- Regrezzarandum!

Following the curse, and in a cloud of purple and pink sparks, the boy-who-lived disappeared from view.

‘Harry!’ screamed Hermione.

Even Draco, who had been the one to cast the spell, looked shocked. All that was left of Harry Potter was a pile of Gryfinndor robes, a broomstick and wand lying abandoned by their side on the pitch.

‘What have you done with him Malfoy?’ snarled Ron, advancing on Draco, wand raised. Some of the older Slytherin players stepped between the two boys.

‘G-Get away from me Weasley,’ spat Draco with as much vehemence he could muster under the circumstances.

‘You better tell us where he is,’ said Fred.

‘Yeah,’ said George, ‘and fast. Get out of my way Montague,’ he said, shrugging aside the Slytherin captain, ‘while I curse this little ferret till he’s begging to tell us what he did to Harry.’

‘George, you’re not helping,’ said Hermione, her voice shaking slightly. She was looking down at the place where Harry had been, trying to understand what had happened. She had never heard the curse Draco had used before.

The argument had broken out originally over the use of the Quidditch pitch. The Gryfinndors had had the pitch booked for a week but, as usual, Snape had overridden them to give his own players more practice. Things had escalated when the Slytherins had burst into yet another round of ‘Weasley Is Our King’ and Harry and Draco had squared up to one another. Draco had been first to draw his wand and had cast the curse almost immediately with what even Hermione had to admit had been perfect intonation.

‘What is going on here?’

There was a collective intake of breath as the group of Slytherins and Gryfinndors parted to reveal Severus Snape, his black cloak billowing out behind him as usual and his dark eyes flashing dangerously.

‘Gryfinndors I suggest that you return to your tower immediately. I have given the Slytherins permission to practice this afternoon.’

‘Please Professor,’ Hermione began, ‘you don’t understand. Draco …’

‘Silence Miss Granger. I don’t recall asking for your advice on the matter. In fact you have no business being on the pitch in the first place - unless of course,’ he added with a sneer, ‘you are replacing Weasley as Gryfinndor keeper – which after his dismal performance the other day would not surprise me.’

The Slytherins couldn’t help but dissolve into hysterics at the vision of Hermione playing quidditch. Ron felt his ears grow red. He balled his fists at his sides wishing that he had the nerve to wipe the smirk of Snape’s face with a curse of his own.

Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but just at that moment a loud wail interrupted her. It seemed to be coming from the bundle of robes on the grass and the students drew back quickly, nervous about exactly what they might conceal.

‘What was that?’ Snape snapped. His eyes searched the group of Gryfinndor students, ‘and where is Potter?’

‘That was what I was trying to explain, Sir,’ Hermione said quickly before Snape could interrupt her again. ‘Draco cursed Harry. He must have transfigured him.’

The wail from the robes got several decibels louder. Snape looked angrily at Draco.

‘Did you curse Mr Potter?’ he said.

‘Yes Sir,’ Draco admitted, refusing to meet the Professors glare. It was not often that he got such a harsh look from his housemaster but when he did Draco knew it was best not to anger him further.

‘What was the curse?’

‘I don’t know, Sir,’ Draco admitted. ‘It was something I saw once …’ He didn’t admit that he had actually seen it written down in his father’s spell book over summer. He knew that his father knew a lot of dark spells and when he had found the door to his office open he had copied a few down to impress the Slytherins with. He hadn’t known what they would do and thought he would test them out on his owl; but when Potter had made a snide remark about his family he hadn’t been able to resist the attempt to test one on him.

‘It sounds to me like it turned Harry into a banshee,’ Fred said covering his ears.

‘Don’t joke Fred,’ said Hermione, ‘it’s not funny.’ She rounded on Draco. ‘How dare you cast a spell that you didn’t know? What sort of person would do that …?!’

‘Remember yourself Miss Granger!’ Snape said icily, quelling her tirade instantly. He stooped down to the bundle of robes that was Potter. ‘Step back please whilst I inspect the damage Malfoy has inflicted on Potter.’ Hermione glowered. She could plainly see the potions master smirk as he bent over the robes – it was obvious that he was enjoying the fact that one of his house had transfigured Harry into who-knows-what. She hoped, rather uncharacteristically, that whatever form Harry had taken would be able to inflict some damage on Snape before he had chance to change him back.

Snape poised his wand to tackle what is was that may be under Potter’s cloaks. He had a fair idea where Draco would have picked up the curse and he knew that there could be something extremely unpleasant lurking in place of the boy.

The students recoiled as Snape lifted the robes with the end of his wand and flicked them away. No matter how hard the students braced themselves, however, no-one was prepared for the sight which greeted them. There in the place of the famous Harry Potter was a very small, very pink, screaming baby, complete with a mop of black hair, emerald eyes and a lightening scar on his forehead.

Upon seeing the screaming baby, and after the initial shock had passed, the Slytherins fell about with helpless laughter. Montague and Bletchley both clapped a rather stunned Draco on the back.

‘Well done Malfoy,’ they said.

‘Silence!’ Snape snapped. As he did so the baby that he was looking down upon suddenly paused from its screaming. His glistening green eyes looked up at the large man with the huge crooked nose and whimpered. He wondered why he had to speak so nastily. Slightly frightened he looked around and was not comforted by the sight of hundreds (or so it seemed) giants all staring down at him. He began to cry again with even more gusto than before. Somewhere in the back of his mind the baby was aware that this was a very childish thing to do, but it seemed like the only way that he could let the crowd of monsters know that he didn’t want them anywhere near him.

‘Will you be able to change him back, Sir?’ said Hermione anxiously.

The whole Gryfinndor team were looking with concern down at their star player. The match with the Slytherins was only two weeks away and apart from anything else they needed their seeker match fit. Ron was even more furious than before. He knew that it was a very humiliating position for Harry to be in – reduced to a baby by his sworn enemy in front of the Slytherin team – and he wished that Snape would just get on with it and change Harry back. He decided then and there that whatever revenge Harry wanted to take on Malfoy he would back him up one-hundred-and-ten-percent!

‘I daresay,’ said Snape, casting a weary eye over the screaming baby, who was beginning to get on his always-already overstretched nerves. He spun round to face Draco. ‘If you know the counter-curse, Mr Malfoy, now would be a good time to share it.’

‘Er – no Sir,’ Draco spluttered.

‘I see.’

Snape pointed his wand carefully at the cowering baby and muttered a few inaudible spells. When these had no effect other than to increase the wailing he sighed getting to his feet. ‘Miss Granger,’ he said, ‘kindly pick up Mr Potter and follow me. The rest of you may dismiss. But,’ he added, so sharply that almost everyone (including Harry) jumped you will not breathe a word of Potter’s predicament to any other student. If I find out that anyone has disobeyed my word then I will personally see to it that they are expelled from Hogwarts.’

The Slytherins looked at one another with slight surprise and much disappointment at this – they had been looking forward to spread the news of the ‘famous’ Harry Potter’s demise about the school. They would not have thought that their housemaster would have stopped them, since it was well known that he hated Potter more than any other student. Still none of them would dare to contradict Snape in this mood.

‘What?’ said Ron indignantly, ‘You’re just going to let Malfoy get away with cursing Harry?’

‘Ten points from Gryfinndor, Mr Weasley,’ Snape said silkily. ‘I do not take insolent outbursts from anyone. Dismiss.’

Ron looked like he was about to burst with fury but Fred and George were able to usher him away without another comment. Hermione stooped down to take Harry in her arms. Harry was still wailing but he obligingly held out his chubby arms to Hermione. He thought that she looked like the least scary of the giants and he was glad that the horrible hook-nosed man had put his stick away.

‘There, there, Harry,’ Hermione said as she lifted Harry up, patting his back slightly awkwardly. She hugged the crying baby automatically to her chest, wrapping the crumpled cloak round him like a blanket; all the time, however, she couldn’t escape the feeling that she was in a strange, very surreal dream.

From behind her Draco snorted at the way Granger fussed over Harry. He smirked; he was feeling very pleased with how the curse had turned out - not only had he managed to reduce the boy-who-lived to the baby-who-lived but he seemed to have got away with it scot free.

‘Just a minute, Mr Malfoy,’ Snape said darkly. ‘You will accompany Miss Granger and me to the headmaster’s office.’

Draco hesitated. In response Snape walked over to him and unceremoniously grabbed his ear firmly between his thumb and forefinger, causing him to yelp (and baby Harry to temporarily to stop crying). ‘Pick up Potter’s things and carry them’ Snape said, jerking him violently towards the place on the pitch where Harry’s broom and clothes were. He was furious that his afternoon off had been disturbed, and even more furious that the cause was Potter. ‘Leave the wand,’ he said as Draco reached for it. He picked it up himself.

Draco scrambled to comply with Snape’s order. He knew from the housemaster’s tone that he was in serious trouble.

‘Come,’ Snape said to Miss Granger, aware that time was of the essence if they were to change the boy back successfully, if at all. ‘And try to keep Potter quiet.

***

In Dumbledore’s office an obstinate Draco was refusing to admit where he had learned the curse that had transformed Harry. He knew that if he did Dumbledore would tell his father and he shuddered to think what Lucius would do to him then. He would know that Draco had sneaked into his office and looked in his spell-book. To say that he would be angry would be putting it mildly.

‘Spit it out Mr Malfoy,’ Snape growled.

‘I-I don’t remember.’

Snape advanced on Draco, looking about ready to throttle his young charge, but Dumbledore held up his hand.

‘Severus,’ he said firmly, ‘you will not wrestle out of Draco what he does not wish to tell.’ He turned to Draco. ‘Mr Malfoy you will return to your dormitory immediately. Professor Snape will decide on your punishment in due course. Until that time you will not speak to anyone about Harry’s state. If I hear one word to suggest that you are using this unfortunate situation to your advantage then I will not hesitate to inform Lucius immediately. As your father I am sure he might be able to shed some light on where the curse came from. Do you understand?’

‘Yes Sir,’ Draco muttered.

‘Very well you may go.’

As Draco left the room Dumbledore held his arms out for Harry. Hermione readily gave him up to the Professor. She had eventually managed to quieten Harry down and the exertion of crying seemed to have tired him out as he was sleeping soundly, his tiny fingers curled up in his mouth.

‘You instructed the students who witnessed the transformation not to spread the news?’ Dumbledore said.

‘Yes headmaster,’ Snape said, ‘though it would not surprise me if some of the more wilful students disobey.’ He looked purposefully at Hermione as he said this and she had to try very hard not to glare at him – she knew that none of the Gryfinndors would ever say anything to put Harry in any danger, which would be Dumbledore’s primary concerned until Harry could be changed back; if Voldemort got wind of the transformation he would probably be able to use it to his advantage.

Apparently satisfied with this Dumbledore turned his attention back to the baby. ‘Ah Harry,’ he said, his blue eyes twinkling, ‘just as you were all those years ago when we left you on your Aunt’s doorstep.’

Harry opened one eye as he felt the arms that held him change. He saw a smiley man looking down at him, his long grey beard hanging over his body. He raised one arm up lazily and gave it a sharp tug. Dumbledore laughed.

‘And still your mischievous self I see,’ Dumbledore said, trying to pry the surprisingly strong fingers from his whiskers. Harry wouldn’t budge. He vaguely recognised the old man with his big blue pyjamas and he knew instinctively that he was funny and not cross like the bat-man (as he had silently named Snape).

From the corner of the room Snape cleared his throat. ‘Perhaps headmaster,’ he said wearily, ‘we could get to the problem at hand.’ It did not surprise him to see Dumbledore cooing over Potter, but he had more important plans for the day than to pander to a baby.

‘Certainly Severus, I have summoned Poppy of course.’

At that there was a whirl of green activity in the grate behind the desk and Madame Pomfrey appeared.

‘You called headmaster – Oh who is this?’ she said, interrupting herself, her eyes gleaming at Harry with the type of maternal enthusiasm that made Snape’s eyebrow raise disdainfully.

‘You can see the scar,’ he said impatiently.

‘The scar? What are you … Good lord! Is this Harry Potter?’

‘It would seem so,’ Snape said dryly. ‘It seems Draco Malfoy accidentally cursed him with a de-aging spell.’

‘It wasn’t an accident,’ Hermione said indignantly.

‘Don’t interrupt Miss Granger,’ Snape said icily.

‘Well Poppy?’ Dumbledore said handing the now very alert bundle to the school nurse.

‘It must have been a very unusually concocted spell,’ Poppy said after a few moments consideration, ‘to take the boy right back to – well, just a minute.’ She reached deep into one of her pockets, balancing Harry deftly, and pulled out a contraption that was shaped like a spring. She placed it near Harry’s left foot. ‘Ah yes,’ she said. ‘The boy is fifteen months old.’

‘The same age that Lily and James were killed by Voldemort,’ Dumbledore said thoughtfully.

From the corner of her eye Hermione saw Snape flinch at Dumbledore’s use of the dark wizard’s name.

‘Exactly,’ Poppy said. ‘De-aging, as you know Albus, is a very complex thing. One, two, maybe even five years are possible. Skin, hair, teeth – every one individually are easy to de-age; but to transform a fifteen year-old boy to a baby? That’s something almost unheard of from a curse.’ She turned to Snape. ‘You are sure that there was not a potion administered?’

‘I wasn’t present at the time,’ Snape said, ‘if I were I would never have allowed such an unfortunate accident to occur.’ Snape said the last words as though he thought it wasn’t unfortunate at all.

‘There wasn’t a potion,’ Hermione said.

‘And you tried the usual counter curses?’

‘Of course,’ Snape said, again impatiently.

‘Very well headmaster,’ leave the boy with me. I will look into it. Though of course Severus is probably better equipped to …’

‘I have things to attend to Headmaster,’ Snape cut in. ‘Important things.’

Dumbledore sighed slightly. ‘Very well, for now I will leave Harry with you Poppy. Do we have the necessary supplies to cater for such a small patient?’

‘I will make arrangements.’

Harry was looking with wide eyes between the grown-ups in the room. He was getting bored. Now he had left the bushy-haired girl with her long tangly ropes and the man with the beard he had nothing to play with. He wriggled in the woman with the funny white hat’s arms. He wished that they would let him down. He got bored just being held. He wanted to explore the strange room. There were lots of brightly coloured things around and he wanted to touch them. He scrunched up his face. He could think of no way to get their attention but to scream, though somehow he knew that there must be a better way.

‘Look Albus,’ Poppy said her mouth twitching, ‘I don’t think he wants to come with me.’

‘Typical Potter,’ Hermione heard Snape mutter as he turned to leave.

‘I’m sorry Harry – we will meet again soon though,’ Dumbledore said. Harry began to wail again. He struggled against the white-hat-woman but she held him tight.

‘He is a wriggler isn’t he?’ she said smiling. ‘Shush now. We’ll get you something to eat when we are back in the hospital wing.’ This only made Harry cry harder. Why were grown-ups such idiots? Didn’t they realise that he just wanted to get down and explore? He beat his fists on Madame Pomphrey’s back. She now had him over one shoulder, rubbing his back gently. He tried to say ‘down’ but it came out as ‘da-gi’.

‘Perhaps you would accompany Harry to the hospital wing as well Miss Granger,’ Dumbledore said.

‘Yes Sir.’ Hermione was trying very hard not to laugh at an obviously frustrated Harry – even as a baby he was proving to be extremely strong-willed and Madame Pomfrey had had to reposition him at least three times to prevent him from injuring her. ‘What are we going to tell everyone?’

Dumbledore suddenly looked grave and Hermione was reminded that though at the present amusing, this was also a very precarious situation for Harry to be in. Especially now that Voldemort had risen and would be looking for anyway he could to get to Harry.

‘I don’t know Miss Granger,’ Dumbledore said sighing. He turned his head to the squirming Potter, ‘let’s just hope that we have Harry back to normal soon.’

Harry was laying in a cot surrounded by high bars. The woman with the white hat, which now he knew was ‘Pomfy’, had spent ages prodding around at him and tickling him with various funny objects. Harry had thought she was playing with him at first – but then she had tricked him by distracting him with the spring-thing and putting some nasty medicine in his mouth. He had spat it back out again, wailing as loudly as he could, but she had repeated the process till it had gone. The funny thing was that Harry had fallen for the trick every time. Eventually she had put him down for a nap but Harry wasn’t tired. He lay looking up at the ceiling, trying to remember exactly what he was doing in such a funny place. He slurped on his hand as he was trying to remember and then kicked and punched at the bars in frustration when he couldn’t.

‘Settle down Harry,’ Madame Pomfrey said, though not unkindly. She had run every test she could think of on Harry but she still had not been able to come up with even a suitable plan for changing him back to himself. Harry blew a raspberry at her in response. ‘That’s enough of that, young man,’ she said. ‘You are very tired, go to sleep!’

‘Ga – doo – tie,’ Harry spat. He wasn’t tired! Madame Pomfrey had let him toddle around a bit before and he was desperate to revisit the cupboard where he had found lots of interesting bottles. Unfortunately Hermione, or ‘Mwione’, the bushy-haired girl, hadn’t been too keen on letting him grab any of them and it was at this point that a cot had been conjured and he had found himself put in it. Hermione had left to let him get some sleep. Effectively, Harry thought, ‘Pomfy’ was holding him prisoner; he began to scream again.

‘What am I going to do with you Harry?’ Madame Pomfrey said wincing at the loud screams of the boy-who-lived.

‘Ga – doo – tie’ Harry insisted as thought it was the most obvious thing in the world.

***

Later than evening Dumbledore was holding a very grave meeting with his potions Professor. He had also invited Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall in the hope that they would be able to back up the request he had had to make Severus Snape.

‘I have asked you to do a lot worse things Severus,’ Dumbledore said, ‘and you have always carried them out just as I have requested. I know I can rely on you.’

‘Headmaster,’ Snape snapped, with the desperate sense that he was being railroaded, ‘this is different. There are many people much more capable than me of taking care of Potter - his Godfather for example.’

‘Severus,’ Dumbledore said patiently, ‘you know as well as I do that Harry must not leave the safety of the castle, and there is no question that Sirius could leave headquarters. I do not even think it advisable at this stage that he be informed.’
‘Professor McGonagall then?’ Snape suggested. In any other circumstances he would feel triumphant at getting one up on Sirius Black, but as far as Potter was concerned he wouldn’t care if the insufferable pair ran away with each other.

‘Albus, you know that I would be happy to look after the boy until he is changed back,’ McGonagall said.

‘Excuse me Minerva – but if he’s changed back,’ Madame Pomfrey said tentatively. ‘It is becoming increasingly clear that Harry is under a very powerful curse.’

‘You don’t mean to tell me, Albus, that the boy may remain a child for the rest of his life?’ McGonagall said horrified.

‘I am hoping, Minerva, that Severus will be able to help us with that particular problem,’ Dumbledore said gravely. ‘This is magic of an extremely dark nature.’

Snape could not even bring himself to grimace at the unflattering insinuation in Dumbledore’s words. He had known almost from the moment he had heard that it had been Draco who cast the curse that he would be called upon to help Potter. Had it been a simple immaturing spell then Potter would have already been re-transformed and causing trouble back in Gryfinndor. As it was, it was some kind of tailored spell that would take a great deal of uncovering. He grit his teeth.

‘Headmaster,’ Snape said. ‘Whilst I am more than willing to help Potter’ – he almost choked on the words – ‘to transfigure back to his original self, I fail to see why being appointed as carer of the child would help …’

‘Come now Severus,’ Dumbledore said lightly, ‘you know as well as I that every minute spent with the subject is vital in the case of dark magic.’

‘Send him to a healer then,’ Snape said impatiently, ‘there are plenty capable at St. Mungos.’

‘If I do that then the ministry will be come involved – they will not hide Harry’s condition from the world, nor will they allow him to remain under the protection of Hogwarts. Harry would be too vulnerable to attack. Aside from that,’ he added carefully, ‘Draco would be questioned.’

Snape let Dumbledore’s words hang in the room. He knew that Dumbledore was right (when was he ever wrong?). He had seen the fear in Draco’s eyes when he had been questioned over the curse. There was no doubt in Snape’s mind that he had gained the spell from Lucius. If he had, and if it was discovered, the consequences for Draco could be terrible – particularly if Voldemort was made aware of it. The Dark Lord relied on Lucius’s position at the ministry and would not be pleased if he was sent to Azkaban for composing illegal magic.

But caring for Potter? Especially a screaming baby Potter? Even the thought was enough to make his stomach break into convulsions. Snape was not one do to something half-heartedly, and he knew if he was to find a cure he would have to spend every possible moment with the boy – true magic was not only about the ingredients in a potion, it was about the senses and finer symptoms, particularly when attempting to counter such a black curse; he would have to become close to the subject and his mind.

‘I won’t do it,’ Snape said stubbornly.

‘Severus,’ Dumbledore said, his voice just low enough to initiate the first pangs of guilt deep in Snape’s heart. ‘I know I have asked a lot of you in the past but think about the predicament we are in. Voldemort’ (Snape winced) ‘has come to power just as Harry has weakened. We cannot entrust anyone outside the order with such an important task and there is no-one better equipped than you within it to help him. Put aside your personal feelings and …’

‘I have no personal feelings about Potter,’ Snape interrupted sharply. He thought he heard a little snort escape from McGonagall. ‘I simply find him disobedient and insolent.’ Just like his father, he wanted to add.

