, Harry reached up and yanked another bit of the pale-boy’s goldy hair.

“Owchy, owchy – Dayco,” Harry said gleefully.

“Oi! Stop that Potter,” Draco said, grabbing Harry’s small but powerful fingers to pry them away from his hair. “That’s bad! Bad Potter!”

Bad? Harry didn’t like that word. He stuck out his bottom lip as he twisted the pale-boy’s hair firmly in his hand.

“No – bad,” he said grumpily.

“Ow! Yes bad!” Draco said.

“NO BAD!”

‘Yes Potter – very bad!’

Draco struggled to keep hold of Harry as he wriggled and bucked in his arms in a temper. “Stop behaving like a spoiled brat,” he said. “Keep still!”

Harry took no notice. He kicked his legs and threw his head back, headbutting Draco in the chest.

“NO BRAT!”

Draco, however, decided that he had had enough of Potter’s nonsense. He turned Harry round and held him so he was looking right into his emerald eyes.

“Stop it right now or you’re going back in your playpen,” he said firmly. “And this time you are not getting out!”

Harry thought for a moment. He pouted. Draco was using the same tone that Snape had when he had found him in his potions cupboard and he didn’t like it – it made him feel like he’d been naughty. His first instinct was to cry, but, then again, he had caught the word ‘playpen’ and certainly didn’t want to go back in there. Sulkily he removed his hand from Draco’s hair.

“That’s better,” Draco said, slightly taken-aback with the way Potter had obeyed him – perhaps it wouldn’t be all bad to have a baby-Potter under his control. “Now let’s see what’s in this trunk.”

Harry’s face lit up as Draco opened the box with all the fun things in it.

“Me pway,” he said. Draco plonked him down on the floor in front of it.

“Yes Potter you can play.”

Draco went back to the Prophet as a gleeful Harry had turned his attention to the toy-box. He had been trying to keep up with the news in the wizarding world since the final night of the Triwizard Tournament – the night he knew now also to be the moment of the Dark Lord’s return (though his father had refuse to discuss it). He smirked as he read through yet-another article about Potter’s derangement.

“Hey listen to this Potter,” he called to the toddler, who was at that moment chewing on a singing rubber toy in the shape of a star, “you’re famous.” He cleared his throat.

Mr Harry Potter, according to reliable sources, has mysteriously disappeared from Hogwarts. The official version provided by staff is that he is in quarantine after contracting a rare muggle disease, but this reporter has reason to believe that this is simply another cover up by Albus Dumbledore -Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot -to hide the boy-who-lived’s increasingly deteriorating mental state

Well you certainly are acting crazy today,” Draco said, raising a pale eyebrow as Harry buzzed at him like a bee, the little antennas on the helmet of his ridiculous bumblebee playsuit wobbling furiously.

Our sources suggest that Mr Potter, aged fifteen, may in actual fact have been secretly smuggled to St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries to receive treatment for his brain disorder.”

‘Well,’ said Draco, bracingly, turning the page, “you can forget about anyone believing you about Cedric Diggory.” He felt a twinge of guilt in his stomach as he carelessly mentioned the name of the murdered boy who he had cheered the year before. Still, he thought uncertainly, as his father said, sacrifices sometimes had to be made.

The singing toy, which was on its third round of ‘Twinkle Twinkle Little Star’, dropped from Harry’s hand as he turned sharply round to look at Draco. Cedric Digor-rory? He knew that name from somewhere.

“What?” said Draco, looking uncomfortably at the small boy’s almost accusing eyes. “Look just go back to your toys will you?” He had the weird feeling that Harry had understood his last comment, and if he did he most certainly didn’t want to discuss it with him.

Harry felt an angry feeling in his belly. The pale eyes which were watching him reminded him of something that was mean. However, with his typically short attention span, Harry soon went back to the box of delights in front of him. For a while, though, Draco noticed that he was a lot more subdued than he had been before.

Before Draco’s hour of baby-sitting was up, Harry suddenly started crying again. Very simply, he could feel that his nappy was full and he didn’t like it.

“What’s the matter Potter?” Draco said irritably. Harry had been playing almost quietly with his toys for the last half-an-hour and he had hoped he would remain so until Snape returned.

Harry didn’t quite know how to communicate to the pale-boy what he wanted. He toddled over, still crying, and pointed to his nappy, then lifted up his arms up to him.

“Up Dayco,” he said, “up!”

Grudgingly,Draco picked Harry up. As he did so he wrinkled his nose in disgust, the reason for Potter’s sudden outburst suddenly becoming very clear.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me Potter?” Draco said horrified. “You really expect me to change you?”

Madame Pomfrey, before (reluctantly) leaving Draco to baby-sit as she had been instructed by Professor Snape, had shown Draco exactly how to change Harry should he need it. Draco had made up his mind that he most definitely would not be doing that, but by the growing strength of Harry’s crying he realised that he probably wouldn’t have much choice. Anyway, if he was going to try and get Snape in a good mood he could not leave it for him to do.

Sighing he retrieved the baby mat and the other stuff and put Harry on his back on top of it.

“Listen to me you little brat,” he said, “if you ever tell anyone about this then you’re dead.”