‘Very well,’ said Dumbledore, the hint of a twinkle in his eye, ‘then you will agree?’

Snape wondered how he had been pushed to this point. ‘I know nothing of caring for children,’ he said. This was the absolute truth.

‘We will of course help you,’ Dumbledore said, sensing that the potions master had at last crumbled.

‘Of course we will,’ Professor McGonagall and Madame Pomfrey agreed instantly.

‘Though Harry will stay with you until such a time as he can be cured, we will give you all the help you need to care for him,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I think you’ll find Miss Granger and Miss Weasley most obliging babysitters.’

Snape grimaced. ‘I am hoping, headmaster, that Potter will not remain his current age very long,’ he said. In fact he was going to make damn sure that Potter aged as quickly as humanly possible, particularly out of the stage where he either cried like a tortured grindylow or spoke complete and utter nonsense. He had a sudden thought. ‘How are you planning on keeping Potter’s state a secret?’

‘Yes,’ said McGonagall, ‘if we are to keep it from the ministry then we must also keep it from the students.’

‘The students from Slytherin, with the exception of Draco – whose input we may or may not need at a later date - have had their memories modified. In Gryfinndor the memories of all but Hermione and the Weasley children have been changed. The story that will be told to the rest of the school is that Harry has contracted a contagious muggle disease and has been quarantined for the foreseeable future. I leave it to you, Severus, to ensure that Mr Malfoy will not disclose our little secret.’

‘I will make sure of it,’ Snape replied wryly. He made up his mind to have quite a few words to say to Draco Malfoy when he finally had the chance to get his hands on him.

‘Very well then,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Poppy if you would be so kind as to get Mr Potter ready for Severus and then deliver him to his chambers.’

‘Yes headmaster,’ Poppy said, turning on her heel to leave.

‘And Minerva – would you be so good as to fill Hermione and the others in on what will occur from now?’

‘Of course, Albus.’

McGonagall, Snape noticed, had an annoying amused smile playing at her lips. He felt his bony shoulders tense as he realised that he was most probably at the end of it. When they were alone Dumbledore smiled at Snape.

‘I truly appreciate this Severus,’ he said. ‘Though Harry may not realise it this is not the first time you have come between him and disaster.’ Snape folded his arms unimpressed. ‘Perhaps,’ Dumbledore went on, ‘it may be what you both need to put the feelings of the past aside. In time Harry will be grateful as he realises the true extent of all you have done for him.’

Snape did not trust himself to respond. He did not want Potter’s ‘gratitude’, nor did he care anything for what may or may not happen to him. As far as he was concerned he was simply carrying out more of Dumbledore’s orders for the Order – rather like the way he might go to a death eater meeting (which he thought, at that moment, would be preferable).

‘If that is all, headmaster, I will go and make my chambers ready to receive the patient.’

Dumbledore nodded. ‘That is all Severus,’ he said a little sadly. As the potions master left his office and Dumbledore absentmindedly stroked Fawkes, his phoenix, he found himself wishing more ardently than ever that this time Harry and Severus may really be given the opportunity to lay aside their differences – for the good of them both.

***

‘Is there a purpose for all this – paraphernalia?’ Snape asked with a raised eyebrow. He surveyed his once sparsely decorated dungeon quarters. In one corner of the room was a huge wooden box filled with toys - or, in Snape’s opinion, the totally unnecessary and over-indulgent debris that Professor McGonagall had purchased from Hogsmeade earlier that afternoon. On his shelves his carefully arranged spell-books and potions had been replaced by baby wipes, some kind of white muggle powder, bottles, plastic cups and plates, towels for nappies, safety pins, romper suits and every other type of clothing a toddler of fifteen months might require. In fact the only things that Snape approved of were the playpen and cot, both of which had very high and unbreakable wooden bars.

Poppy Pomfrey smiled. ‘I’m sure you find it all has its uses Professor,’ she said. ‘Now is there anything you would like me to go over again?’

‘No thank-you,’ Snape said, ‘I’m sure I’ll manage.’ He had just spent the last forty minutes (or forty hours) listening to Madame Pomfrey’s instructions for looking after Potter and he was not about to let her start up again. In his opinion Harry was already being too coddled. He was sure that having children could not have ever been this much trouble for anyone before. From what he remembered from his own childhood, children were there to be seen and not heard and were definitely not there to be fussed or pandered to.

‘Remember Professor, Minerva and me are only a floo away if you should need us.’

Snape was just about to retort that he most definitely would not need anyone’s help dealing with Potter when Hermione Granger entered the room, the boy at her feet. She had been guiding Harry up and down the corridor after having found he was on the verge of walking, and she smiled as he toddled his way slowly into the chambers with only one of her fingers for support.

Harry was, for probably the first time that day, smiling. He had enjoyed finally being able to wander around with Hermione and had had fun half-tottering, half-crawling through the winding corridors. He was feeling very proud of himself as he was sure he had never walked so far before and Hermione had been telling him what a clever boy he was. As he entered the unfamiliar chambers, however, his smile faltered. He saw that the ‘bat-man’ stood at one end of the room looking down his hook nose at him. Harry didn’t know why but he had a funny angry feeling in his belly every time he looked at the greasy man. It was as though he had some reason to hate him.

‘Hello Harry,’ Madame Pomfrey said brightly, ‘how do you like your new rooms?’

‘Na – Da,’ Harry said bluntly, or Not at all. There were cobwebs hanging from the rafters and it appeared to him very dark and cold. He was just about to start bawling again when he spied a box of toys in the corner. After that he got very excited.
‘Mwione, Mwione,’ he managed, tugging her hand viciously and pointing in the direction of the toy-box.

Giggling slightly, Hermione followed Harry over to the toys. She was beginning to get used to ‘baby Harry’ and now that she knew he was not in any danger (at least for the time being) she had started to enjoy herself - after all he did make quite a sweet toddler.

Snape, however, was not impressed. ‘Shouldn’t Potter be going to bed soon?’ he said irritably. He wasn’t about to let the precious boy-who-lived be spoiled right under his nose.

‘No!’ shouted Harry, his ears pricking up at the word ‘bed’. ‘No’ was one of the few words he had mastered and he saved it mostly for the words ‘bath’, ‘bed’ and ‘nap’.

Snape was slightly taken aback at the forceful way Harry managed to spit out this word. Still it was Potter. He was just about to respond that he would do as he was told when Madame Pomfrey tactically intervened.

‘All babies of his age say “no” to everything,’ she said dismissively. ‘He’s been fed and bathed in the hospital wing but I would let him tire himself out a bit more. If he goes to bed now he will probably wake in the night.’

Satisfied that he was not about to be put back in prison Harry turned his attention back to the toy box. Snape decided for the moment to hold his tongue.

‘I’ll play with him for a bit, Professor,’ Hermione said, ‘if you have things to do?’ Harry had grasped a squawking stuffed canary from the toy-box and was in the process of strangling it with his small but vice-like fingers.’

‘Very well Miss Granger,’ Snape said through pursed lips, unwilling to show gratitude but glad of the opportunity to put off any interaction with Potter for longer, ‘I will be in my study for the next hour.’ With that he turned on his heel and left leaving Madame Pomfrey and Hermione to grin at each other.

As he sat at his desk trying to make a note of each and every black spell book he had ever laid eyes on, Snape couldn’t help but think that was going to be the longest term of his life.

‘Er - do you want to take him then, Sir?’ Hermione said as Snape finally returned to his dilapidated quarters. She had spent the last hour and ten minutes playing with Harry and, though he seemed to be fighting hard against it, it was obvious from his flushed face and droopy eyes that Harry was ready for bed. She bent to pick him up and he put up little resistance as she took him in her arms. ‘I think he’ll sleep now and I have to be getting back to Gryfinndor Tower.’

Even though it was only eight o’ clock, Hermione herself felt quite tired. Harry had made it impossible for them to ‘play quietly’ or read a book. Instead he had somehow managed to manipulate her into playing a repetitive game of ‘peek-a-boo’ with the stuffed canary (which actually had seemed alive at some points). That game had been okay until Harry had thrown the bird across the room in frustration causing its squawking to go into overdrive – he was definitely a very wilful baby!

This had been followed by a game of throw and catch with an oversized, fluffy snitch. Actually it had been Harry throwing it and Hermione chasing it around the room like a mad thing to catch it, as though the elder Harry was a fine seeker, the young Harry didn’t seem to have the hand and eye coordination quite mastered.

Hermione hoped that she had tired Harry out enough so that he would sleep through the night – she didn’t think Snape would appreciate being woken up by his least-favourite student and she was quite worried about what he might do to silence Harry; after all she hardly expected that he had had much experience with children.

Snape raised an eyebrow as he looked down at the boy. He had purposefully spent extra time in his study in the hope that Harry would be in bed, asleep, before he returned.

‘Madame Pomfrey said he would probably want a bottle before bedtime,’ Hermione added tentatively.

‘I’m well away of Madame Pomfrey’s instructions,’ Snape said shortly. With that he unceremoniously removed Harry from Hermione’s grasp, holding him awkwardly and at least five inches away from him as though he was a garden gnome and not a baby. ‘You may go now Miss Granger.’

Hermione hesitated. She wondered if she should offer to get Harry a bottle and get him settled in his cot. Harry’s eyes had opened widely as he was passed to the potions master and she could see his bottom lip beginning to stick out. Unfortunately Snape didn’t give her the chance.

‘I said you may go.’

Hermione had no choice but to reluctantly leave the quarters. ‘Night, night Harry,’ she said waving, earning her yet another contemptuous look from Snape.

Harry had been quiet up until the point that he saw his friend ‘Her- mwione’ leave the room. He had thought that ‘batman’ had been about to participate in the fun game they had been playing with the furry ball, but as soon as Hermione had gone Snape sent both the ball and the stuffed canary flying back into the toy box.

‘No!’ Harry said indignantly, ‘No. No. No. NO.’

But the nasty man didn’t seem to take any notice of Harry’s ever-louder protests. He tucked Harry firmly under one arm and crossed the room to pick up a bottle, placing Harry on the counter top. Harry didn’t like where this was leading and Snape found he had to hold tightly to Harry’s red and gold pyjama suit to stop him wriggling away. Harry pouted as he realised that the mean man meant business and his green eyes showed the first indication of angry tears.

‘NO! NO! NO! NO! NO!’ he shouted stubbornly.

‘That’s enough of that,’ Snape said abruptly. He took out his wand and pointed to the bottle, instantly filling it with creamy-white liquid. He could feel the first twinges of a headache at his temples. Potter really could make a lot of noise for such a small thing.

Realising that he was getting nowhere, and quite startled by the harsh tone of the man in front of him, Harry resorted to his usual trick. He opened his mouth wide and began to scream.

Snape, however, didn’t seem to be falling for it. Instead of pandering over him like Madame Pomfrey and Hermione had, he simply watched him with a slightly bored (and somewhat pained) expression. After a few minutes Harry increased the volume and added kicking legs and flailing arms in the hope of getting a reaction – in the process managing to shrug Snape’s grip from his pyjamas, nearly ending up on the floor.

‘Really Potter!’ Snape snapped catching Harry and holding him still in his arms in a vice-like grip. ‘If you think I’m going to give in simply because you’re kicking and screaming then you are even more horrendously spoiled than I gave you credit for. Now you are going to have this bottle and then you are going to sleep. And first thing in the morning we are going to start figuring out exactly how we can get you back to your older self as soon as possible.’

With this Snape picked the bottle up and held it out to Harry. Harry stopped crying and turned suspicious eyes upwards. He was feeling very thirsty after all the playing with Hermione but he knew that if he took the bottle he would probably end up asleep.

‘You surely do not need me to feed you it Potter?’ Snape said disdainfully. ‘You are a toddler not a baby!’

Though unwitting, this remark had the desired effect. Harry immediately snatched the bottle from Snape’s hand, putting it to his lips immediately to drink. He most certainly wasn’t a baby, he was a big boy.

Snape set Harry down in his playpen. Whilst he watched Harry slurp the bottle hungrily, milk dribbling down his chin, he wondered for the tenth time that day why on earth he had ever allowed Albus to talk him into this.

‘Not so fast,’ he said irritably.

Harry simply paused and wrinkled his face up for a minute before starting on the bottle again, twice as fast as before. He had been watching the man carefully. He wasn’t as nice as Hermione and his arms were very unfriendly, but he had given him milk - Harry’s favourite. Suddenly a thought formed in Harry’s head. He pulled the bottle out of his mouth to share it with the man.

‘Snape,’ he said clearly.

A thin eyebrow arched on Snape’s pallid face.

‘Snape, Snape, Snape, Snape …’

‘Alright Potter, I heard you the first time,’ Snape said scathingly. ‘Anyway it’s “Sir” or “Professor” to you.’ He had actually been quite taken aback by the boy’s sudden memory and he made up his mind to add it to the notes he had been making.

‘Snape, Snape, Snape,’ said Harry gurgling happily. He had finished his milk and pulled himself to his feet for more play time. Regrettably, Snape seemed to have other ideas.

‘Sleep Potter,’ he said. He reached forward before Harry had chance to bolt away and transferred him to his cot.

‘No!’ Harry said. ‘No ba – da’, or No Bed.

‘Yes,’ said Snape. ‘Lay down!’ Harry wriggled and squealed as Snape tried to wrestle him under the covers. He was glad that Snape had decided to play with him after all and giggled happily, racing from one end of his cot to the other.

Snape narrowed his eyes as he tried to settle a shrieking Potter. He considered briefly using a body-binding, or even a silencing, spell but he knew that any magic he did on the boy might interfere with the speed with which he could reverse the black curse - and anyway he didn’t think Madame Pomfrey or the headmaster would be very forgiving if they found out. After a few more attempts he realised that Potter thought that he was playing a game with him. He decided to simply dim the lights and ignore him in the hope he would simply drift off by himself.

Harry was disappointed that the fun seemed to have stopped. He started slightly at the sudden darkness. ‘Snape,’ he whimpered, wondering if he was playing hide and seek, ‘Snape … ?’

‘Go to sleep Potter,’ Snape said, ‘it’s bed time!’

At the mention of one of his most hated words Harry realised that he had been tricked. A fresh round of crying began. A long ten minutes of bawling later Snape was almost at breaking point. Pushed to the edge he did the only thing he could think of. He crossed to the toy box and picked up the stuffed canary that he had heard Harry playing with earlier. He turned the lights up slightly.

‘Here Potter,’ he said through gritted teeth.

Harry looked up at the man. He couldn’t decide what he wanted more – to stay awake and keep bawling (which was beginning to get very tiring) or to have his stuffed friend to cuddle. In the end he decided on the latter. He rubbed tears from his eyes and grabbed the bird’s neck in his chubby hand. He grinned at Snape.

‘Ta – ba,’ he said gratefully.

‘Humph,’ Snape said, uncomfortable with the smile directed towards him, ‘go to sleep.’

With that Harry eventually laid down under the covers, canary in arm. It was a long time before he drifted off to sleep as he had many important things to gurgle to his new friend, but he didn’t cry any more and he left Snape, for the time being, free to carry on with his research.

Harry was woken up the next morning by birds tweeting near the narrow slated window that provided the only natural light to Snape’s sunken quarters. He held his canary that, which had named ‘Cheep-Cheep’, over his head so the he would be able to hear the other birds talking to him. Harry laughed as Cheep-Cheep answered them with a squawk. Harry, however, soon tired of this game. He pulled himself up in his cot. Where was Snape? He sucked on his fingers thoughtfully as looked through the bars and round the dim room. It was then that he realised that he was all alone.

Ba – da – dee –ga,’ he said unhappily. He didn’t like being alone, particularly when he was in the stupid wooden prison. His bottom lip pushed itself forward and began trembling. He hated this dark, cold room – it had a funny smell and, apart from the toy-box which was padlocked shut, there was nothing fun to do. His eyes searched frantically around the room for any sign of Snape’s greasy hair or billowy robes but he didn’t find any. Initially he felt tears prickle in his eyes and he opened his mouth to scream – but something stopped him. He couldn’t just sit and bawl could he? That was something only little babies did. There had to be a better way. He didn’t know exactly where this thought came from but once he had it he decided it was time for action.

Harry stood up on his tiptoes and peered out of his cot. The door that led to Snape’s room wasn’t that far away. If he could get out of his nasty jail then he would be easily able to get to him. Snape would realise what a big boy he was then and he wouldn’t make him go to bed early like a baby.

Harry pulled hard on the bars for a few minutes trying to pry them off but he couldn’t get them to budge. Frustrated, he lay face down on his blanket and beat his little fists on his pillow for a while. After a while, however, he realised that this wasn’t so clever and he had a better idea. Smiling widely, Harry pushed Cheep-Cheep through the bars of his cot onto the floor, confident that he would be joining him soon, and proceeded to deftly climb over the wooden grate. He stumbled back a few times, but, with the use of his pillow to give him a leg up, he eventually managed to jump over. It was a long way to the ground but Harry landed squarely on his nappy – which actually felt quite heavy – and so it didn’t hurt too much. Harry giggled as he put Cheep-Cheep in his mouth.

‘Me cwever,’ he said happily as he began his journey to find Snape.

***

Severus Snape had been unable to sleep well. Harry had actually been quiet after his initial hysterics and Snape had concluded that Hermione must have tired him out. Still, potential explanations for the curse which had transformed the boy-who-lived into the toddler-who-cried had been churning round and round in his head so that sleep would not come. He was now sat at the desk in his office, two doors away from Harry so that he wouldn’t wake him, pouring over spell books. A knock on the door interrupted him and Professor McGonagall entered followed by Molly Weasley.

‘Morning Severus,’ McGonagall said brightly. Snape scowled. He wondered exactly how many people Albus was going to tell about his newfound role as Harry’s unpaid babysitter.

‘Morning Severus,’ Molly echoed smiling at the frowning potions master. She had a wrapped bundle in her arms. ‘I’ve brought some of the boys’ old things for Harry.’

‘I wasn’t aware that a one-year-old child required so many material possessions,’ Snape said coldly, ‘or is Potter a special case?’ The last thing his now unrecognisable dungeon quarters needed was more baby debris.

Molly was unfazed. She knew that Snape liked to keep up his little sardonic act. ‘Oh well,’ she said smiling, ‘we all like spoiling babies now don’t we?’

Snape gave Molly a withering look. It seemed that he was alone in his opinion that Potter was even worse as a baby than he was a teenager.

‘Where is Mr Potter then?’ Professor McGonagall said, peering around the room over her small round spectacles.

‘Asleep,’ Snape snapped.

‘Severus!’ Molly chided, ‘It’s nine o’ clock. If you let him sleep too much during the day he’ll never sleep tonight much less go for a nap. You have to stick to a routine, didn’t Poppy explain that?’ The scowl on Snape’s face grew even more dower. ‘You know,’ Molly was continuing, ‘I don’t know why Albus didn’t ask for my help on the matter. I would be delighted to look after Harry – he’s always been such a joy, so helpful and polite.’ Snape snorted.

‘I should think he thought you had enough on your plate with your own children,’ McGonagall said. ‘Which reminds me,’ she went on with a frown ‘– I need to speak to you about Fred and George before you return to the Burrow.’

‘Oh those boys!’ Molly said, the smile erasing itself from her face. ‘What have they been up to now? I’ve told them a hundred times that it’s an important year for them now but they just don’t listen!’

‘Perhaps we should discuss it later,’ McGonagall said sensing that Molly’s rant might carry on for quite a while. ‘Shall we go and see Harry first?’

Snape grudgingly showed them through to the inner room of his quarters where Harry was sleeping. He didn’t appreciate being told what he was doing wrong by the mother of the Weasley twins, but he cursed himself for forgetting that he shouldn’t have let Harry sleep so long - the last thing he wanted was for Harry to refuse to sleep again that night.

As they approached the crib, however, it became obvious that Harry was neither asleep nor in it.

‘He’s not there Severus,’ McGonagall said looking swiftly round the room. ‘Has the door to your chambers been locked?’

‘Of course it has,’ Snape snapped.

‘When was the last time you checked on him?’ Molly said quite alarmed.

‘Last night.’

‘Last night?’ Molly said with exasperation. ‘You are supposed to check on toddlers much more frequently than that!’

‘Madame Pomfrey didn’t mention anything about “checking” on Potter.’

‘Its common sense,’ said Molly, her hands travelling to rest on her hips, ‘especially when you’re supposed to be protecting him from you-know-who and his death eaters!’ She was furious that Snape had allowed Harry to wander off.

‘I hardly think that the Dark Lord is going to pay me a little visit at Hogwarts in the middle of the night,’ Snape said silkily. ‘And, as I’m sure you are aware the wards around the castle are quite impenetrable.’ He had no idea how Harry had escaped but it most certainly wasn’t the work of the Dark Lord. After he had put Harry down to sleep he had added his own charms to Dumbledore’s to protect the chambers from being breached by so much as a fly.

‘I think we better look for the boy before we start panicking about Voldemort,’ McGonagall said, feeling quite satisfied with the way Snape flinched at her use of the dark wizard’s name – she too was furious that Snape had been so careless. ‘I’m sure he hasn’t gone far.’

In the end it was Cheep-Cheep’s squawking that gave Harry away.

On his way to find Snape, Harry had become distracted by an open cupboard in the green and silvery room which was next to his. He had had to crawl under the bed, and through a lot of thick dust which made him sneeze, to reach it, but when he did it was worth the wait. There were lots of fun things inside. He had found squidgy balls with blue and brown circles on them which spat goo when he squeezed them; little creepy crawlies which smelt funny and didn’t wriggle, even when Harry pulled their legs; a pile of multi-coloured feathers which tickled Harry, and much much more. The best thing of all though were the different coloured jars of drinky stuff. They were on a higher shelf and Harry had had to stand on a big book to reach them but when he did it was worth the wait. He pulled a few of them off the shelf to drink but then he realised that he wasn’t thirsty and that he could have more fun dipping the feathers in the jars and used them to colour pretty patterns all over himself, the cupboard, and the giant book he had used as a step. He also managed to turn the canary a nice purple colour.

After all this exertion, though, Harry had found himself very sleepy. He pulled the cupboard door closed to make it darker and lay down with his head on Cheep-Cheep. He thought he would just close his eyes for a few minutes before carrying on with his adventure to find Snape.

It was in this position in which Molly finally found Harry.

‘Over here,’ she called to Snape and McGonagall. She smiled down at the young, mischievous Harry. He was suckling contentedly on his thumb, his head on a strange purple stuffed toy which was squawking loudly. He could have looked almost angelic except for the mess surrounding him. It was obvious that he had attacked Severus’s potions cupboards. Ingredients were strewn around him – eyeballs, pickled cockroaches and even some phoenix and some hippogriff feathers. Unfortunately everything had been covered by multi-coloured potions which Harry had obviously taken for paints. Harry’s own romper suit was covered with dust and goo and even his little head of hair looked slimey.

Potions? Molly was suddenly anxious. She was just about to pick up Harry to check whether he might have swallowed anything when an angry voice interrupted her.

‘Potter!’

It was Snape. His usually pasty face was splotched red and his black eyes burned like two fire bolts. He couldn’t believe the mess Potter had made of his private potions cupboard and his new potions encyclopaedia. A drowsy Harry opened one eye. He was delighted to see that Snape had in fact found him – and that he had ‘Minrervy’ and a new smiley woman with him

‘Me cwever,’ he said - much to the amusement of Mrs Weasley and Professor McGonagall.

Potter,’ Snape shouted again, ‘get up this instant! How dare you interfere with my cupboard without my permission!’

Harry jumped at the sharp way in which Snape spoke to him. He sat bolt upright as he considered the man’s angry face and piercing eyes. Somewhere in his stomach he felt that this scenario was quite familiar. He seemed to remember being looked at like that by Snape before. His immediate reaction was to blow a raspberry or to shout something back at him as he felt that he wouldn’t normally let him get away with it, but on the other hand he also knew that he was now scared. He didn’t like Snape’s loud voice and his eyes were like a monsters. Though he was angry with himself for doing it, Harry couldn’t help but crumple up his face and began to cry, his arms squishing Cheep-Cheep for comfort as he tried to hide his head in his pyjamas.

‘Really Severus!’ Molly said bending down to pick up a wailing Harry. ‘He’s only a baby you know. It’s not his fault that you left the cupboard unlocked. You have to be very careful around toddlers.’ She took Harry carefully in her arms and he buried his face in her shoulder as she held him against her stomach and gently rubbed his back, rocking him back and forth to comfort him. Faced with some much-needed sympathy Harry obligingly bawled loudly. It felt so good to be held by the nice smiley woman with the fire-hair. She didn’t even seem to mind when he dripped goo onto her soft gold cloak.

‘He doesn’t know any better,’ agreed Professor McGonagall. ‘You can’t just bark at him and expect him to behave! He’s a baby not one of your students.’

‘He’s Potter,’ Snape snarled. He wasn’t fooled by the crocodile tears. He had seen the brief flash of rebellion in Potter’s eyes when he reproached him and he knew the disobedient teen was in there somewhere.

‘What if he drank some of the potions?’ Molly added. ‘He could have poisoned himself!’

‘Those particular potions are innocuous,’ Snape said, his eyes for the first time taking in the full extent of the damage to his stores. ‘They take three months of darkness to mature. Three months Potter!’ he snapped, angrily, ‘and you have ruined them in three minutes!’

Harry responded by pausing briefly and spitting bubbles in the direction of Snape. He then resumed his screaming at a much higher decibel than before. He had the vague sense that he might have been a bit naughty but he didn’t like being told off by Snape – besides all he had done was a bit of decorating.

‘Shush now dear,’ Molly said soothingly, ‘it’s alright, Professor Snape didn’t mean it.’ She jiggled him around, ‘Did you Severus?’

She didn’t notice when little Harry peered out from his tantrum to cast a mischievous look at Snape. He liked it when the smiley woman told off the angry man.

Snape did not trust himself to reply, simply looking daggers at Harry.

Molly patted Harry’s bottom gently as she rocked him back and forth, and then frowned - the towel that was safety-pinned around his waist as a nappy was full. She looked once more with disapproval at Snape. ‘He’s wet as well,’ she said. ‘Honestly Severus if you agreed to take look after the child the least you could do is make sure he’s taken care of!’

‘Perhaps the responsibility is too much,’ McGonagall said, her nose turned decidedly up in the air. She privately thought Dumbledore was mad to leave Harry with the potions teacher, and she had told him so. Dumbledore, however, had remained firm. He insisted that Severus was the best person to help Harry. ‘After all,’ she continued, ‘you don’t have any experience with toddlers.’

‘Nonsense,’ said Molly briskly, ‘If Arthur can do it then I’m sure that Severus can. Come on – did Poppy show you how to change a nappy?’

Snape grimaced. ‘Yes,’ he muttered.

‘Well let’s see if you can do it then.’

***

‘Use the powder Severus,’ Molly said as she watched the potions master changing a gurgling Harry. Professor McGonagall (much as she had wanted to watch Snape getting a lesson in nappy changing) had left them to it and Molly had been demonstrating what to do for the last five minutes. Harry had stopped crying and was watching Snape with interest from his position on his back the baby mat. ‘No don’t choke him with it,’ she reproached as Severus sent a cloud of powder everywhere, making Harry cough, ‘just a fine covering to dry him off.’

Snape pursed his lips. He couldn’t believe that he was spending his Sunday morning learning how to change Potter. He had to employ some of his more subtle occlumency skills to prevent Molly detecting just how humiliating it was for him. If this ever got out he would have to spend the rest of his life obliviating people to forget.

‘Now lift up his ankles together and pull the loose bit through his legs and fasten it like I showed you with the safety pin.’

This was easier said than done. Harry hadn’t forgiven Snape for shouting at him earlier and he wriggled and squirmed, kicking his legs in every direction but the one Snape wanted to make it difficult as possible. He giggled as Snape dropped the towel in disgust and he then turned over on the mat so that it was almost like he was (quite cheekily) mooning Snape.

‘Stop squirming Potter!’ Snape said through clenched teeth. Harry took no notice. Snape grabbed him and turned him back round sharply but this time Harry sat up and wrestled with Snape for the folded towel, his face determined and his tongue stuck out.

‘Come on now Harry,’ Molly said firmly, taking charge. ‘We need to get this nappy on you before you can play. Stop fidgeting. Severus if you snap at him he’s going to cry.’

Harry heard the word ‘play’ and decided to listen to the smiley lady’s firm tone. With one last cheeky look at Snape he lay back down and kept his legs still.

‘Good boy Harry,’ Mrs Weasley said. She handed him Cheep-Cheep to keep his hands out of trouble. ‘Come on then,’ she said to Snape, ‘you have to take your chance while you can!’

Even though Harry was still (typically he was obedient to Molly and not to him) Snape struggled with the nappy. He couldn’t work out exactly how the thing was supposed to go on. The triangle became more like a square and he couldn’t seem to keep the flaps still enough to secure them. Frustrated he took out his wand and muttered a fastening spell. The pin immediately jumped into action and attached the triangle of cloth round Potter’s waist.

‘Severus!’ Molly snapped loudly, causing Snape to jump and Harry to drop Cheep-Cheep. ‘You do not use magic to fasten a toddler’s nappy! You saw how much he wriggled – he could end up getting stuck with the pin.’

Snape coloured slightly. He wondered exactly how he had been brought to the position where Molly Weasley was speaking to him like he was twelve.

‘Now do it again,’ she said.

Harry grinned broadly at Snape. He seemed to be in as much trouble as Harry had been before. His smile faltered slightly, however, as his nappy was loosened again. He kicked his legs impatiently. How long was he going to spend on the changing mat? Why couldn’t Snape just hurry up and get on with it so Harry could play? Exactly how long had it been since he had a nappy on anyway?

On this last though Harry felt a sudden jolt in his stomach. It had been ages. With that, and without ceremony, a disgusted Snape was suddenly met with a jet of warm liquid from a giggling Harry.

Molly couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Next lesson,’ she said brightly, ‘how to bath him’

***

‘Alright, alright, I’m sorry,’ Draco spat to a furious Snape, wrenching his ear from the man’s grasp.

After his experiences with Potter that morning, Snape, leaving Molly to feed Harry, had stormed off to find a vent for his anger. Draco, as the root of the problem, was the perfect candidate. He journeyed to the Slytherin common room to retrieve him, pretending to the other students that he had prefect business to discuss.

Draco had not been fooled. He had been nervously expecting a visit from Snape for the last twenty-four hours. When they were in the deserted corridor near the dungeons he was not surprised as Snape grabbed his ear and half-dragged him inside the classroom. Snape and Draco got on fairly well most of the time, but his housemaster was not the type to be overly nice to anyone and Draco had been on the receiving end of his temper before – it was definitely not pleasant.

‘Sorry?’ Snape said, as calm as a blast-ended screwt might be before it blew your head off, ‘you do not know the meaning of the word.’

They stood facing each other in the middle of the dungeon classroom. Snape was glaring, his eyes like glass shards penetrating right to Draco’s soul. He held this gaze for a long few moments before Draco looked uncomfortably away.

‘I suppose you realise, Malfoy, that Dumbledore has given me the responsibility of looking after the boy until he can be returned to his normal state.’

Though he was trembling slightly, Draco had to fight very hard to prevent a snort escaping his lips at the thought of Snape in charge of a baby Potter. Luckily the sight of Snape with his wand poised to hex him did the trick.

‘But Sir,’ he said tentatively. ‘Now that Potter’s a baby, well, you could tell – er – the Dark Lord. If you’re in charge of him it would be easy to …’

‘Silence!’ hissed Snape, immediately cutting off Draco’s ramble. ‘Do you dare profess to talk to me about the Dark Lord? What has your father told you about his return - about the night at the Triwizard Tournament?’

Draco looked at his feet, ‘Nothing,’ he admitted. In fact, when he had even questioned his father about it he had been rewarded with a sharp whack with the silver-headed cane. Apparently his father did ‘not yet trust him with such information’.

‘No,’ said Snape, ‘and nor will he until you are of age and have taken the mark yourself. Lucius would see your attack on Potter for what is was – a childish and careless waste of powerful black magic.’

‘But it worked,’ Draco said indignantly. ‘Potter is a baby!’

‘And was that the intention of your father’s spell? Was it he that instructed you to curse Potter within the confines of Hogwarts - the most powerfully protected sanctuary in the entire wizarding world? Do you not think that he would be furious with you if indeed the curse was part of some plan between the Dark Lord and Lucius and you have wasted it and made it known to members of the Order?’

Draco coloured. Snape must know that his father had known nothing about his attack on Potter. He began to panic as Snape’s allowed his words to sink in. If Lucius found out he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

‘Father didn’t know Sir,’ Draco admitted at last.

An unreadable look passed briefly over Snape’s face. ‘And I suppose that you expect me to keep the secret from Lucius?’

Draco grimaced. He did not like admitting to Snape that he was scared of his father, but it was either that or face the wrath of Lucius. ‘If you would Sir,’ he said at last.

Snape surveyed Draco and felt satisfied at the discomfort he saw in his face – it was almost equal to his own. Snape actually had no intention of enlightening Lucius (Dumbledore had forbidden him to even if he desired it) but by not doing so he knew that he was putting himself in a very precarious situation - especially if it was subsequently discovered by the Dark Lord.

There were already rumours that Snape was an unfaithful servant of Voldemort. Such withholding of important information from his ‘master’ had the potential to lead to very painful retribution, and even death. Though it seemed he had been able to convince Draco that the Dark Lord would be angry with the result of the curse, privately Snape doubted that that was the full truth of it – in any case Voldemort would want to know about it. Snape wished that Dumbledore had allowed him to modify Draco’s memory as he knew Lucius could easily wrest the truth out of his son with legilimency if he ever got wind of what had occurred. It was typical Dumbledore – expecting Snape to put himself in danger to protect insufferable teenagers! Snape wondered if Dumbledore had ever experienced the Cruciatus curse as he had done the night he ‘returned’ to the Dark Lord – if he had then he might think twice about offering Snape up for more of the same treatment.

‘I will not be informing Lucius of your little “accident”, but only because it will not achieve anything.’

Draco exhaled with relief, ‘Thank-you, Sir.’

‘Perhaps, Mr Malfoy, you will not be thanking me so readily after you have learned your punishment. Firstly you will not play in the Quidditch match against Gryfinndor.’

‘What?’ said Draco indignantly. He thought he might almost prefer to face his father than miss such an important match. Snape, however, ignored him. He had mulled over a suitable punishment for Draco and this was the only one he thought would actually cause him to suffer – besides without Potter on the team (much as he hated to admit it) Slytherin would still have an good chance of winning.

‘You heard,’ he said. Snape saved the best till last. ‘You will also take a turn babysitting Potter. Three times a week when I choose.’

This was too much for Draco: Babysit the sap-who-lived? He wouldn’t do it. He voiced this to Snape. Unfortunately Snape was not impressed. He grabbed Draco by the scruff of his robes and frog-marched him out of the dungeon.

‘If I have to suffer Potter then so will you,’ Snape said, slamming the door closed with his wand.

Dusting himself off, Draco found himself wishing fervently that he had never sneaked into his father’s stupid office. Suddenly he had a thought, Three times a week, Snape had said. He realised that whatever curse he had thrown at Potter it was going to be enough to keep him as a baby for quite a long time. Sighing, he made his way back to the Slytherin common room trying to concoct in his head a plausible reason why he would have to miss the upcoming Quidditch match against Gryfinndor.

By the time Snape returned to his quarters, Mrs Weasley had left and Harry was being looked after by Hermione. They were both sitting on the floor near the toy-box and for once Harry was quiet as Hermione was pointing to the moving pictures in a Quidditch Book. Typical that he would give his full attention to Quidditch, thought Snape.

“Oh, hi Sir,’ Hermione said, “Mrs Weasley had to get back to the burrow so I offered to stay until you got back.”

Snape pursed his lips. He didn’t know how comfortable he was having Miss Granger come and go as she pleased.

“Very well Miss Granger; you may leave now,” he said shortly.

Harry had been distracted by the pictures of the flying players in the book which Hermione had brought for him. He loved the way they whooshed and tumbled through the air and the way he could put his hand right through them as though they were not there. He had no intention of letting her or the magic book go anywhere.

“Ba – na – Hermy - onee,” Harry said, shaking his head furiously. He was frustrated when his words didn’t come out as well as they could have, but then again he did have Cheep-Cheep in his mouth.

“Do you really wish to choke on that thing, Potter?” Snape said irritably. “Take it out of your mouth!”

Harry looked at Snape with all the disdain a fifteen-month old baby could manage. The batman didn’t seem to understand that Cheep-Cheep enjoyed being in Harry’s mouth and that Harry enjoyed having him there.

“Actually Sir,” Hermione said tentatively, “I think that he’s teething. He kept putting things in his mouth and then screaming when I took them out so I put a cooling spell on Cheep – Er, that toy in his mouth and he was quiet after that.”

Snape gave Hermione a thoroughly withering look, but the thought that Harry might start screaming again persuaded him not to push the issue. As his eyes fell once again down to the book Hermione had in her hands he remembered the idea he had had that morning.

“Miss Granger,” he said. ‘Does Potter have a photo-album?”

“Sir?”

“A photo-album,” Snape repeated impatiently. “- with pictures.”

Comprehension dawned on Hermione. “Oh,” she said, “do you think they might help? I read somewhere once that St. Mungos often uses memories to help the victims of black curses, I think it was …”

“Yes, thank-you Miss Granger,” Snape interrupted – really that girl was an insufferable know-it-all – “I am well aware of that particular theory. Now does Potter have one or not?”

“Doo – ba – dee” said Harry, pulling on Hermione’s arm to get her attention – they seemed to be forgetting that he was even there.

“Yes Sir,” Hermione said, unfazed by Snape’s irritation, “do you want me to get it for you? It’s in his trunk in Gryfinndor.”

Snape nodded and Hermione got to her feet.

“Doo – ba – dee” Harry repeated, with such vehemence that Cheep-Cheep popped out of his mouth.

“It’s okay Harry,” Hermione said, prying his little fingers from the hem of the robes so she could leave, “I’ll be back to see you soon.”

“No. No. No” Harry insisted. He hugged the magic book close to his body.

Hermione smiled. “You can keep the book,” she said. “It was a present for you anyway.”

Harry gave Hermione’s leg a hug at this delightful piece of news before toddling off to a corner of the room, Cheep-Cheep in his mouth and the book in his arms, before she could change her mind.

“Bye Harry,” Hermione said.

“Ba – da,” he said distractedly.

As soon as Hermione left, Snape crossed the room and brusquely picked Harry up and transported him to the playpen.

“Stay there,” he commanded. Harry was so engrossed in his Quidditch Book that he didn’t even protest. Learning from Harry’s ‘little adventure’ that morning Snape silently cast a spell to raise the bars of the pen high so that it was more a maximum security prison than a playpen. Harry didn’t even look up and Snape went next door to retrieve his notes.

***

“Na – ba – da,” Harry mumbled, his mouth, as usual, full with stuffed toy.

Snape sighed in frustration. He was holding up pictures to Harry from his photo album, but unfortunately Potter didn’t seem the slightest bit interested in them. Snape had sat him on the counter-top and Harry kept crawling from one end to the other, or turning his head away when Snape tried to get him look at the pictures from Lily and James Potter’s wedding day.

“Concentrate Potter,” Snape said, “unless you want to stay in your current state forever.”

Unfortunately Harry didn’t seem to be in the mood to concentrate. He was actually pretending that he was a little cat who was eating a bird – and there was certainly no room for books of strange people in the game. He sat down and moved his arms about like he had seen Crookshanks do that day then he purred at Snape. He wanted Snape to stoke him or scratch his ears like Hermione did to Crookshanks that afternoon and he looked up at him, gesturing wildly.

At this point Snape seemed to lose the little patience he had. He reached forward and pulled the stuffed canary out of Harry’s mouth.

This had an instant effect – Harry began to scream.

“Waaah …”

Harry screamed very loudly, angry that Snape had ruined his clever game and upset that the cooling Cheep-Cheep had been removed from his mouth. Since that morning he had had the urge to bite things hard at the back of his mouth. His gums were very hurty and hot. He got onto his knees on the counter-top and started to pound it with his fists, his face turning red from screaming. Why was Snape so nasty to him? Why couldn’t he make anyone understand that Cheep-Cheep like it in his mouth and liked playing ‘Cat’ with him? Life was so unfair!

Snape folded his arms, watching Potter’s tantrum with a pained expression. He couldn’t decide whether it was simply Potter being wilful and trying to outsmart him or whether indeed Hermione was right and he was teething. Either way, Potter in a tantrum wasn’t very conducive to the exercises he had planned for him. He wondered if appealing to the teenage Potter – who he knew was locked in the baby somewhere - would help.

“Really Potter,” he said, contempt heavy in his tone, “what would you think if you could see yourself carrying on in such a childish way? Despite appearances, you are not a baby, you are a fifteen-year-old wizard. It’s about time you started acting like it!”

His appeal seemed to fall on deaf ears as Harry carried on crying louder than ever. It was obvious that at present Potter was in full baby mode – which was probably why he didn’t seem very interested in pictures of the parents the Dark Lord had murdered. This, then, presented another problem – how was he going to stop a baby Potter from screaming like a banshee?

“Here Potter,” he said at last, holding out the stuffed canary, “put it up your nose if you want to - just stop that infernal racket!”

Harry, however, was too far involved in his tantrum to be appeased even by Cheep-Cheep. He snatched the canary and put it down his little spotty jumper before resuming his bawling.

Breathing in heavily, Snape picked up Potter and put him, still screaming, in his cot whilst he went to his visit his private stores down the corridor. He returned with a small vial to find a slightly calmed Potter. With no-one to witness his wailing Harry was crying only in quietly little gasps that made his body shudder. In fact, now that the anger had burned out of his tantrum he was pleased to see the batman enter the room. He hoped that he might want to cuddle him like the fire-haired woman had as he was feeling quite lonely in his cot.

He rubbed his eyes and held out his chubby arms, “Up,” he said. “Up Snape!”

Snape looked sceptically at Potter. He didn’t want him to think he was picking him up just because he’d asked him to, but then again he needed him in the high-chair that Molly Weasley had brought earlier on. Grudgingly he relented.