Draco pictured the Slytherin’s faces if they ever found out he had changed the dirty nappy of the boy-who-lived – his reputation would be in tatters. Still, he thought that Potter probably wouldn’t be too thrilled about it either.

“Ba – da – gee,” gurgled Harry as Draco unbuttoned the popper of this bumblebee suit and unpinned his nappy. He giggled at the way Dayco’s nose was all wrinkled up like a squashy tomato, and how he his lips were pursed up in a scowl – it reminded him of Snape.

Draco grimaced as he used his wand to dispose of the dirty nappy. He wondered briefly how muggles would cope without the use of magic – quite simply it was the most disgusting thing he’d ever done!

“Keep still!” Draco said as Potter squirmed as he cleaned him with the wipe.

Harry giggled, “Eeek,” he squealed loudly – the nice-smelly hanky was very coldy, but if felt good to be in the fresh air and not hisnasty nappy.

As Draco folded the towel around Harry’s waist, the toddler grabbed it and tried to help.

“Me cwever,” he said, pulling the towel right up to his chest.

“Stop that!” Draco said, “you’re not helping Potter!”

Harry, however, didn’t understand. He thought he was a very big boy helping to change his nappy.

Draco grit his teeth. How on earth was he supposed to keep Potter’s hands still and change his nappy all at the same time? Frustrated, he decided a fastening spell might be the answer. He reasoned that it wasn’t technically casting magic on Potter – just on the safety pin.

This seemed to work, the nappy fastened itself to Harry’s waist. Unfortunately it also stuck him in the process.

“Owchy!” Potter squealed. The nasty pin had got him right in the stomach. He looked up at Draco whimpering. “Bad! Bad! Bad!” he chanted, tears welling up in his eyes. It hadn’t really hurt him very much but it had been a shock.

“I hope that wasn’t a fastening spell, Mr Malfoy,” came a voice from behind them. Draco grimaced – it was Snape.

“Er – yes Sir,” he said. “I couldn’t get it done. Potter was squirming.”

“Snape!” shouted Potter happily, then remembering he was supposed to be upset whimpered again. Snape bent down and picked him up brusquely, eyeing Potter’s outfit with disdain – it looked like Molly Weasley had paid another visit.

Snape had been to see Madame Pomfrey to ask about the results of the ageing curl and he had not been surprised that she had confirmed that Potter was now eighteen months – his vocabulary had certainly increased and he was a lot heavier.

“Stop whining Potter, Mr Malfoy didn’t hurt you.”

Harry looked at Snape sulkily for a moment but he decided not to push him.

“Snape,” he said again, “me cwever.”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “I’m sure,” he said. He transferred Harry to his playpen, and then, sensing that this might cause Harry to start up again, got Cheep-Cheep and a singing star up from the floor and put them in with him.

“Ta – da,” said Harry.

Snape then turned to Draco. “Mr Malfoy,” he said silkily, “I specifically instructed you not to use magic on Potter.”

“Sorry,” mumbled Draco.

Snape stared hard at Draco, pleased at the discomfort he saw in his pale eyes. “Don’t do it again,” he said, “you may now go to lessons. I will be sending for you again soon.”

Draco hesitated. “Er – Sir,” he began, realising that after what he had inflicted on Snape there would probably not ever be a good time to approach him.

“What?” Snape snapped.

“I got an owl from father this morning – he’s coming to watch the match with Gryffindor.”

Snape paused for a moment, watching Draco carefully.

“I see,” he said at last. “Well I hardly think that that is any of my affair – or yours for that matter, considering that you will not be playing.”

Though he spoke harshly, in actual fact Snape felt a very small twinge of pity for the boy. He realised exactly the predicament Draco was in; Lucius would livid with his son for ruining his chances for playing in one of the most important Quidditch matches for decades.

Draco coloured. He didn’t want to beg Snape to reconsider, but, then again, it might be preferable to facing his father’s wrath. He forced himself to continue.

“I was just wondering, Sir,” he said. “If there was anyway you might – er – well – reconsider?”

Snape’s thin eyebrow disappeared into his hairline. He had scarcely expected such a request from the usually-proud Draco, but then he supposed that he would probably be more bothered about his father’s anger than annoying him.

Snape had himself witnessed Lucius’s temper first-hand. Though Lucius wore a largely impenetrable mask in public, when Snape had been in the Dark Lord’s service he had seen the death eater at his most fearsome many times – each more unpleasant than the next. In fact, Lucius was feared amongst some of the death-eaters almost as reverently as the Dark Lord himself. From being a young teenager, Lucius had always been a bully and Snape knew that he raised his son on an equal mix of fear and humiliation.

Draco, however, must realise himself that it was highly unlikely that his housemaster would relent. After all, he had left Snape with a screaming baby Potter on his hands.

“I don’t think so, Mr Malfoy,” Snape said at last. “Now I suggest you go and join your fellow housemates for lessons.”

Feeling the last glimmer of hope leave him, Draco’s shoulders hunched as he picked up his bag to leave the office. From the corner of his eye he could see Harry watching him carefully.

“Boo – ba – Dayco,” Harry said looking up from Cheep-Cheep. He could somehow feel that his new pale friend was a bit sad.

“Whatever Potter,” Draco muttered as he quickly left the dungeon. He felt the eyes of his housemaster lingering on him the entire way.

To be continued...


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