Harry smiled as he was hoisted into the air. He grabbed Snape’s neck, hugging it tightly.

“Don’t strangle me Potter,” Snape said irritably, using his free arm to return Harry’s hands to himself and repositioning him so he was balanced on his side. Harry responded by burying his head deep inside the man’s cloaks, which were not only soft, but had a vaguely pleasant smell.

“Snape - ba – dee,” Harry mumbled happily, his body feeling warm and soothed from the elder man’s falling and rising chest.

When he had eventually sat Harry in the high chair (which took a lot more energy than he would have like seen as Harry seemed determined to cling to him) Snape handed him a small plastic spoon containing the chilling potion he had got from the cupboard. Harry looked blankly up at Snape – he didn’t really expect him to eat that stuff did he? It was a horrible brown colour and it smelt nasty. He held it back towards Snape.

“Na – da – do” You eat it.

Snape didn’t seem to understand. ‘Come on Potter,’ he said, we haven’t got all day.’

“Na – da – do” Harry repeated. Snape raised an eyebrow but didn’t take the spoon away from him. Oh well, Harry thought, If none of them were going to eat it, he might as well get rid of it. With that he catapulted the stuff across the room.

“Potter!”

A few moments later and Harry found himself eating the horrible brown stuff which Snape, taking over from Harry, abruptly fed him by pushing the spoon into his open mouth. Snape had taken away Cheep-Cheep and told Harry in no uncertain terms that if he didn’t open wide and take his medicine then he would not be getting him back. Screaming and wriggling hadn’t worked any better than smiling angelically, so in the end Harry decided to make the sacrifice for the beloved bird which he desperately needed to chew and opened his mouth. He did not enjoy being fed like a little baby, but Snape did not seem to trust him with the spoon anymore.

In the end Harry was not sorry that he took the medicine because the minute the brown stuff passed into his mouth, the hot, hurty feeling that he had had all day disappeared just like magic. He smiled gratefully up at Snape.

“Ta – da,” he giggled, holding out his hand for Cheep-Cheep.

Snape thrust the damned purple bird back at Potter. “Maybe now we can get on with some work,” he said irritably as he went to fetch the photo-album.

***

“Come on Potter, focus,” Snape said. He was sat in front of Potter, who was still in his high chair, turning the pictures of his photo album and pointing things out to him. ‘Do you recognise these people?’ he said gesturing towards a picture of James and Lily Potter twirling together on a polished dance-floor, strings of flowers hanging like streamers over their heads as the wedding party, including Remus, Sirius and a unusually well-dressed Hagrid, stood admiring them from the edges.

“Na – da,” said Harry, pulling at the corner of the page to get quickly to the next one – he wanted to finish this book assoon as possible and go back to the one where the little people flew.

Snape sighed. He was beginning to regret requesting Potter’s photo album. The boy didn’t seem to remember anything about the people in it and so it was not helping and on top of that Snape felt a knife slice through his chest every time he caught a glance of the smiling Potters. When he had asked Hermione to bring him some photos he thought she would have returned with one of the Quidditch team or some of Potter’s pathetic little Gryfinndor friends. He scarcely imagined that he would find himself confronted with the ghosts that he had tried to exorcise from his mind fourteen years ago.

The scenes in the photo album seemed to stretch right from Potter and Lily leaving school all the way through to Harry’s first birthday - which was near the time which the experiences they were capturing had ceased to continue. Lily and Potter were frozen forever as smiling, waving newly-weds and parents, and their faces betrayed a contented naivety of the events which were to follow barely three months from the last flash of the camera.

Snape shuddered even to think of the things that he had been doing at this time in the service of the Dark Lord. He felt his left arm itch in sympathy. He had not documented his experiences in an album – in fact he would be pleased with any possible way he could find to banish them from his memory forever, particularly those which told of his own role in the Potter’s legacy.

At that he felt Harry’s fingers grip tightly round one of his own. He looked down to see impatient, wide emerald eyes reminding him that he was there to deal with the present and not dwell on the past.

“I told you to concentrate,” Snape snapped. “We are not turning the page till I say so.”

This time Harry didn’t start at Snape’s harsh tone. He thought that the batman looked a bit sad – rather like Harry felt when he was alone in his crib and it was too dark.

“Ga – da,” he said shaking the Snape’s fingers. “Ga – da – dee.” With that piece of advice given, Harry decided he would really try to concentrate on the pictures of the pretty lady and the scruffy-looking man that Snape kept wafting under his nose.

Harry was in a dark place. All around him were stones with names written on them. He wasn’t alone. He looked down to see that he was trapped – tied to a stone which somewhere in the back of his mind he knew to read Thomas Riddle. In front of him was a steaming cauldron; acrid smoke curled up from it to make demon shaped clouds that glowed eerily in the light provided by a new crescent moon. Harry’s hand throbbed with searing pain as drops of blood dripped onto the trampled grass.

Further in front of him were a circle of masked men and woman on their knees; only their glittering eyes and pale hands were visible. To one side, was the body of his friend – Cedric Diggory. A painful bolt of lightening passed right through Harry’s heart as he suddenly remembered where he was and why.

Just as things became clear, an unearthly Voldemort, skin as taut and unblemished as a newborn baby, turned slitted eyes towards Harry, raising his wand in a mesmerising, smooth, circular gesture, as though the years spent in a decrepit half-life had been taken-up planning his new body and its movement to perfection.

Harry closed his eyes, knowing that the scene before him was a dream – remembering that his parents, Lily and James Potter, and their loving protection, had gotten him away. A comforting vision passed through his mind – his mother and father dancing at their wedding.

Even so, as he woke Harry could not contain the scream that escaped his lips …

Severus Snape clicked his fingers and immediately the lanterns hanging from the stone walls of his quarters burned with a dim candlelight. He had become vaguely aware of Harry’s cries minutes before but had been hoping that they would stop as suddenly as they had started. He was beginning to regret that he had moved Harry into the room where he slept and that he not gone with his original plan of placing an age-line round the bars of the cot.

“Stop grizzling, Potter,” he said. “Go to sleep.”

Harry immediately fell silent. In truth he hadn’t even realised that he had been crying. All at once he remembered exactly who he was and exactly why he was in Snape’s private rooms.

Harry thought guiltily of that afternoon. Snape had been showing him pictures of his mother and father and all he had been worried about was the Quidditch book that Hermione had given him for his birthday. In fact he had been so eager to turn the pages that he had made a small rip in one of the corners.

Still, Harry reasoned, it hadn’t been his fault. The curse that Draco had sent at him on the Quidditch pitch had somehow obliviated his memory as well as reducing him to a baby.

A baby?

Harry’s cheeks flamed as he thought quickly over the last day or two. He didn’t know how he was ever going to live it down. Not only had he been constantly clutching a stuffed canary and throwing a tantrum at the drop of a hat, but he was also wearing a nappy – and had had it changed by Snape! The only consolation to Harry was that he had, on one occasion, weed right in his potions teachers face – that had actually been very amusing.

Harry looked down and found to his embarrassment that he was dressed in a head-to-toe romper suit complete with bobble hood. It was red and gold and had a picture of a lion on it which looked suspiciously like the stuffed one that Ron kept under (and sometimes in) his bed. In fact, thought Harry wryly, it probably was one of the Weasley children’s cast-offs as he remembered seeing Mrs Weasley the day before.

Harry also knew that he was trying very hard to quash his childish urges. For example, the thought which kept popping in his head was how desperately he wanted to put that stupid canary (Cheep-Cheep?) in his mouth to chew. He kicked his blue baby blanket from his body in frustration. Why couldn’t he just have a normal life like Ron or Hermione? Why did things like this always happen to him? At this thought it was all Harry could do to stop his small, trembling bottom lip from parting with the upper one to let forth another round of bawling.

Perhaps the worst thing about his sudden memory, however, was the more harrowing things it brought back. In his oblivious baby state he had been able to forget that his parents had been murdered by Voldemort; it felt like a cruel, breathtaking, punch in the stomach to have it thrust on him all over again. Though he was glad he could now remember the mum and dad that he had lost, and would certainly not have it any other way, he couldn’t help think a little fondly about how safe he had felt when his biggest worry was the next game he was going to play with Hermione.

Perhaps thankfully, however, just as suddenly as Harry was having these thoughts they seemed to drop as rapidly from his mind. It was as though his head was an overflowing bag of marbles and he was unable to keep some of them from falling with a clatter to the floor. He tried desperately to cling to the image of his mother and father dancing at their wedding, and he seemed unable to rid himself of vision of the risen Voldemort, but everything else spun rapidly away and no matter how hard Harry struggled he was unable to prevent the memories of his life leave his brain like they had never been there to begin with.

“I thought I told you to go to sleep, Potter,” a familiar voice sneered.

The world suddenly got darker as Snape’s head, complete with hook-nose and oily black hair, cast a shadow over Harry’s cot.

“Do – ba – diddy – da,” Harry said confused. He knew that he had had a nasty dream with a very scary monster (Dol-dee-vor?), but no matter how much he screwed up his face he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what it all meant, or who the big boy tied to the stone had been. He sat up in his cot, his green eyes wide, watching Snape carefully. Perhaps he knew what had happened.

“Da – Ba – Dee - Snape?”

Snape, of course, could not understand anything Potter was saying. The only reason he had left the comfort of his bed was because, for the first time since he had become a baby, Potter had shut up when he was told. Snape had the suspicion that a quiet Potter was a plotting Potter and he wanted to make sure he understood that the type of games he had played the day before would not be acceptable.

As he looked down upon the toddler now, however, he could see that something was different. Harry was sitting quietly, staring up at him with his eyes full of a passion that Snape had only ever seen from the teenage Harry.

Harry realised that he wanted to see the book that Snape had shown him again. He knew now that the smiley man and woman in it were his ‘Mamma’ and ‘Dadda’. He wrinkled his nose and tried to concentrate as hard as he could to make the words come.

“NO – BA – DOO – SNAPE!” he shouted, as though the volume which he garbled at might help.

Snape’s blank face, however, quickly told Harry that he wasn’t getting anywhere. Why didn’t the batman understand him? He wanted to se his little smiley mummy and daddy to make sure they were safe. He picked Cheep-Cheep up in is little fingers and mashed his head viciously before turning on his belly sadly and burying his head in his pillow.

“Potter,” Snape snapped, aware that the boy might be trying to tell him something, “I can’t speak baby. Look at me.”

As Harry turned slowly towards him, Snape found himself wishing that it was not too dangerous (not to mention illegal) to use Occlumency against toddlers. There was definitely something that Potter was trying to communicate.

This time Harry decided to really concentrate on what he wanted as he seemed to have Snape’s full attention. He furrowed up his little brow and balled his fists tightly. Finally he managed to get the word out of his mouth

“Mamma,”

A greasy eyebrow shot right up on Snape’s waxy forehead. When he was showing Potter the album earlier that day he had not informed him who the people were. It was obvious to him that Harry had had his first memory restored.

“What did you say Potter? Repeat yourself.”

Once he done it the first time Harry found it was easier to say the word again.

“Mamma, Mamma, Dadda,” he said happily – he was definitely on a roll now.

Snape bent down and hoisted Potter from his cot as the toddler to gurgled with satisfaction. Snape clicked his fingers again to brighten the lanterns to their full strength, ignoring the way Potter immediately snapped his eyes shut, and then placed him in his high chair so that he could retrieve the photo album. He flicked the pages straight to the Potter’s wedding.

“Who are these people, Potter?” he asked firmly.

Harry looked down at the picture of his loving parents. They were twirling and dancing in one picture and then waving up at him in the other. He suddenly remembered the feeling of being safe and warm in his mother’s arms.

“Mamma, Dadda,” he said, his pudgy hands jerking forward to lovingly smudge the images.

As he looked down at them, however, Harry suddenly began to whimper. They were his mummy and daddy, but he knew instinctively that he would never feel either of their safe embraces again. They were dead – killed by the thin black-cloaked beast with the green flash of light; the same man that had also been in the strange place in his dream.

This thought was enough to bewilder any grown-up, never mind a toddler.

“Dead-ie,” Harry said sadly.

Snape visibly flinched at the boy’s words. He noticed that Potter’s emerald eyes were full with the first genuine tears he had seen from the toddler. He didn’t quite know what to say – he had a strange feeling as he looked at Potter and (for the first time also) he knew his eyes were not filled with loathing but with a strange pity.

However, with an occlumency as natural as the regular filling of his lungs Snape shrugged off this feeling almost immediately. “Yes Potter,” he said. “Your mother and father were killed.”

Harry didn’t break into howls as Snape had expected he might – it seemed that even as a toddler Harry had developed a strong resilience to whatever had happened to him. He held out his arms.

“Up Snape,” he said, tired of thinking about so complicated and nasty things. “Sweepy.”

Both Snape and Harry seemed shocked at the way this sentence had been strung together. Snape regarded Harry closely for a few moments, checking for any changes. He made up his mind to borrow Madame Pomfrey’s ageing-curl in the morning.

“Very well Potter,” he said lifting Harry up onto his shoulder, “we will resume your lesson tomorrow.”

Before Snape put Harry down for the night, however, he filled and warmed a bottle of milk for him to drink in bed. And so with the soothing liquid from the nice batman trickling into his mouth Harry finally fell into a calm and dreamless sleep.

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.

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.

‘Good-morning Severus,’ Dumbledore said, entering the potion master’s quarters with a smile.

Snape looked up from his work. He hadn’t slept in two days, spending most of the day teaching and all night trying to come up with a solution to the small problem that for the last forty-eight hours had been teething, and very loudly. It had been three days since Harry had aged from fifteen to eighteen months, but since then, despite taking him through the photo-album several times, Snape had been unable to get the boy to age anymore.

‘Good-morning,’ Snape said curtly.

‘Are we any further with …’

‘No.’

‘And my suggestion about the …’

‘No,’ Snape said again. ‘It had no effect.’

‘I see.’ Dumbledore stroked his beard thoughtfully. ‘Where is Harry?’ he asked.

‘Asleep,’ Snape said. He knew that Madame Pomfrey had advised him not to let Harry sleep beyond eight o’ clock, but he was not teaching till late that afternoon and had decided that he needed the morning to work further on a cure.

Dumbledore decided not to mention that it wasn’t the wisest thing to allow Harry to sleep all morning. He could see that Snape hadn’t slept for several days. He could also see the frustration in his black eyes; not being able to solve the riddle of Harry’s transformation was obviously getting to him. Severus Snape had been the same ever since he had first come to Hogwarts as a slightly awkward but determined eleven year old. If there was something that he couldn’t do he couldn’t rest till he had. Luckily for Harry, he had never so far failed his mentor.

‘Right,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I think I’ll go and see how he is, if that’s alright by you?’

‘Fine,’ Severus said.

‘And I’ll keep an eye on him for you whilst you go to the hall and get some breakfast.’

Snape raised an eyebrow, but he didn’t argue with Dumbledore. He could last a long time without sleep and food, he’d done so on many, many occasions, but trying to argue with Dumbledore when he was on one of his missions was beyond useless. He replaced his quill in its inkpot and got up from his stool to go to the hall.

‘If he cries then give him this,’ Snape said wearily. He handed the amused headmaster a rubber star which he had charmed to make to teething toy for Harry.

‘Thank-you Severus,’ Dumbledore said, his pale blue eyes twinkling. He made his way over to Harry’s cot.

‘Good-morning Harry,’ he said gently, reaching into the cot and lifting him up.

Harry’s eyes blinked a few times before they opened. It took him several seconds before he figured out exactly where he was. He looked at the bearded man suspiciously. This wasn’t Snape. He looked wildly round for the batman.

‘It’s alright, Harry,’ Dumbledore said, ‘Severus has gone to get some breakfast. I’m Albus Dumbledore, do you remember me?’

Harry wrinkled his nose slightly distastefully. He didn’t like being picked up by Albus when he was expecting Snape. He stuck out his tongue and blew some bubbles into the long white beard.

‘Snape,’ Harry chanted, ‘Snape, Snape.’

‘Professor Snape will return soon, Harry,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Now, first things first, where exactly does Severus keep the nappies?’

Twenty minutes later and Harry was changed, dressed and sat in his high chair crunching a piece of toast very viciously because it felt good against his aching gums. He had discovered that the bearded man – Balbus – was actually very funny. He had kept him amused on the changing mat and getting dressed. He had gotten Cheep-Cheep to sing a song about a farmer and a den, and the other stuffed toys had all joined in, holding hands and moving in a circle around Cheep-Cheep while he picked a wife. Harry had been very surprised that his favourite toy had chosen the deep blue and purple birdy with the pink ribbon round her neck and not him, but then he had been busy being cleaned by Balbus at the time.

‘Good-boy Harry,’ Dumbledore said, smiling at the way the toddler attacked his breakfast with gusto.

‘Good-boy,’ echoed Harry, pleased at the praise. Snape might be his favourite big person but he was definitely not generous with his praise; not generous at all.

Dumbledore was watching Harry thoughtfully. He knew as he looked into his emerald eyes that the elder Harry was in there somewhere. They were tinged with an understanding far beyond his years. The teenage Harry’s eyes were always fascinating to those who looked at them. Not only were they the absolute mirror to Harry’s soul, scarcely able to conceal the emotions that he was experiencing at that particular time, but they also had a hint of knowing that could be the result only of the experiences Harry had had in his short fifteen years. They had looked into the gaze of the greatest evil that had ever lived, and they had borne witness to the death of Cedric Diggory which had left them with traces of knowledge that could never be erased. Dumbledore knew from experience that to look into the eyes a dying man (or woman) was something that would transform the soul forever; it was that which gave the recipient the ability to see what others couldn’t – such as the mournful kestrels, descendants of the black horse which rode with the four horsemen of the apocalypse.

Harry’s eyes still bore such residue, and it was this that convinced Dumbledore that the spell which had transformed him could be reversed and that Harry would not grow up for a second time without the knowledge that had made him the teenager he was the first. Still there seemed to be some way to go. He knew that Severus was spending every spare moment on the problem, but Dumbledore had the feeling that he was failing to gain enough space from his books to engage with the things that really made black magic thrive – the person it was exacted upon and everything that went with them.

‘Harry?’ Dumbledore said quietly. Harry looked at Dumbledore. His low, serious tone jarred with something inside him and he gave him his full attention.

‘Balbus?’

‘Harry, I want you to help Professor Snape in any way that you can. You have been the victim of a very advanced form of black magic and it is going to be as much up to you as Professor Snape to try and conquer it.’

Harry nodded. He didn’t understand much of what the bearded man was saying but he knew that it was important. He looked at him solemnly, ‘Me help.’

‘Good-boy Harry,’ Dumbledore said smiling, ‘now how about another game of the Farmer’s in his Den?’

Harry clapped his hands together. ‘Me pway!’ he said jubilantly.

When Snape returned from breakfast he surveyed the mess of toys which surrounded Dumbledore and Harry with a sardonic eye.

‘Having fun?’ he said.

‘Snape!’ Harry said happily. He hoisted himself up using the edge of the toy-box as a lever and half-toddled, half-ran towards Snape with his arms outstretched.

Snape looked almost alarmed as the small boy ran to greet him. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the way that Potter was beginning to show him affection. The night before when he had (eventually) gotten him to bed he had even caught him blowing him a kiss. It was unnerving. Snape was far happier when he was being difficult, he knew how to handle a difficult Potter. Luckily, Harry fell over onto his backside before he reached Snape.

Harry scowled, sitting there for a few moments; he thought he had mastered this walking business and he felt frustrated that he hadn’t been able to reach his target. Still, not wanting to be beaten by his wobbly feet he got to up once again and toddled more slowly in Snape’s direction.

‘Up, up,’ he said.

‘Potter, you’re not a baby, you don’t need to be carried,’ Snape said irritably.

‘I think he simply wants to be picked up to say hello,’ Dumbledore said, noting the toddler’s crestfallen expression.

‘He’s fine where he is,’ Snape said. ‘He will never learn to walk if he is picked up at the drop of a hat.’

Harry frowned, but he knew he was fighting a losing battle. Snape never picked him up unless it was unavoidable. He sat down suddenly where he was, nestling Cheep-Cheep in his arms – at least he didn’t object to being cuddled.

Dumbledore sighed but he didn’t push it. Snape needed to go at his own pace with Harry, if he was forced then it would be worse for both of them.

‘Severus, there is something that I wish to speak to you about.’

Snape looked at Dumbledore suspiciously, ‘Well headmaster …?’

‘It’s about Draco.’

‘What about him?’ Snape said shortly.

‘I hear that he is not to play in the Quidditch match a week on Saturday?’

‘That was the punishment I decided upon,’ Snape said curtly.

‘A fair one I’m sure,’ Dumbledore said evenly, ‘but interestingly I had an owl from the school governors yesterday informing me that both Lucius Malfoy and Cornelius Fudge would be in attendance at all collective school events for the foreseeable future.’ Dumbledore’s eyes flashed with fire, ‘After what they describe as the “tragic accident” at the Triwizard tournament. When you issued the punishment to Draco, Severus, did you realise that his father was to attend?’

‘No, he has informed me since. Naturally he asked me to reconsider.’

‘And?’

‘And naturally I declined such an impudent request.’

Snape was aware that his answer had sounded defensive, but then he could feel Dumbledore watching him very carefully.

‘I see.’ Dumbledore paused for a few moments trying to weigh something up. ‘Do you think that wise?’

‘Headmaster,’ Snape said impatiently, ‘Mr Malfoy needs to learn that his actions have consequences. He accepts my decision.’

‘And Lucius …?’

‘Lucius will also accept my decision.’

‘I was thinking more of the consequences for Draco.’

‘That is between Mr Malfoy and his father. He has been instructed to inform Lucius that he has been banned from the game for his so-far poor performance in most of his subjects. That is what he will do and Lucius will believe it.’

‘You are encouraging Draco to lie to his father?’

Snape pursed his thin, pale lips, the teeth behind them setting themselves together. ‘Would you rather he told the truth?’ he said, forcing the words to remain polite.

Dumbledore sighed. ‘Severus, I am well aware of the corner that Draco would be in was his father to find out the truth. However, I am uncomfortable with putting him in such a predicament. If Lucius were to find out that his son had allowed such magic to fall into the hands of the Order then the consequences would be great.’

‘I am well aware of that headmaster. I have taken measures for such an eventuality. However, in regards to the Quidditch match, I will not lift the ban simply to prevent Draco from facing the displeasure of his father.’

Dumbledore knew that Severus’s word would be final on the subject. He could also sense, however, the undercurrent of regret. Had the Professor known that Lucius was to attend the match prior issuing Draco’s punishment Dumbledore doubted that he would have chosen it. Draco, though Snape would never admit it (probably even to himself), was one of the only people Snape had ever deigned to care about. It was not difficult for Dumbledore to understand why. Snape himself had been pressured into joining the Death Eaters at the impressionable age of seventeen by Lucius Malfoy. Though it was unsaid, both Dumbledore and Snape knew that the day would come that history would repeat itself with Draco, and when it did they were hoping that, as Snape had done (eventually at least), Draco would be prepared to take the mark but pledge his allegiance to the Order.

‘Very well,’ Dumbledore said. It wasn’t up to him to intervene. Draco was Snape’s responsibility – they had both agreed on that seventeen years ago. Harry, however, was a different matter. ‘Now, to Harry. I think that it’s time that you both had a break from these quarters. The walls and books are clouding your judgement.’

Snape bristled.

‘It’s not a criticism,’ Dumbeldore went on quickly, ‘but I think that you will able to gain more perspective on the problem if you were to spend sometime away from the castle. Perhaps you could take Harry out?’

Snape looked horrified. ‘Headmaster, you cannot seriously expect me to take Potter out in public?’

‘Why not Severus? As far as the world is concerned Harry is just another baby. His scar can easily be concealed and if you dress correctly and restrict yourself to muggle London then no-one will be any the wiser.’

Snape cast his eyes doubtfully to Harry. At that moment he was flapping his arms like they were wings and nodding his head like a demented pixie.

‘I’m sure I could be better employed elsewhere …’ Snape ventured.

‘Nonsense! Anyway, the break will do you good. You look like you haven’t slept in weeks. Take him to the park – the fresh air will help you to sleep.’

Snape felt his face redden slightly. He suddenly felt like he was the child. ‘Headmaster …’

‘I will not hear another word about it Severus,’ Dumbledore said more firmly. You have only one class this afternoon, Professor Sprout will cover it.’ He smiled at Harry. ‘You would like to go to the park Harry, wouldn’t you?’

‘Park?’ Harry repeated. He like the sound of that – at least it was different to ‘up the corridor’ or ‘into the playpen’ which was where he seemed to spend most of his time. He nodded his head. ‘Park!’ he repeated happily.

‘It’s settled then,’ Dumbledore said.

On Madame Pomfrey’s advice, Snape stopped off at the Burrow on his way to London to borrow a pushchair from Molly Weasley. He was now trying to get Harry to get into it. It was one that Arthur Weasley had procured for his muggle collection. He and Molly had used it to take both Ron and Ginny to the London zoo so that they could look at the non-magic animals. Molly had kept in the attic in case the need for it ever arose again, though Arthur kept assuring her that it wouldn’t –seven children were enough for anyone. In fact he often wondered why they hadn’t stopped after the twins.

‘You are getting into this contraption Potter, one way or another,’ Snape said, his patience beginning to wane.

‘NO,’ Harry said, running behind Molly’s legs. ‘NO, NO, NO.’

Harry had spied the straps. He wasn’t about to sit in something that might hold him like his highchair so that he couldn’t wander around. He needed all the practice at walking that he could get.’

‘Potter!’

Molly put her hand on Severus’s arm smiling. ‘Let me try,’ she said. She knelt down and took Harry’s hands in hers so that he had to look at her, restraining him gently as he tried to pull away. ‘Now listen to me, Harry,’ she said in a soothing tone, ‘you have to get into the pushchair if you want to go to the park. You can’t walk as fast as Professor Snape …’

‘Yes!’ Harry said pouting slightly.

‘I’m sure you are very good at walking,’ Molly said patiently, ‘but you’re not as fast as grown-ups. You can get out when you get there if you’re a good boy.’

‘No!’ Harry said, sticking his tongue out and giggling.

‘Put that away, young man,’ Molly said. ‘Now are you going to get into the pushchair or am I going to put you in there?’

‘No!’ said Harry again. It was one of the few words that he really liked. He couldn’t understand why the stupid grown-ups couldn’t understand that there was no way he was about to get into the pushchair. No meant no – Snape was always telling him that.

‘Harry, you are being naughty,’ Molly said a little more sternly. ‘If you get in on your own then you’ll be a very good boy for Professor Snape.

‘No, No, NO!’

‘Very well.’

Molly scooped Harry up unceremoniously and placed him in the pushchair. Harry wriggled and screamed but she took no notice of him, and with the deft hands of someone who had gone through the same thing with seven other children, fastened him securely in. Snape was grudgingly impressed. He knew that left to him it would have taken several attempts and a lot more ranting. Molly hadn’t even raised her voice. She stooped down to speak to Harry again, who was trying (very unsuccessfully) to manipulate the straps so they would open.

‘The straps are so you don’t fall out,’ she explained patiently as Harry squealed with frustration. ‘Now come on, there’s no need for all that racket. I thought you were a good boy.’

In frustration, Harry lashed out with one of his little fists and hit Molly in the face.

‘That was very naughty,’ Molly said calmly. ‘You do not hit.’

Harry, however, was in too much of a temper to take any notice of her warning. Pleased that he had gotten some sort of reaction he hit out again, this time catching her on the nose.

Molly took hold of Harry’s hand and gave him a firm tap on the back of it – not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him pout. ‘I said you don’t hit,’ she said. ‘Now you can stay in there until you learn to behave.’ She turned to Severus. ‘Don’t let him out until he’s stopped sulking,’ she said. ‘I know he’s only young, but he has to learn that he can’t always have his own way.’

Snape nodded – he had no intention of letting Potter out anyway, though he didn’t voice it to Molly.

Harry waved his arms around about, straining and shouting in frustration. He hadn’t like being smacked on the hand by the fire-hair woman. It made him feel naughty and he wanted to tell them that it was her that had been mean and not the other way around. Unfortunately he had a feeling in his stomach that she had been right, and this made him more frustrated.

‘There’s no use carrying on, Harry,’ Molly said calmly, ‘you brought it on yourself. Don’t worry,’ she said to Severus, ‘they’re always trying it on at this age – it’s the start of the “terrible twos”, he’ll grow out if it - eventually anyway. Now you better get going. Sorry I can’t come with you but I have to get the house straight, the in-laws are coming in the morning – you are so lucky not having to deal with then yourself. Terrible creatures, always sticking their oars in when it isn’t wanted; why they last time they came to visit it was a nightmare, the twins had …’

‘I can imagine,’ Snape interrupted, feeling that this story might go on for a while.

‘Oh,’ said Molly, ‘well, yes, I guess you better get this one off. Harry dear, please stop chewing the straps, you haven’t got enough teeth to chew a carrot let alone gnaw through several inches of reinforced plastic. Right, you know about child-to-adult apparition I presume? Yes? Okay, then I will say goodbye – don’t forget to keep that hat on his head, you don’t want anyone asking questions. Oh and keep him wrapped up warm, there’s always a chill in the air this time of year in London. Harry, be good wont you dear… ?’

Snape apparated with Molly’s questions still ringing in his ears. Whilst he appreciated Molly’s help, he had to wonder at the way that she could speak for several minutes about something that could be dealt with in mere seconds.

He looked down at Harry. They had apparated in an old outbuilding at the edge of Hyde Park and Harry was looking around in fascination at the sudden change of scene. He seemed very excited considering that the walls of the bare building were covered with the green slime of years of neglect. Cobwebs hung from every nook and cranny in the gloomy room and the pungent smell of drains hung heavy in the air. It had been years since the building had been used by muggles and so wizarding folk used it as an apparating point. If any muggles were to come across it they would be unable to gain access and if they did would see a pack of ferocious rats that would make them go running.

‘Park?’ Harry said.

‘No Potter, not the park.’

When Snape and Harry had actually gotten out into the park, Harry had forgotten his previous sulk and was shrieking with excitement at the things that he saw as they walked (or rather as Snape pushed him) alongside the river that wound through the green park. The late autumn wind was shushing through the trees, blowing the red and amber leaves up at Harry as he tried to catch them in his fist.

‘Potter leave those alone, they’re dirty,’ Snape said irritably as Harry tried to stuff a handful into his mouth.’ Harry dropped the leaves instantly and turned to squeal at a flock of swans.

‘Pretty birdy,’ Harry said, swivelling around in his seat to talk to Snape. ‘Pretty Cheepy-Cheep.’

Snape looked dubiously down at Harry. His emerald eyes were filled with excitement. ‘It’s a swan, Potter,’ he said.

‘Pretty birdy,’ Harry insisted. He was thoroughly enjoying his visit to the park. He hadn’t been further than the Hogwarts castle since – well, since ever really. As Snape wheeled him around he had seen birds, people, other children (he was beginning to think he was the only one), ducks, dogs, bikes and lots of other things that Snape hadn’t told him about.

Snape looked around. He could tell that Harry was getting restless to be out. He hated to admit it but he’d actually been very well-behaved after the telling off he’d received at the Burrow and Snape thought he might reward him by allowing him to wander around for a bit. He bent down and faced Harry like he had seen Molly do.

‘Listen to me, Potter,’ he said. ‘I’m going to let you out now. We can sit here on this bench for a bit and watch the swans. But if you misbehave or run off then you will find yourself back in your pushchair quicker than you can say “birdy”, do you understand?’

Snape looked Harry directly in the eye as he spoke to him and it seemed to make an impression on him. ‘Yes,’ he said, ‘me good.’

‘Very well then.’ Snape loosened the straps and lifted Potter out of his pushchair, placing him on the ground near the railings which guarded the river as he sat down on the bench. He took the loaf of bread that Molly had given him ‘to feed the ducks’ out of the baby-bag that also contained Harry’s nappies and a bottle. ‘Here,’ he said, handing it to Harry.

Harry looked blankly at Snape. Did he really expect him to eat a loaf of bread when there were birdies to watch?

Snape felt himself colouring – why had he ever agreed to take Potter to the park in the first place? Dumbledore had tricked him as usual. Now he was going to have to demonstrate how Potter should feed the ducks - it was laughable.

Luckily, he was saved the humiliation by a passing woman who had a little girl with her who was older than Harry – perhaps three or four. The woman plonked herself down next to Snape. She had a large frame and the bench lurched slightly as she sat down. She hitched up her two-sizes-too-small floral pink dress that pinched in all the wrong places and adjusted the bright purple wool shawl that sat on her gigantic shoulders. On second glance Snape could see that she was expecting another child.

‘First time?’ she said nodding her head in Harry’s direction, she appeared slightly out of breath and her round cheeks were glowing with the cold wind. ‘Sarah will show the little fellow what to do. Here you are madam, help the lad to feed to them ducks there’s a good girl?’

‘Alright Ma,’ Sarah replied.

Snape looked Sarah over as she took a curious Harry’s hand and led him closer to the railings. The clothes she had on were too big and they looked worn as though they had been passed down from an elder sibling. Her shoes were scuffed and her socks were trailing round her ankles, but she had brilliantly mischievous sapphire eyes and clean, plaited long blonde hair and she looked happy. As she shot Snape a huge toothy grin, Snape automatically found himself smiling back, though he was aware that it came out more like a grimace.

‘I’m Maura Pickles,’ the woman said, her pale blue eyes taking him in, ‘What’s your name?’

‘Er- Severus Snape,’ Snape said, immediately wishing that he had come up with a more suitable name.

‘That’s a funny one’ she said. ‘Where ‘r you from then? Poland is it? We ‘ave a lot of Poles down our street. Nice people though, always keep their windows spotless.’

‘Actually I’m from England, northern England, It’s just a name that’s been passed down through our family,’ Snape lied. He didn’t know why he was giving so much away to this woman, but there was something about her kind, twinkling eyes that inspired confidence.

‘Oh.’

Sarah was tearing big chunks off the bread and throwing them into the river, trying to show Harry what to do. He, on the other hand, kept grabbing bits of bread and throwing them at his feet, expecting the swans to come to him and stamping his foot in frustration when they didn’t.

‘What’s this one’s name?’ Maura said.

Harry turned round from what he was doing to speak directly to the big fat woman. ‘Potter,’ he said smiling, tapping himself on the chest.

‘Family name too is it?’ Maura said. She looked at Snape’s outdated and oversized pin-striped trousers with interest. They were mismatched by a blue flannel cardigan that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a geriatric and finished by a cream coloured shirt with a ruffled collar. There was definitely something strange about this family. But, then again, the high-rise that she lived in, in Bethnal Green was full of strange people so she was use to it. She smiled as the young lad threw some bread to the swans and then squealed with delight as they gobbled it up. She could tell that the pushchair was old and worn, but the boy was dressed in a very passable red and gold coat and trouser suit and he was obviously well-looked after - which was of course the most important thing.

‘His name is Harry,’ Snape said, finding that the name almost stuck in his throat.

‘Got any more then?’ Maura said. She offered Snape a stick of chewing gum which he, very politely, declined.

‘No,’ Snape said. He decided not to get into how Harry wasn’t his to being with.

‘I’ve got seven, soon to be eight’ she said patting her belly. ‘The other blighters are all at school. Believe me the sooner you can get ‘em carted off there the better – they’re into everything – but this one,’ she pointed at Sarah, ‘Good as gold. She could stay with me forever. Still he don’t look too bad. If you’ve only one I bet you ‘ave more time to get him on the straight an’ narror.’

‘I don’t know about that,’ Snape said dubiosuly.

As if to prove the point Harry, fed up of sharing his bread with the other little girl, chose this moment to snatch it away and squeeze through the too-narrow bars to get closer to the ducks. Snape was on his feet immediately and had grabbed his jacket before he’d ever even got a step.

‘No you don’t Harry,’ he said. He bent over the low railings and hoisted him up. ‘Back in your pushchair I think.’

‘No,’ said Harry crying. ‘No!’

‘Sound like he’s tired to me,’ Maura said. ‘Best put ‘im down and give ‘im a bottle and he’ll be asleep a quick as you like.’

‘No!’ said Harry, his face screwing up, upon hearing the word ‘tired’, ‘Pway.’

‘Pushchair,’ Snape said firmly. He fastened a struggling Harry in and then went into the baby bag for the bottle. He discreetly clicked his fingers to warm it up and then put it in reach of Potter, knowing that he wouldn’t be able to resist it forever. He then chatted amicably to the muggle lady for a while about her soon-to-be-eight children (six boys, one girl and one on the way) and listened to the advice she gave him about Harry – everything from potty training to curing nightmares. Some of Maura’s methods seemed slightly strange to Severus (particularly the one about dipping a ‘dummy’ in gin), but a lot of it was helpful. It seemed that taking care of a baby was a similar experience both for muggles and wizards.

Meanwhile Harry had given into temptation and taken the bottle. He was now fast asleep, tired out by the fresh air that he had had.

‘Look at that,’ Maura said. ‘What did I tell you? The little mite was dog-tired. Mind he don’t sleep too long though, you’ll be wanting some yourself tonight - If you’ll pardon me for saying so you look like you need it. Anyway, it was nice talking to you.’ She stood up sighing. ‘Come on Sarah, we best get going if we’re going to have anything to give the old man and the boys when they gets home baying for their dinners. Maybe we’ll see you again? We’re in here this time most weeks.’

Snape smiled a non-committal smile. He wouldn’t mind seeing the lady and her little girl again, but he didn’t think it would be wise to allow Harry to become known to anyone. Not when it was likely he would be older than Sarah the next time they met.

‘Nice to meet you,’ he said.

It was half-an-hour before Harry woke up grizzly, his nappy wet and his ears itching from the bobble-hat that Molly had tied firmly to his head. For once he was grateful that he was in the pushchair because the last thing he felt like doing was walking around anywhere. He pointed at his nappy, ‘Coldy,’ he said miserably, his bottom lip beginning to tremble.

‘Alright Potter, settle down. We’ll go back now.’ They had been in the park for nearly two hours and Snape had decided that that was enough for the time being. He looked around to see if there was anyone near the outbuilding. Luckily it appeared deserted. Harry was kicking his legs slightly.

‘Up,’ he said desperately. ‘Up.’

‘Not yet Potter,’ Snape said, ‘when we get back to Hogwarts.’

Harry pouted. Snape didn’t seem to realise that his legs were aching from sitting in the pushchair for that long. He kicked his legs more, pedalling them against the chair furiously.

‘Potter, settle down! I said you can get out when we get back.’

Snape was looking straight ahead, keeping an eye out for muggles. He didn’t notice the big black dog bound up to Harry. Harry froze. The dog was face to face with him, his yellow eyes looking at him curiously and his sharp teeth bared like a monster’s. Harry let out a blood-curdling scream.

‘Potter I told you to settle down,’ Snape snapped. Looking down, however, he was confronted by a huge black dog. He reached down, and uttering an unfastening spell wrenched Harry from the chair and up into his arms without a moment’s hesitation.

Harry cried into Snape’s shoulder, covering his face as though this would stop the big dog from seeing him. ‘Shush Potter,’ Snape said automatically, jiggling the frightened Harry about a bit. He looked down at the dog which was snarling at him, immediately recognising the red glint that passed through the sharp black pupils. ‘Well, well,’ he said. ‘What do we have here then? Fancied a little walk did you Sirius?’

The dog went for his Snape’s ankles just as one of the park-keepers caught up with him. He had been chasing the unusually evasive dog for at least half and hour.

‘No you don’t,’ the man said gruffly, grabbing Sirius by the scruff of the neck. ‘Sorry mister. I’ve been chasing this one all round the park. Hope he didn’t frighten the little one?’

Snape thought quickly. ‘Sirius, down boy,’ he said as the Sirius leapt up at the keeper. Sirius growled in Snape’s direction, incredulity apparent in his face even as a dog. ‘Sirius,’ Snape repeated, ‘get down or the man is going to take you away.’

‘Is this your dog?’ the caretaker said suspiciously.

‘Yes, sorry. He’s a bit excitable,’ Snape said to a huge snort from the dog.

‘All dogs have to be on a lead in the park,’ the man went on, ‘this ain’t bleeding Peckham you know. This one’s been scaring the ducks and the kiddies.’

‘Sorry,’ Snape said patiently, ‘I didn’t realise that. He got away from us over by the river. I’ll make sure he has one on in future.’

The man reached into his pocket and took out a length of rope. ‘No ‘arm done I suppose. You can ‘ave this for now. Shall I put it on ‘im or does he bite?’

Snape raised an eyebrow sardonically. ‘By all means,’ he said, ignoring the way that Sirius barked loudly at him.

‘If he was mine I’d give ‘im a good hammering for running off, or at least a boot up the backside. It’s the only way they learn innit?’

Snape almost smiled at the outrage that passed over Sirius’s face - almost. ‘I’ll bare that in mind,’ he said lightly. He took the rein off the man and fastened it to the pushchair, then replaced Harry, who, after the initial shock, was now looking more curiously at the big black dog that Snape seemed to be taking home.

‘Good day to you,’ Snape said.

The unlikely three made their way back to the building to apparate. Sirius was hanging his head with the humiliation of being fastened to the pushchair and thinking of ways in which he could get his revenge on Snape (and how he was ever going to live it down). He couldn’t help thinking, though, that the baby was strangely-familiar. Harry, in turn, was watching the black dog thoughtfully, trying to place why he looked familiar.

Instead of Hogwarts a triumphant Snape took them both directly to Grimmauld Place.

As soon as they returned to 12 Grimmauld Place Sirius chewed violently through the rope tying him and transformed back into his human form; Snape sent for Dumbledore via the floo network.

‘You’ll pay for that,’ Sirius spat furiously, with traces of the growl he had as a dog prevalent in his tone.

‘For what Black?’ Snape said, his lips curling into a sneer. ‘Preventing your capture and imprisonment by the park-keeper or for returning you to where you are supposed to be?’

‘Don’t tell me where I’m supposed to be!’ Sirius snarled, removing the rope from his neck. He threw himself down in a chair at the kitchen table with the air of a petulant child. After a few moments silence Snape followed suite, wheeling a watchful Harry to a position next to him.

‘Doggy?’ Harry ventured, but he was greeted with a wall of silence.

Sirius and Snape glared at each other over the table, their eyes locked in a ferocious battle of wills. Sirius’s wild black pupils, that stretched indistinguishably over his dark irises as a result of many years in Azkaban, met unflinchingly the reflective, marble eyes of Snape which never gave anything away. After several moments it was Harry that broke the silence.

‘Snape!’ he said, tugging at the man’s trouser leg from his position in his pushchair. ‘Up.’

Snape turned to look sharply at Harry; Sirius leant back in his chair, his arms folded lazily and his head cocked to one side.

‘Looks like the kid wants some attention,’ Sirius said. ‘It’s funny though, I didn’t realise that you had a child that no-one knew anything about. I’m sure it will make a most interesting story for Dumbledore when he gets here, don’t you think?’

Snape didn’t reply. He watched Harry who was pulling at his trousers. It was obvious that he was desperate to be changed but Snape had no intention of doing so in front of Sirius. The problem was that Harry wasn’t likely to keep up his so-far patient demeanour. Very soon it would be tears, screaming and fists.

‘Up,’ Harry insisted again. He didn’t understand why Snape was refusing to listen to him and he was beginning to get crotchety. It seemed forever since he’d been wet, and to top it off he’d been taken to a weird kitchen in a weird house with a weird man who he was sure had been a dog only minutes before. It was very confusing.

‘So whose is he?’ Sirius pressed. ‘Or is he spawned of the devil? I here your master’s got allsorts working for him these days.’

Snape turned away from Harry to sneer at Sirius. ‘It seems strange to me, Black, that Dumbledore himself hasn’t filled you in on exactly who this is. But, then again, perhaps after disobeying his instructions to accompany Potter to platform nine-and-three-quarters he has decided to teach you a lesson. A lesson, I might add, that it doesn’t appear you have learned.’ Snape pressed his fingertips slowly together before continuing, ‘I wonder how many death eaters have seen you about London this time?’

Sirius, to his annoyance, felt his face flame. He knew as well as Snape did that he had been banned (though not in so many words) from leaving Grimmauld Place. Being caught by Snape today in Hyde Park was akin to being found with his hand in a large cookie jar; it angered him to think that Snape, his sworn enemy, was most probably going to witness the reproach that was sure to come from Dumbledore when he finally arrived.

He had been half-hoping that Snape had been somewhere where he wasn’t supposed to be. He might have known that he was acting on Dumbledore’s orders and that Dumbledore knew all about the toddler he had with him. No-one seemed to tell Sirius anything anymore. They were treating him like a troublesome child. He was sick of Molly telling him to ‘think with his head’ and ‘control his temper’ – both of which were difficult when he was living within the slowly shrinking (or so it seemed like) walls of the ancient house of the Blacks, with his mother’s ever-screaming presence on the stairs.

‘Who is it then?’ he snapped.

Snape’s lips curled even wider, ‘If Dumbledore wanted you to know then he would have told you,’ he said shortly.

Sirius got to his feet and sent his chair clattering to the floor. ‘Don’t mess with me Snivellus,’ he said angrily, baring his teeth automatically; they were unusually sharp and crooked and Harry began to whimper.

Snape merely changed his expression to look as though he was slightly bored. If Sirius had looked carefully, however, he would have seen his opponents hand clench around his wand buried deep in the blue flannel cardigan. ‘Sit down Black,’ he said.

‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ Sirius barked.

At that, however, Harry disturbed the pair once again. He had been very frightened with the big bang that the chair had made as it had fallen to the floor and he didn’t like the dogman’s wild black eyes, or the way he was shouting at Snape. He covered his face and began to cry, kicking his legs against the pushchair and punctuating his sobs with ear-piercing screams.

Snape closed his eyes momentarily as though in pain. Sirius got up and walked over to the pushchair, kneeling a foot in front of it, which increased the volume of the screams tenfold.

‘Quiet little thing, isn’t he?’ Sirius said flinching at the latest round of wailing.

‘Quiet Potter,’ Snape snapped automatically, ‘it was a chair not an earthquake.’

‘So full of patience … ’ Sirius began sarcastically. Suddenly he snapped his head round to face Snape. ‘Hang on, what did you call him?’

Snape hesitated only for a moment. ‘Potter,’ he said.

‘This kid is one of James’ relatives?’ Sirius asked confused, watching Harry carefully now.

‘I told you to ask Dumbledore,’ Snape said abruptly, annoyed that he had given himself away, and more annoyed by Harry’s wailing. He got to his feet and unbuckled the straps of the pushchair, taking Harry brusquely into his arms.

‘Stop that racket,’ Snape said, ‘anyone would think that you had been decapitated by a werewolf.’

Harry took no notice. His arms flailed around and his sobs deepened. He had been on the verge of tears since he the first moment he’d felt that his nappy was wet and he was enjoying letting it all out.

‘I’m asking you,’ Sirius said, stepping in front of Snape and Harry.

‘COLDY’ Harry squawked loudly, his small fist connecting with Snape’s cheek and catching him off guard.

‘That’s quite enough of that, Potter,’ Snape said, restraining Harry’s arms with his free hand and looking directly into his deep green eyes, ‘unless you want the back of your hand slapped again?’

Harry pouted at that, as Sirius grinned. ‘I’m beginning to like you,’ he said pleasantly to Harry. ‘Looks like you might have given Snape here a shiner – well done.’

Harry beamed at the dogman. Snape’s harsh tone had silenced him temporarily. He knew that he shouldn’t have hit out, but he was getting very frustrated. The kitchen was warm but he was cold and besides which the bobble hat felt like it was choking him.

‘Off, off,’ Harry said, and before Snape could stop him he wrenched the hat off his head, revealing to a dumbfounded Sirius a shock of jet black hair and a pronounced scar shaped like a lightening bolt.

‘Harry?’ Sirius said weakly.

Harry regarded Sirius for a few seconds before recognition dawned as well. ‘See-rus!’ he shouted happily, holding his arms open. He knew that he knew the dogman from somewhere – in a flash a memory came back to him and this time it didn’t go anywhere. See-rus had once let him sit on a huge shiny red bike that had flown round and round the garden. When the pretty lady with the green eyes – his mother, Lily - had come home she had shouted and hit See-rus with a big rolled up paper. Harry had laughed and laughed.

It was in that moment of recognition that Dumbledore appeared to a whirl of activity in the grate.

‘Good afternoon gentleman,’ Dumbledore said brightly.

‘See-rus,’ Harry insisted, forgetting his nappy and holding his arms out for cuddle from the funny man. Snape, however, was holding him fast. Harry struggled slightly, twisting himself in Snape’s arms, but Snape merely repositioned him.

‘What is going on here?’ Sirius asked furiously, whirling to face Dumbledore. ‘Why is Harry a baby and why hasn’t anyone thought to tell me about it?’

‘Perhaps, Black, because we suspected that, as usual, you would let your feelings on the matter overshadow your judgment,’ Snape suggested with a raised eyebrow.

‘I’M NOT TALKING TO YOU!’ Sirius roared.

Immediately Harry’s bottom lip began to tremble.

‘Sirius, please, shall we talk about this calmly,’ Dumbledore said, ‘you appear to be scaring Harry.’ He held his arms out for the frightened baby and this time Snape willingly gave him up.

‘Balbus,’ Harry whimpered. ‘That’s right Harry,’ Dumbledore said, holding Harry up and jiggling him around a bit. ‘Have you had a good time in the park with Professor Snape?’

Harry nodded. ‘Birdies,’ he said. Snape snorted and Harry seemed to understand. ‘Swans,’ he corrected himself. Snape looked mildly impressed.

‘Good-boy, Harry,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Now perhaps Snape could get that dirty nappy off you whilst I have a little world with Sirius?’

Snape was horrified. ‘Headmaster I must insist that you hear what I have to say,’ he said.

‘All in good time, Severus,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I think we owe Sirius an explanation as to Harry’s condition first. And I must say Severus, I had hardly realised that your expedition to the park would have taken you so far of track as to end up in Grimmauld Place.

Sirius looked of unease equalled Snape’s indignant expression.

‘I ensure you, headmaster,’ Snape said haughtily, ‘that I had no intention of ending up here. I found Black wandering unsupervised, posing as a stray in Hyde Park. He was in the process of being captured by the park-keeper when I intervened.'

Sirius flushed a deep red which covered his gaunt, pale face as he looked guiltily at Dumbledore. The word ‘unsupervised’, however, rankled with him. He had suspected for a while that Dumbledore had asked the Order to keep an eye on him. They were always popping into headquarters unannounced.

Sirius expected anger from Dumbledore but all he saw was a sad disappointment that was much worse. He felt like he was teenager again and had just been sent before the headmaster for putting Peter Pettigrew in danger with one of his thoughtless pranks.

‘I see,’ Dumbledore said. He didn’t even seem to notice Harry tugging at his beard. ‘Can you please take Harry next door and change him Severus?’

Snape didn’t protest this time, though he could scarcely hide his displeasure – he had hoped to witness Sirius being rebuked by Dumbledore. He prised Harry’s fingers from Dumbledore’s beard and transported him and the baby-bag next door.

Sirius couldn’t even raise a smirk at the thought of Snape changing Harry’s nappy. He knew that he had let Dumbledore down, and that was bad enough, but worse than that, something awful had happened to Harry and no-one had trusted him enough to tell him. He sat down wearily.

‘What happened?’ he said.

‘Harry was victim to a powerful black curse wielded by Draco Malfoy.’

‘Malfoy?’ Sirius said with surprise, ‘Lucius’s son?’

‘Yes. We do not believe, however, that the curse was Draco’s but simply something that he had picked up from his father and used in anger – unfortunately a curse which has been tailored for someone quite indistinguishable from Harry, at least in some ways, otherwise it would not have had such an effect. It caused him to de-age to fifteen months almost a week ago.’

‘The age he was when Lily and James …’

‘Yes. It might be significant or it might not. Severus has been doing everything he can to solve the riddle.’

Sirius snorted, ‘Well he doesn’t appear to be trying very hard does he?’

‘Sirius,’ Dumbledore said calmly. ‘Severus has spent every free minute with Harry; he has caused him to age three months in a week.’

‘Wow, at this rate it will only be a year till he’s back to normal,’ Sirius muttered sarcastically. ‘That’s if Voldemort doesn’t get to him first of course.’

‘We have taken all the measures possible to ensure Harry’s protection.’

‘That’s funny,’ Sirius said. ‘I was sure I saw him and Snape wandering around Hyde Park today without so much as an escort.’

A slightly ominous silence followed this remark and Sirius had the decency to look ashamed.

‘Let’s have a cup of tea shall we?’ Dumbledore said at last.

A few minutes later and a smiling Harry and a disgusted-looking Snape returned to the kitchen.

‘Tea?’ Dumbledore said brightly. Snape took the offered cup without a word and summoned a high chair to sit Harry in, giving him one of the jam sandwiches that Molly had provided for the trip. Sirius looked dubious at the apparent thought that went into this but he didn’t say anything – he certainly wasn’t going to compliment Snape on his parenting skills.

‘So you’re Harry are you?’ Sirius said, smiling as Harry smeared jam over his face. ‘You were always were mischievous. Lily said you got it from James – you father – he was a little sod too at your age apparently.

‘Sod, sod, sod’ Harry chanted, pleased to have learnt a new word.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. ‘Please be careful what you say, Sirius, Molly was most insistent that we not teach Harry – ah – any strong words.’

‘Sorry,’ Sirius said grinning. ‘I meant you were a little tyke,’ he corrected. Harry held his jam sandwich out to Sirius, he felt like he’d made a new (old) friend.

‘If we can get to the matter in hand, headmaster,’ Snape said, pursing his lips at the way Sirius fussed over Harry.

‘And what’s that then, Snape?’ Sirius said dangerously, giving his attention back to the sneering man.

‘I would like to know why exactly you were parading around in Hyde Park when, as I have told the headmaster on several occasions, Peter Pettigrew has already informed Voldemort and his death eaters exactly what form you take as an animagus and Lucius Malfoy has been able to identify you in London at Kings Cross station. I mean really Black, I know that you feel useless stuck in here with nothing significant to do. But playing round a known apparition point? That’s a bit too much even for you.’

‘I wasn’t playing,’ Sirius said through gritted teeth.

‘Scaring children and chasing birds wasn’t it? It doesn’t sound much like work to me – in fact it sounds rather selfish, especially when there are people putting themselves in danger to protect you.’

Sirius rounded on Snape, his wand in his hand in an instant. ‘You better watch your mouth, Snape,’ he spat. ‘I know who you are. You don’t fool me. I know that you’re only keeping Harry like this on your “master’s” orders.’

‘Gentleman,’ Dumbledore said, holding up his hand, ‘this is getting us nowhere. Please sit down.’ His tone was even but there was a command behind it that would endure no argument. Slowly Snape and Sirius, rather like two school-boys caught fighting, separated and sat down, watching each other carefully.

Harry giggled. ‘Fight, fight!’ he said clapping his hands. He liked seeing Snape getting told off by Balbus it made a change from him being told off by Snape.

‘Eat your sandwich, don’t paint your face with it,’ Snape snapped. Harry’s bottom lip pushed out in a sulk – evidently the change wasn’t going to last very long.

‘Why wasn’t I told?’ Sirius said at last, looking down at the table.

‘We didn’t think it wise,’ Dumbledore said gently. ‘I know how much you care about Harry, Sirius, and I know that you would take great personal risk to protect him. I did not want you to …’

‘Do anything rash?’ Sirius finished angrily.

‘Well you certainly have the track record, Black,’ Snape interrupted. ‘You still do not seem to have enlightened us as to today’s little expedition.’

At that Sirius got to his feet and grabbed a muggle newspaper off the kitchen cabinet. He threw it on the table in front of Snape.

‘Been scrabbling around in the bin again, Black?’ Snape said, ‘Or were you just being a good dog?’

‘Severus,’ Dumbledore said with just a hint of warning.

Snape opened the newspaper and read the headline. ‘Muggle disappearances,’ he read unimpressed. ‘I fail to see how this has any relevance.’

‘That is an early edition of the Evening Standard,’ Sirius said. ‘At ten o’ clock this morning three young boys disappeared when they were skiving school, quite near to where you were with Harry actually - so perhaps you better reconsider exactly how safe it is to take him to the park.’

‘Fascinating,’ Snape said.

‘They just disappeared,’ Sirius said ignoring him, ‘that’s the third report of muggle disappearances around this area in the past two weeks. More than that, the other children with them reported seeing a skull-shaped cloud in the sky. Of course no-one believes them.’

‘The Dark Mark,’ Dumbledore said, stroking his beard absentmindedly.

‘That was my thoughts. I apparated to the park to see if I could find anything more out about it. It’s a known apparition point in that area and I thought I could try and well …’

Sirius trailed off. When he was relaying the story back to Dumbledore he realised how stupid it sounded. If death eaters had taken some muggle children they would hardly hang around to be caught.

Sirius had just wanted to feel like he was actually doing something. He was sick of hanging around ‘taking care of headquarters’, watching Lupin and Mad-Eye return exhausted from a hard day’s work, when the most useful thing he could do was to make them a cup of tea. He hadn’t escaped from Azkaban only to be confined to the house by the Order, and endure the snide remarks of Snape.

Dumbledore sighed. ‘Make sure that Nymphadora, Remus and Alastor are informed,’ he said, ‘ask them to make some enquiries with our muggle contacts.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Sirius said bitterly, ‘tell the people who are actual members of the Order rather than simply being humoured.’

Snape looked triumphant.

‘You are a member of the Order, Sirius,’ Dumbledore said patiently. ‘You are simply incapacitated at the present time.’ He paused. ‘But please I must insist that you do not leave the house for the time being. You are too important for us to lose.’

Snape smiled mirthlessly. ‘Oh very important,’ he said, 'after all someone has to clean headquarters and make sure the rest of us have tea to drink.’

‘At least I don’t spend my time licking the boots of your “Dark Lord”’ Sirius shot back, his hand clenching once again around his wand. ‘Tell me Snape, did he punished you well for not making a quicker appearance after the Triwizard tournament?’

Snape looked ready to explode. Just as he was about to get to his feet and curse Sirius, however, Dumbledore intervened.

‘That’s quite enough, Sirius,’ Dumbledore said, his blue eyes showing the first gleam of fire.

Sirius, perhaps realising he had gone too far, suddenly changed tack. ‘If Harry is going to be a baby for a while, surely there’s no safer place for him that here at Grimmauld Place? I could watch him.’

This request calmed Snape almost immediately as he sensed a chance to gain freedom. ‘That suits me,’ he said, fighting to regain his composure (and eyeing the mess that Harry was making of his sandwich disdainfully). ‘Someone with as much time on his hands as Black is far more suited to babysitting than I.’

‘I’m afraid Harry must stay in Severus’s care, for now at least,’ Dumbledore said kindly.

‘I see,’ Sirius said curtly.

‘It’s not that you wouldn’t do an excellent job,’ Dumbledore went on. ‘But for the present time Severus needs every spare moment to work on the problem in hand. Out of the members of the Order, Severus is the most familiar with black magic.’

‘Well as he was - or is - a death eater for Voldemort that’s hardly surprising,’ Sirius said. He was angry. Having Harry there would have been a welcome distraction.

Snape grabbed his wrist. ‘Don’t say the Dark Lord’s name,’ he said through gritted teeth.

‘Burns does it?’ Sirius mocked. ‘Well how can you be so sure that Voldemort won’t figure out what you’re doing? You’re still going to the meetings aren’t you?’

Snape jumped as though he had been scalded at the second mention of his former master’s name. His wrist burned like it had been splashed with molten ash. Death eaters were banned from both speaking and hearing the Dark Lord’s name and were punished with a searing pain when they did.

‘Hurty?’ Harry enquired, dropping the crust of his sandwich onto the little table of his high chair. There seemed to be a lot of arguments going on and he didn’t know whether he liked it all that much.

‘I’m fine, Potter,’ Snape snapped, massaging his wrist. ‘Black here just likes his little games. It makes him feel important.’

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ Sirius said.

‘Severus is of course attending meetings. He is one of our most valuable contacts. Harry, however, is quite safe. You have my word,’ Dumbledore said.

‘Oh I forgot how proficient you were at Occlumency,’ Sirius said scornfully. ‘Makes it rather difficult to tell whose side you are really on though, don’t you think?’

‘Sirius,’ Dumbledore said quietly, ‘we are all on the same side, perhaps we could act like it.’

Sirius had a lot more to say on the matter, but out of respect for Dumbledore he held his tongue.

‘Now,’ said Dumbledore, ‘perhaps you would like to spend some time with your godson before he returns to Hogwarts? Severus has a potions lesson that he is most eager not to miss and I’m sure he could do with the break.’

Dumbledore seemed determined to make the two men act like a team in some form.

Sirius smiled for the first time since he had met. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘You don’t mind keeping me company for a few hours do you Harry?’

‘Bike?’ Harry said, his eyes widening as he looked at the dogman.

‘You remember that do you?’ Sirius said grinning. ‘No the bike’s gone I’m afraid, but I’m sure we can find you something up in the attic. Mum put all mine and Regulus’s old toys in there.’

Harry nodded and held his arms out to Sirius who lifted him up high above his head.

‘Look, you’re flying Harry,’ Sirius said, ‘Zoom, zoom.’ He moved Harry up and down the room making flying noises; Harry squealed and giggled till he was breathless.

‘I’ll send someone for him after school,’ Snape said curtly, his thin eyebrow raised in derision. He crossed to the grate.

‘Bye Snape,’ Harry said, waving his hand furiously.

With such a watchful audience Snape felt like he couldn’t ignore the excited toddler, ‘Bye Potter,’ he muttered abruptly before disappearing in the grate.

Later that evening when Harry was tucked up in bed, exhausted from the fun afternoon he had spent with See-rus, Tonks made her report to Dumbledore. It seemed that the children who were the latest ‘disappeared’ muggles were all part of the same family - the Pickles family of Bethnal Green. The muggle police were treating them as runaways, common to the high-rise estate in which they lived. They had disregarded the halloween mask found close to the place the boys were last seen – a mask that Snape would later identify as the one distributed to the Dark Lord’s death-eaters upon initiation.

‘I do it,’ Harry said obstinately. Snape was attempting to feed him twigs again (or Weetabix as he had found it was called) but Harry felt like he wanted to do it himself. He grabbed at the spoon.

‘Alright Potter,’ Snape said, thrusting the little plastic spoon into his chubby fist and relinquishing the bowl of warm muggle cereal, ‘but don’t cry to me if you lose half of it in the attempt.’

Harry watched the batman thoughtfully as he pushed the spoon into his mouth, dribbling most of it out again almost immediately. He could see that his eyes looked sad and he wasn’t speaking quite the same as normal. He had been like that since Harry had woken up that morning. Harry had been very pleased with himself because he had found that he could talk much better, and definitely walk much better, but Snape hadn’t been very enthusiastic at all. He hadn’t even shouted when Harry had had a little scream and cry when his favourite snuggley jumper was too tight to fit over his head. He had simply watched till Harry was finished and then made it bigger with a dull wave of his wand. Now he was letting him feed himself. There was definitely something wrong and Harry didn’t like it; it was making him feel bad.

When he had finished pushing the soggy stuff into his mouth and all around the table of his high chair, Harry held his arms out to Snape. ‘Up,’ he said. For some reason he felt tears close to the surface; it was as though there was a weird upsetty monster somewhere in the room that was trying to get them both. He wondered if the batman would pull him into his arms like See-rus had done when he had fallen over chasing little flying balls in the attic the day before and cuddle him to him so that he felt safe and reassured.

Snape ignored Harry’s request to be picked up, removing the bib he’d secured round the toddler’s neck and wiping the sticky face with it. Harry wrinkled his nose and whimpered like he was being poisoned with doxy venom but he remained unusually quiet.

The ageing curl Snape had pressed against Harry’s thigh early that morning had told him that the boy was now two and a half. This was a definite breakthrough. Snape was beginning to see a pattern between Harry’s memories and his re-aging. His visit with Sirius the day before seemed to be the catalyst for this latest growth-spurt, and he had made careful notes about Potter’s sudden remembrance of the motorbike. There was an answer forming somewhere in the recesses of his brain that Snape could almost envision, but, annoyingly, as yet, it remained beyond his grasp.

He wondered if it was the events of the previous day which was preventing the materialisation of the solution in his mind. Since he was a child Snape had had an aptitude for problem solving, which was mainly due to the way in which his mind was disciplined in shutting down its more distracting areas (a skill that was equally invaluable to the Occlumency he had to practice to regularly in service for the Order) to concentrate on the problem in hand. The disappearance of the Pickle children, however, had thrown him. The twinkling-blue eyes of the mother and the beaming smile of little Sarah Pickles kept creeping into his mind. The muggle London Daily he had ordered by Owl that morning had affected him more than he would care to admit. It had carried a picture of a devastated Maura Pickles, her eyes red and swollen, clutching a frightened Sarah in her arms as though she was afraid she would lose her too. It had also carried a picture of the boys who had gone missing. It was a school photo of the three of them that had been taken a month previously. They had the same sapphire eyes as Sarah and her mother, though their hair was dark and wild. They grinned at the camera with the same looks of impish mischievousness, the freckles on their cheeks emphasizing their youth. The caption underneath told their names – Michael, Lee and Thomas - and their respective ages – eleven, ten and eight.

The fact that the muggle police were treating them as runaways exasperated Snape. In fact as he had read the article he had felt an, unfamiliar, defensive anger creep through him. The muggle police were taking an indifferent stance to the disappearances, stating that the Detective Inspector in charge of the area believed that they had probably got themselves into trouble (a local newsagents reported shoplifting that day) and run off to escape the consequences. He had also hinted that their upbringing was to blame, reiterating that runaways were common in their estate and hinting that they might have been suffering from neglect at home.

Snape’s anger at these unfair allegations was also mingled with an uncomfortable feeling of responsibility. He knew that as sure as dragons were dragons it was the work of the Death Eaters. Once again he cursed the day he had pledged his allegiance to the Dark Lord. He knew that this latest strike would be just one of many to come as their ranks swelled with wizards and witches who Voldemort had had his minions recruit – few of them willing – into his service. It smacked of initiation. Voldemort insisted that all new recruits were blooded at the first opportunity.

The mask Tonks had found at the scene had been shown to the ministry of magic at their earliest opportunity, but, as Dumbledore had predicted, it had done no good. The ministry refused to even consider that Voldemort might be alive and well and once again leading strikes against muggles, and even if they investigated the claim that the Dark Mark was conjured they would simply put it down to the fact that the odd loyal death eater might stage something every now and then. Finding the children wouldn’t be a great priority for them, particularly if, as Snape suspected, the Dark Lord’s plants in the ministry downplayed the whole incident.

Snape had talked long into the night with Dumbledore about the situation. The headmaster had agreed that the Order would take steps to ascertain the fate of the Pickle children (neither of them had voiced that the likelihood was that they had been murdered in cold blood by Voldemort’s followers) but Dumbledore had vexed Snape by forbidding him to question any of the Death Eaters about it himself at the next meeting. He had pointed out that Voldemort in excluding Snape in the first place would not expect him to know anything about the attacks. Snape had protested that Voldemort would expect him to have gained the information from the Order, but Dumbledore was adamant that he should not arouse suspicion. ‘You are too close to it', he had said gently. 'If you show interest then you will nurse the curiosity of Voldemort’s circle. Remember Severus that you have another charge to consider – Harry was with you at the park’.

In the end Snape had agreed to Dumbledore’s wishes, but they lay heavily upon him. Thoughts of the Pickles and the Death Eaters seemed to be caught up in a dark cloud that hung over his head, refusing to drift away and contaminating the very air around him with its heavy gloom. For the first time in a long time Snape felt like he was being harassed by his feelings and he didn’t like it.

‘Snape, Snape, Snape,’ a small voice chanted.

Snape looked down to see wide emerald eyes peering up at him. Potter’s arms were outstretched, his face set in a sad frown that seemed to illustrate Snape’s own feelings with uncanny precision. Snape had noticed that Potter had been as subdued as himself since he had woken that morning. He remembered vaguely something Molly Weasley had said about small children picking up on other’s emotions and wondered if that was it. Without thinking he drew the toddler up into his arms.

Harry’s frown lightened slightly as he was hoisted up. He threw his arms tightly around Snape’s neck before he could change his mind and cuddled his body into his huge black cloak, his body almost disappearing in the folds. He rubbed his cheek against Snape’s in an affectionate manner.

Snape pursed his lips as Harry hugged him and carried on, but he allowed him to sit in his arms for a few short minutes. Perhaps it was because his defences were already down, but he found himself appreciating the sentiment of it. His mind wandered vaguely to the image of Maura Pickles hugging her young daughter and suddenly he made a decision about something that had been circling his mind since the night before.

‘Play now, Snape,’ Harry said, pulling back from the embrace with the typically short attention span of a two-year-old.

Snape placed Harry on the floor near the toy box and watched him for a few minutes till he appeared settled with a sizeable pile of toys in front of him. He then sat at his desk and reaching into a hidden side-draw took out a small, blood red, serpent-skin case and removed the long, thin raven’s-feather quill and bottle of imperceptible ink. He then ripped a foot of parchment from his roll and began to write.

He composed an owl that was to set into a motion a series of devastating events, the consequences of which Snape could not possibly have known.

‘Hi Professor,’ she said, looking up. Snape raised his eyebrow. Next to them on the elaborate knotted-silk silver and green rug, one of Snape’s most regal and prized possessions, was a little red plastic contraption with a picture of a roaring lion on the front of it.

Harry was now stood up. He frowned at Hermione. ‘I do it,’ he said as she started to pull up his trousers. Hermione smiled.

‘Okay, Harry,’ she said, ‘you be a big boy.’

Harry struggled for a few seconds but he managed to pull his trousers up right over his belly button. ‘I do it!’ he said happily. He pointed at the little plastic seat that Hermione had shown him. ‘My potty,’ he said smiling at Snape. ‘Me big boy.’

‘Mrs Weasley sent it over for Harry,’ Hermione explained to a dubious-looking Snape. ‘It’s to toilet train Harry. I don’t know if you noticed but he’s started to lie down to be changed just after - well when he needs to be - and Mrs Weasley said that’s a sure sign that he’s ready for a potty – after all he is two now.

Ron marvelled at the way Hermione was completely unfazed at talking to Snape about potties and nappies and things. He could feel his own ears turning red and he noticed that Snape was looking down his nose. Harry, however, seemed thrilled. Hermione had explained to him how the lion would reward him with a roar if he went in the potty and that seemed to clinch it. Ron noted that now, however, the toddler had picked up the potty and put it on his head. Evidently it was going to take a bit of time before he was ‘potty trained’.

‘I see,’ Snape said in a bored voice, ‘very interesting Miss Granger.’

If Hermione was riled at Snape’s less-than-subtle derisiveness she didn’t show it. Instead she smiled at Harry.

‘I have Balbus hat,’ he said pointing to the potty on his head. He grabbed some of Hermione’s hair and pulled it to his chin, ‘Balbus beard,’ he said. Hermione squealed.

‘You’ve got a strong grip for such a little boy,’ she said.

‘Me big,’ Harry said. He let go of the hair and put his hands back on the potty, pulling it over his eyes. ‘Me vanished, look,’ he said.

Snape was getting irritated by the attention being given to such ridiculous things. ‘Take that off your head,’ he snapped.

‘No, no, no!’

Snape bent down and lifted the potty off Harry’s head, putting it on the table out of his reach.

‘Mine! My Potty,’ Harry screeched holding his hands up and stamping his foot. ‘Mine! Now!’ He stuck his bottom lip out as he looked at Snape. ‘Mine! Now!’ His little cheeks were red and he was looking with a surprising venom at the potions master.

‘Perhaps, Miss Granger,’ Snape said, ignoring Harry, ‘you would be as kind as to teach Potter that it’s not a toy.’

Hermione grit her teeth, biting back the retort at her lips. She thought Snape’s attitude was completely unnecessary. Still she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. She had noticed that he was even paler than usual and that he seemed not himself. Either there was something troubling the Professor or looking after Harry was taking its toll.

Harry was now looking very sulky and sullen. He was angry that his new toy had been taken from him. He stamped his feet a few more times and then went and took himself off to hide under the table and feel sorry for himself.

Snape rolled his eyes skywards, ‘I have a matter to attend to,’ he said suddenly. ‘Can you and Mr Weasley look after Potter till I return?’

‘Yes Professor,’ Hermione said. Ron nodded his assent but had a fierce look on his face. He was angry at Snape’s attitude towards Harry.

‘Has he been out today?’ Hermione continued. ‘Only I was thinking we could take him for a walk to see Hagrid. We won’t let anyone else see him. Most of the students have gone to Hogsmeade anyway.’

‘You may take him on the condition that he stays in his pushchair at all times in the grounds,’ Snape said. He knew that given the chance Potter would take full advantage of a free rein and he wasn’t about to let him.

‘Yes Sir,’ Hermione said.

‘Very well, I will be gone until this evening. If I am late you will take Mr Potter to Madame Pomfrey.’

‘Gone?’ Ron said suspiciously, ‘gone where?’

‘That, Weasley, is none of your business.’ With that Snape turned on his heel and left the room, his cloak billowing out behind him.

‘Come on Harry,’ Hermione said coaxingly with an apologetic look at Hagrid, ‘Hagrid’s our friend, he won’t hurt you.’

‘Imagine that,’ Hagrid was saying, absentmindedly picking beetles out of his matted beard, ‘Harry scared of me. I can’t imagine why either, kids normally love me.’

Ron looked at Hagrid dubiously but he didn’t voice his thoughts. ‘Maybe he was scared of Fang,’ he ventured lamely.

‘Fang? Who’d be scared of a big pussy cat like tha’?’ Hagrid said, apparently bewildered by the mere suggestion that a baby would be scared of the enormous boarhound.

‘Er, Harry?’

‘Nonsense! Fang’s always had a soft spot for young Harry, haven’t you boy?’

Fang opened one eye from where he was asleep by the fire and grunted lazily. He peered over to where Hermione was bent down near the table and then with not even a modicum of curiosity rolled over to face the wall. Winter’s nights were made for sleeping.

‘Harry,’ Hermione said, ‘please come out. We’ve got some – er …’

‘Rock cakes?’ Hagrid suggested.

‘Some – er – fun things for you to play with,’ she finished. Hagrid’s rock cakes were legendary teeth-breakers and Harry didn’t have a full set to begin with.

‘He’ll come out when he’s ready,’ Ron said shrugging, ‘stop fussing. It’s not like he’s going to set up camp is it?’

‘Humph!’ said Hermione, but she got to her feet.

‘So Professor Snape’s been looking after him ‘as he?’ Hagrid said. ‘Well Harry looks well enough so he must be doing a good job. I still can’t believe that he’s a toddler all over again. Growing up’s bad enough the first time. I should know I grew up much longer and taller than everyone else and it weren’t no picnic, let me tell you.’

Ron shot Hermione a bemused glance and she giggled.

‘We’re hoping that he’s going to find a cure soon,’ she said. ‘It must have been a very powerful curse to stump Professor Dumbledore.’

‘Well black magic’s not exactly Dumbledore’s area is it?’ Ron said, ‘it’s Snape’s. And as we all know he’ll be in no hurry to help Harry.’

‘Oh do be quiet,’ Hermione said impatiently, ‘I thought you’d stopped all that now!’

‘I want to know where he was running off to,’ Ron said. ‘He looked all weird, like he was up to something.’

‘Who was running off?’

‘Professor Snape. He said he had some meeting or something.’

‘I don’t know about no meeting,’ Hagrid said thoughtfully.

‘Perhaps it was for the Order?’ Hermione said.

‘Nah, there was one last night, you know with these disappearances like?’

‘What disappearances?’ Hermione said.

At that, however, Harry’s head popped out from under the table.

‘Ah, here’s the young fellow,’ Hagrid said happily, getting to his feet and holding his arms out. ‘I knew you wouldn’t be scared of old Hagrid.’

Harry hesitated, his hand involuntarily clenching round Cheep-Cheep’s neck causing him to squawk as he concentrated. It had been very boring under the table. Harry felt like he had been there for hours. No-one had been paying him any attention. He squinted up at the giant-monster-man. On closer inspection he didn’t actually look that scary. He had nice sparkly eyes and a smile that made Harry smile too. He crawled out and without further hesitation, and displaying the typically fickle temperament of a two-year old, ran into the outstretched arms at full speed. After all, if ’Mione liked him then he couldn’t be all bad.

‘Hello Harry,’ Hagrid said beaming as he scooped up the youngster. Harry reached out to Hagrid’s beard and pulled a little crawly thing from it, putting it in his mouth.

‘Harry!’ said Hermione alarmed.

‘Yuk,’ said Ron as Harry crunched down on the beetle, ‘that’s really disgusting, Harry!’

‘Nonsense,’ said Hagrid happily,’ they’re full of those whatchy-me-call-its beetles are - vitamins. They make your hair curl.’

After an enjoyable few hours playing hide and seek at Hagrid’s (and after a few more eating catastrophes on Harry’s part) they said their good-byes. Harry got quite upset at leaving but was pacified somewhat with the gift of a rock cake, finding that he could crunch down on it quite hard with his new and hurty teeth to take away the uncomfortable feeling. It was Ron’s turn to push Harry. Unfortunately he found the straps quite impossible and in the end had simply placed then over Harry.

‘Pretend they’re done up,’ he had whispered out of earshot of Hermione. He didn’t like fastening Harry in anyway, he thought it was like trapping him.

Harry had nodded, pretending to understand the apparently important, secret thing that the fire-boy was telling him. Of course he didn’t. When they stopped at the edge of the lake to admire the view he had been delighted to find that he could get to his feet and run through the long, wet grass, chasing birdies. Hermione, however, was less than impressed.

‘Ron,’ she said haughtily, ‘you heard what Snape said; we could take him out on condition that he stayed in his pushchair at all times.’

‘Give the kid a break,’ Ron said. ‘It’s not like he’s going to do a runner, is it? He’s only two.’

‘There must have been a reason,’ Hermione said.

In the few seconds that the two were distracted Harry decided that he would play hide and seek again. He ran behind a rock and pulled some leaves on top of him. Unfortunately it was also at that moment that a huge eagle-owl lost it’s balance temporarily and dropped its prey – a small, squealing rabbit – deep into the lake, making a loud splash that immediately turned Hermione’s and Ron’s attention towards it.

‘Where’s Harry?’ Hermione said at once.

‘I don’t know,’ Ron said, looking swiftly around, ‘he was here a second ago.’

‘Did you hear that splash?’ Hermione said. They both looked at each other with horror.

‘The lake!’

They ran to the water’s edge and peered over for any sign of Harry.

‘Do something Ron,’ Hermione said close to tears.

Ron did the only thing he could think of. He jumped, fully clothed into the murky water. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said, ‘I’ll find him.’ He dunked his head under the freezing water and searched around. The lake was filled with small black fish which squealed in fright. The water was murky but Ron could just about see and there was no sign of Harry close to the surface. He was starting to panic now. He was fairly certain that Harry wouldn’t be able to swim. He came up for air and then, ignoring Hermione’s screams, went back under again. This time he used his wand to light his way.

‘I say,’ said a voice, 'can I help you?'

Ron spun round to be confronted by a pink seahorse which was dressed in a smart waistcoat and bow tie.

'You realise if you stay in here too long you’ll disturb the Merpeople. They’re quite barbaric you know, would cut your pretty little head off as soon as look at you.’

Ron fought back his surprise at the creature’s appearance and tried to speak. Unfortunately he had forgotten that he was under the water and all that came out were bubbles. The seahorse sighed and pointed his tail at Ron. ‘Try now,’ he said.

‘I’ve lost a little boy,’ Ron said, surprised that his voice came out quite ordinarily this time. ‘Have you seen him?’

‘No boys in here,’ the seahorse said. ‘A rabbit dropped in a minute or two ago. Most rude actually - he nearly fell on my head - but no boy.’ The Seahorse took some white gloves out of his pocket with his hooves and placed them on the spokes of his head, ‘Must dash, anyway. Hope you find him. My name’s Sir Dapper by the way. I’m the oracle of the lake. I don’t get many visitors so do drop in again if you can. Cheerio.’

With that Sir Dapper swam off, whistling to himself. It really had been a most interesting day. Still, as the oracle he had known all about it before it happened. He knew that the little boy the Weasley had spoken of was Harry Potter and he also knew that they would visit again.

When Ron emerged he found Hermione beside herself.

‘It’s okay, Hermione,’ said, climbing out of the lake and patting her with a wet hand, his robes dribbling everywhere, ‘he didn’t go in there, it was a rabbit that we heard.’

Hermione looked up hopefully. ‘How do you know?’

‘Sir Dapper told me.’

‘Who?’ Hermione looked at him like he was crazy.

‘The seahorse – er – never mind.’

Hermione was just about to ask Ron if some lake-water had passed into his brain when Harry appeared from behind a rock. ‘Oh Harry, thank goodness you're okay’ she said, tears of relief springing immediately to her eyes as stretched her arms out to him.

Harry smiled, looking pleased with himself. Hermione noticed that he had pulled down his trousers and half pulled off his nappy. There was a puddle on the floor and his clothes, shoes and socks included, were also soiled. ‘Me potty,’ he said.

‘At least I’m not the only one wet,’ Ron said, pulling some slimy weeds from his hair. Harry didn’t quite understand as the grown-ups started to laugh.

It was ten more silent minutes before the knock came; a sharp, assertive knock, which reflected the arrogance of the visitor beautifully and rattled the ageing door in its frame.

Snape rose purposefully, walking slowly through his decaying hall to turn a rusty key in the lock and creak open the door. The visitor strode in, his emerald green cloak pulled over his head like a hood to hide his face from any stray muggles he might be likely to meet. He nodded at Snape and then made his way into the cold and poorly-lit living room, waving his wand at the fire-place so that a crackling fire erupted immediately without the need of the damp coal.

‘If I must visit you here, Severus, I would at least like to be comfortable,’ he drawled, seating himself in Snape’s armchair and picking up the decanter of brandy that Snape had placed on his side-table in anticipation of his guest’s requirements. He held a glass up to Snape who nodded his head slightly. The guest poured a generous helping of the smooth brown liquid into the two square-cut glasses, his eyes taking in the peeling walls and the heavily worn carpets.

‘Really, Severus,’ he said, handing him the glass, ‘if you have to live amongst muggles you could have at least found a decent house to do it. This place looks the shack I keep my house-elf in.’

‘I was under the impression that that particular house-elf had been removed from your service,’ Snape said, his lips curling. ‘I hear in fact that he was freed, by Potter.’

Lucius felt his jaw clench. He had forgotten for a brief moment that Snape worked at Hogwarts. The loss of Dobby was still a bone of contention for him and he wished he had never spoken. ‘I trust you have a valid reason for bringing me here,’ he said, changing the subject and at the same time using his most contemptuous tone, ‘and a reason for contacting me. You know that the Dark Lord would not approve of his most trusted’ he placed special emphasis on the word ‘charge sending owls to Death Eaters without his express knowledge. You are here to talk to me about Death Eater business I take it - hence the use of the raven’s quill?’

Snape considered the man before him carefully before speaking. Lucius was a skilled legilemens and he took some time to build up the vital walls in his mind. The comments about his house he had expected – Lucius lived in a vast Wiltshire Manor. He did not voice to his guest that the dilapidated house had been the scene for his early upbringing.

‘Well?’ Lucius said, draining the brandy like it was water and refilling his glass. ‘I am rather busy as you can imagine.’

Snape worded his response carefully. He knew that no matter what he said his position was precarious. Lucius and he had never met on such a secretive basis since long before the Dark Lord’s fall, so he knew his old friend’s suspicion would already be roused. What he didn’t want to do now was exasperate it.

‘Children have gone missing,’ Snape said simply.

‘My, my, you are astute,’ Lucius said reclining in his chair and leisurely swirling the brandy in the glass. ‘Someone you knew was it?’ he continued, pointedly looking towards the window and out into the broken-down estate.

Snape knew that Lucius was simply making reference to the fact that his home was on a muggle estate but it rattled him; on the surface, though, his face remained a mask of indifference.

‘Well, what of it?’ Lucius said, disappointed to have not provoked a more vehement reaction. Still that was Snape all over – guarded and calm.

‘Perhaps, Lucius, you have not been as careful as you thought. The Order have in its possession a mask left behind by one of our circle.’

Snape felt satisfied as he saw Lucius’s hand clench slightly round his glass and a flicker of fear in his eyes. He knew then that he had him. He had been hoping that the loss of the mask wasn’t a deliberate act and for once he was not disappointed. Death Eaters had a special connection to the masks they were given by their master. A mask once moulded for one face would never fit another. It was a vital piece of evidence in the wrong hands as the accused could never escape the fact that the mask fit him and no-one else. This would particularly anger Voldemort if, as Snape suspected, it belonged to one of his most recent members in the ministry.

‘I understand, Lucius, that you have taken our master’s place, whilst it is still dangerous for him, as the initiator of our newest recruits.’

In fact Snape knew nothing of the sort. It had been an educated guess based on the fact that Lucius, of all the senior Death Eaters, took pleasure in the torture of muggles – a major part of the ‘blooding’ or initiation ceremony. If this was true and if Voldemort discovered the loss of the mask then Lucius was likely to bear the brunt of his anger.

Lucius watched Snape warily as he waited for his next move. To his annoyance he felt his heart beating quickly in his chest. He had discovered that Siegfried Balcow, a respected member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, had lost his mask in a panic at the initiation ceremony the day before. Lucius had punished him severely and promised him a painful death if the Dark Lord was ever to get wind of it, knowing that it was his own responsibility to ensure that initiation ceremonies went to plan. Luckily Lucius, due to the vast swelling of the circle, had been granted power to distribute masks (Voldemort considering himself too busy for such menial tasks) and so had been able to replace it with minimum fuss. If Snape, however, as he was bound, reported such an indiscretion to Voldemort then Lucius was going to suffer for it.

‘What do you want?’ Lucius said at last, his pale blue eyes tinged with humiliation at the unfamiliar feeling of losing control of a situation.

Snape pretended to think about it for a moment. He inwardly took a deep breath before continuing. It was make or break. He took the offending mask out of his pocket and held it out to Lucius. They locked eyes as he spoke and remained so long after.

‘I want to know why you’re taking muggle children and I want to know why it’s been kept from me.’

Before Lucius answered, as he knew he had to, he smiled at Snape with a renewed respect. He had doubted his old friend but it seemed that, as himself, he was constantly looking out for an opportunity for skulduggery. Still, as he relayed some of what he knew to Snape, he couldn’t help but wonder how Snape’s disregard for their master’s instructions (to report everything known by the Order) might eventually work in his favour. Snape, for his part, expected nothing less.

Harry was sitting on the potty, grinning at Snape. Snape folded his arms and looked at the toddler with mild distaste.

‘Potter, where have the figures gone?’

Molly Weasley, upon hearing that Harry was now two-and-a-half, had sent up another trunk load of stuff for him; with her brood she had things for every occasion and enjoyed supplying them. Amongst other things, there were miniatures of the different Quidditch players that Ron and his brothers had collected. Snape had left Harry’s hands occupied with three of the Chudley Cannons. Under advice by Molly, he was now placing Harry on the potty first thing on a morning and after a meal, in the hope that he would ‘go’. Harry, however, with his typically short attention span, kept getting up. The previous morning this had resulted in a little accident on Snape’s treasured rug and Harry had been inconsolable. Snape had decided, then, to give him some toys to keep him amused while he sat.

‘Figures flew away,’ Harry said, holding his chubby arms up in a shrug, as though he couldn’t think where they might have gone to.

‘The figures did not fly away, Potter,’ Snape said, an eyebrow arching on his pale forehead so that it almost disappeared into the black, slick hairline.

‘I forget,’ Harry said deviously.

Snape, knelt down in front of Harry so that their faces were level. ‘I’m going to ask you again, Potter’ he said firmly, trying out the technique Molly had shown him, ‘where are the toys I gave you?’

Harry, however, was not falling for it. He smiled up at Snape angelically and waved his arms around showing how the figures might have looked as they flew away. He could feel something in his lower stomach pressing urgently and knew that any moment he was going to be able to play swimming with the little men on broomsticks. He had put them in his potty, giggling when they had muttered to each other in disgust. They were funny little men.

‘Potter!’

Snape reached forward and lifted Harry off the little red potty seat so that his legs dangled in the air. Harry kicked with all his might, wriggling in Snape’s arms, angry that he had been caught out. Sure enough, Snape found that the toys in the bottom.

‘Toys don’t go in there, Potter’ he said shortly, pursing his lips at the smiling two-year-old. ‘I told you that yesterday.’

Harry’s face crumpled up. ‘My Potty, my toys!’ he insisted. ‘My’ seemed to be his favourite word at the moment.

‘A potty is not a toy,’ Snape insisted, ‘If you can’t behave on it then I’m going to put your nappy back on.’

Harry looked at the man sullenly, ‘No nappy,’ he said desperately. He wanted to be a big boy and make the lion on the little plastic potty roar. Snape was still putting a nappy on Harry during the night, but in the day time he had been using some special pull-up nappies that muggles used. Harry liked his ‘big boy’ pull-ups and didn’t want to give them up.

‘Then be good,’ Snape said. He took the toys out of the, thankfully dry, potty and put Harry back on it, handing him the frowning and muttering Cannon players. He then crossed the room to make breakfast, wondering how exactly, with all this babysitting, he was ever going to act upon the invaluable information he had received from Lucius Malfoy. It had been two days since their meeting.

Lucius, though Snape knew he had not told him everything, had relayed the death-eaters hit on the muggle children. Much to Snape’s relief they had not been killed but kidnapped, which, though was itself worrying, nevertheless gave him some hope that they may be returned to Maura Pickles sometime in the near future – with a little help from the Order. Lucius had given the impression that the kidnapped children were to perform as guinea-pigs for a powerful curse. Luckily the planned ‘experiments’ were not taking place for several weeks – enough time for more muggles to be taken – and so Snape had a bit of time.

Lucius had taken great pleasure in telling Snape that the Dark Lord had entrusted him with the task of developing and testing, under supervision, his latest piece of black magic. Snape hadn’t been surprised. Lucius was a highly skilled spell-maker. He had invented many curses, both legal and illegal; in fact, ironically, some of them were even used by the Aurors at the Ministry in their pursuit of black wizards and witches.

Lucius had been less forthcoming about the nature of the spell, and Snape hadn’t pushed him on it - after all he already had a fair idea of what it was. As Lucius had spoken, the murky cloud that was fogging Snape’s brain had lifted and the pieces of the puzzle had flown together; as easily as the fragments of broken glass repaired by the flick of a wand. It was evident to Snape that the Dark Lord was taking muggle children to test the spell that Draco had inadvertently cast upon Potter.

The question was, why? Why had Voldemort chosen children to test the spell when he had a multitude of lap-dogs just as willing to surrender themselves? There were only two answers that Snape could think of. Firstly, the spell was too dangerous and still in its early stages. This didn’t quite add up with the successful result on Potter, but, then again, it depended what the intention of it was in the first place. Secondly, and most worryingly, there was no counter curse. There was also the third option that the spell was being developed specifically for muggles or their children, but Snape didn’t think that very likely – after all why would Voldemort want a lot of screaming muggle babies on his hands?

Snape wasn’t sure yet what he was going to do with the information he had gathered. His first instinct had been to go straight to Dumbledore, but he had decided to think on it a while first. He wondered wryly if ‘thinking on it’ was just a ruse to cover cowardice on his part. He knew that Dumbledore was going to be very disappointed that Snape had effectively gone behind his back to find out more from Lucius. He had a feeling that when they met it would be a very uncomfortable interview; Dumbledore had the polite, but, nevertheless, very real knack of getting under a person’s skin.

Snape knew that he would be seeing Lucius again in a few days at the Quidditch tournament, and he realised that he had to speak to Dumbledore before then. He fully intended to press Lucius further if he could get him on his own. It had been a stroke of luck finding out about Voldemort’s plans (the Dark Lord often kept his plans from him in case he was 'discovered' as a double agent and questioned by the ministry), and he was going to take full advantage of the fact that he had something over Lucius.

Snape was roused from his musings by the sound of a lion roaring. He looked over to Harry and saw that he was very pleased with himself. Snape coughed slightly, the praise Madame Pomfrey had told him to lavish on the toddler every time he ‘went’ sticking in his throat.

‘I wee-wee in potty,’ Harry said smugly.

‘Er, very good Potter,’ Snape said awkwardly. He crossed the room as Harry struggled with his pyjama bottoms, the two leg-holes making his little face screw up with concentration.

‘Just a moment,’ Snape said, ‘you need pull-ups.’ As he picked up Harry, however, he saw something that made him purse his lips. The Chudley Cannon figures were all floating face down in the potty.

‘No swim,’ Harry said sadly. His experiment had been a failure. The little Quidditch Players had all drowned.

‘Humph!’ said Snape. He transported Harry to the changing mat and, ignoring his squirming and protests, brusquely secured him inside a regular nappy.

‘Big-boy pants,’ Harry protested, kicking out against Snape’s hands as he worked.

‘You may have them if you behave yourself, Potter,’ Snape said, holding his legs together in one hand, firmly, as he finished, ‘not until.’ He picked the sulky toddler up and placed him in his play pen. ‘We will try again after you’ve eaten.’

Harry, however, had a plan. As soon as Snape’s back was turned he pulled off his little red trousers and wriggled a leg out of his nappy. Once he had one leg out, the rest was easy and he was soon running around in just the T-Shirt of his pyjamas. He ran from side to side of the play pen, enjoying his new found freedom until he was dizzy.

Snape didn’t seem to be taking any notice at first. He was reading The Prophet as the coffee pot boiled itself and milk heated up on the stove. However, Harry couldn’t resist drawing attention to himself, to see what the batman would say about this latest piece of cleverness, and so he made zooming noises loudly. As Snape looked up Harry was rewarded by a withering glare.

‘Nappy off!’ Harry said with a wide smile. Snape got to his feet and crossed the room and, without further ado, picked Harry up, transporting him once more to the changing mat – quickly in case there were any more accidents. He held Harry still as he secured the nappy back in place.

‘Nappy on,’ Snape said firmly; ‘I won’t tell you again. You need it until you can use the potty like a “big-boy”.’

Snape felt himself colour at the baby terms he had been forced to use, but it was the only way he seemed to be able to get Potter to understand him. He placed Potter back in his play-pen. Five seconds later and the process started again.

By the time Molly Weasley appeared Snape was harassed. They had played the undressing; dressing game three times before Snape had cracked and cast a fastening spell that meant that no matter how much Harry squirmed and pulled at the garment it would not budge. This had upset Harry immensely as he thought he had been very clever in getting the better of the batman, and felt much freer in the open air. He had cried for ten minutes solid, screaming with a very healthy set of lungs and flinging himself so dramatically that Cheep-Cheep had flown away in alarm. Snape hadn’t taken any notice and this had made Harry feel even more like screaming. He hated being ignored.

Everything seemed to Harry to be unfair today. Why did the batman always want to spoil his fun, and what gave him the right to? Harry didn’t stop Snape doing what he wanted to. Why couldn’t Harry wee all over the floor if he wanted, and why did he have to eat a stupid mushy, yellow breakfast? He wanted to play, not eat. In the end, he had catapulted the first two spoonfuls of eggs high over his head. He was trying to do it when Snape’s back was turned so that he wouldn’t know he hadn’t eaten it, but his reflexes were a bit slow.

‘Potter!’

Harry, spurred on by the reaction, had then overturned the whole bowl onto the floor, giggling as he did so, but really watching to see what Snape would do. He was sick of the batman’s stupid ‘looks’, they weren’t much fun at all, and he wanted to see if he could make him shout. It was a little game between them that only Harry knew about.

The game had got even more interesting when Snape had made the mistake of letting Harry down from his high-chair. Encouraged by this bit of freedom, Harry had decided entertain himself by playing an even funnier game. He knew really that it was naughty to go into the cupboard – Snape had told him it was the day before – but it was too tempting. He had the bottles of inks out before the potions master had known what was happening. The silvery rug was now stained for the second time in as many days. This time with indigo swirls. As Harry had looked down at his hands he had found that they were bright blue. That was when Snape had caught him out.

Now he was in the bath squealing to be let out – he hated getting clean.

‘What a racket!’ Molly Weasley said as she entered Snape’s quarters and went to the bathroom, where most of the noise was taking place. She could see that Harry and Snape had equal expressions of frustration – both being quite (unusually) red in the face. Harry’s green eyes were filled with disgust as he splashed about and carried on in the tin bath and Snape seemed to be almost at breaking point.

‘What is all that fuss about, young man?’ she said sternly. Harry pouted as he looked up at the busy-body fire-women who didn’t let him get away with any nonsense.

‘Me good,’ he lied, as though anticipating her next question.

‘Has he been giving you trouble?’ Molly said brightly, casting her eye over the spoiled rug. She rolled up her sleeves. ‘Go and have a nice cup of tea dear and I’ll finish giving Harry his bath and clean up that mess.’

‘No!’ Harry said, his bottom lip starting to tremble. He brought his arms down ferociously into the water, causing a huge splash that sent bubbles flying everywhere. ‘Snape bath, not you!’

‘Stop that right now!’ Molly said, pushing Snape gently out of the way before he throttled the toddler. ‘You are being very naughty, Harry. I’m going to bath you and we’re going to have a little talk about what happens to naughty little boys. Go on, Severus dear, its okay, me and Harry are going to have a little chat.’

Snape didn’t need telling again. He left the room without another word.

Ten minutes later and Harry was bathed and dressed, complete with big-boy pull-ups, being led by the hand into Snape’s inner quarters. Snape was reclined in the easy-chair, cup of tea in hand. He hardly ever rested in such a way, but after a morning with Potter he felt, for once, that he deserved it.

‘Harry has something he would like to say, haven’t you Harry?’ Molly said encouragingly. Harry looked shyly up at Snape. Molly had explained to him how when he was naughty it made Snape upset. Harry had been slightly dubious about that – after all it was him that ended up crying. But she had said that grown-ups sometimes show their feelings upset in different ways, like shouting, and Snape certainly did a lot of that. She had also said that if he was naughty again then he would have to be punished, and though he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant he had the feeling that it wasn’t very nice.

He pulled on the sleeves of his red and gold sweatshirt avoiding looking directly at the batman. Being ‘naughty’, though it was fun and he would do it again, gave him an uncomfortable feeling in his belly.

‘Harry?’ Molly prompted.

‘I’m sowwry,’ he said at last.

‘Good-boy, Harry,’ Molly said. ‘See that wasn’t so difficult was it?’

Harry shook his head.

‘And Professor Snape forgives you, don’t you Severus?’

It was Snape’s turn to feel uncomfortable. Why was it that every time Molly came to visit (which was far more frequent than he would like) she made him feel like he was the two-year-old and not Potter. ‘Yes,’ he said shortly.

Harry beamed. He ran up to Snape and scrambled to get on his lap. With Molly as a witness, Snape felt that he couldn’t stop him and so sighing, he hoisted him up.

‘Me big boy pants,’ Harry said, pointing to his trousers.

‘Very good, Potter,’ Snape said with an air of resignation.

‘I just came by to check how everything was going,’ Molly said. She hesitated before continuing. ‘Sirius tells me that you came to see him at headquarters.’

Malice crept back into Snape’s eyes as he replied. ‘Black is delusional.’

‘You didn’t go to see him?’

‘I have rather more important matters to attend to than chasing around after Black.’

‘I see.’ Molly paused, wondering how she should continue. ‘You shouldn’t be so hard on Sirius you know. It’s not his fault that the ministry have him down as a mass-murderer. I think being cooped up in his mother’s house is really getting to him.’

Snape looked scornfully at Molly. ‘I’m sure that many, many years he spent in Azkaban have more than prepared him for extended periods of seclusion in uncomfortable environments.’

Molly sighed. She knew she was fighting a losing battle trying to get the two men to put aside their differences. ‘Well now I’m here would you like me to take Harry off you for a while? I have the morning spare and I’m sure you have things to do and classes to teach.’

‘No go!’ Harry said, grabbing fistfuls of the batman’s cloak tightly. He had only just made friends with Snape again and now he wanted to sit on him and talk. Anyway, he hated it when he couldn’t see Snape; he was always worried that he wouldn’t come back.

‘It’s okay, Harry,’ Molly said, smiling at the way Harry seemed to have taken to the potions master, ‘It won’t be forever. Severus will be back soon.’

As Molly reached out to detach the toddler from his beloved guardian, Harry felt real tears well up in his eyes. It had been such a tiring day. His face crumpled up as Snape handed him over.

‘No go!’ he wailed. Molly cradled him in her arms gently. ‘You’re a tired little boy, aren’t you?’ she said in a soft voice. She pulled him to her as the tears rolled down his cheeks. ‘Sshhh now, shhhh; its okay.’ She smiled at Snape, taking his expression of nausea at her babying of Harry for concern.

‘Don’t worry Severus, he’s just going through a phase. They’re all like this when they get to two – naughty and screaming one minute and upset and teary the next. That’s why they call it the terrible twos. Believe me, with Fred and George for children I know all about it. You go and do what you have to; I’ll get him a bottle and put him down for a nap. Sometimes they like to be babied.’

Harry couldn’t even be bothered protesting at the word ‘nap’. He snuggled tightly into the fire-woman as she cradled him and rocked him back and forth, letting him get rid of all his frustration by crying into her shoulder. After a few moments the urgency of his cries subsided and instead he put his fingers in his mouth to slurp on, tucking his head into her shoulder and enjoying the feling of being held. He forgot that he had been mad at Mwolly now that she was making him feel safe, and was pleased that she was going to give him a bottle. He liked drinking out of his little sippy-cup like a big boy, but he had missed his bottle and the nice warm feeling it gave him as he drifted off to sleep.

Snape got to his feet, suddenly desperate to get away from the domestic scene. It was giving him an unfamiliar feeling. It was almost like he was going to miss having Harry to annoy him for a few hours. He had felt it the other day when he had left him with Hermione and Ron. At the time he had thought it was apprehension about meeting with Lucius, but now he wasn’t so sure. He shook the thought from him – he was probably just tired.

‘I will be back in a few hours,’ he said. He decided that he was going bite the bullet and go and see Dumbledore – after all the sooner he did, the sooner they could come up with a plan.

‘Take your time,’ Molly said, ‘we’ll be alright here.’

Harry was too busy being cuddled to look up as Snape left and Molly indicated that he should go without making a fuss.

It wasn’t till he got half-way down the corridor that Snape realised that he felt strange about not saying good-bye.

Michael Pickles sat in the gloom, his knees tucked up to his chest as he wiped away the snot from his nose with the back of a curled up fist angrily - frustrated that he had been driven to tears. He pushed a dirty hand through his tangled head of black hair, blinking his sapphire eyes brutally. His father often told him that crying was for babies and Michael had been inclined to agree up until now. But at eleven years old, he was caught in the most dangerous position that he had ever dreamt he could be in.

His younger brothers were both asleep beside him on the stone floor. He had wrapped his own, worn winter coat around them to protect them against the drafts which rattled periodically through their dank and dreary prison. He had kept up his spirits in front of them because he knew that they were relying on him to get them out of whatever it was they were in. They were able to rest intermittently because they thought he would; it was what he did. He got them into scrapes and then he got them out of them, and they had complete, unwavering, faith in his abilities.

Neither of them seemed to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. Michael had counted four days since he and his brothers had been taken. Actually Michael couldn’t even remember that they had been taken. The three of them had been kicking a ball back and forth on the green, far away from school, and then, without warning, and in a flash of green light, they had simply been somewhere else – on the floor of a cold, stone room with no windows and only a single oil lamp swinging from the high wooden rafters for light. All Michael could remember was that a split second before it happened there had been laughter – a lot of laughter - and many black cloaks.

At first he had childishly thought it had been a trick of the Old Bill, or the filth as his dad referred to the police. He thought perhaps they had found out about the sweets that they had managed to impart from the sweet-shop earlier that day. Money was tight in the Pickle household and so sometimes Michael had to be a bit inventive about the means through which he and his brothers got their fill. He didn’t see it as wrong just a means of survival.

After a full day with no food and no explanations, though, he had realised that it was a lot more serious than that. Even criminals had rights, and, though he hadn’t seen the inside of a police cell himself, being too young to actually be locked up any time he had been picked up, his father had told him about it, and there was little chance that it could have been as medieval as their current abode.

His eight-year-old brother Thomas had been the first of them to break down. Looking hard in front of his elder brothers meant a lot to him, but as time had passed and he become tired, cold and hungry it had got on top of him and he had sobbed. Michael had comforted him as best he could, at first shouting at him to buck him up, then eventually, as the days passed, and the hooded man with the ice-blue eyes became a more frequent and threatening visitor, hugging him through his sobs and assuring him that he would get them out of it one way or another.

Lee, Michael knew, understood the situation slightly better than Thomas, but he was putting a brave face on it, as the incident the other day had proven. Their captor gave them food and water sporadically, and Michael and Lee had used the cutlery from one of their puny meals to chip away rocks from the wall. They had then constructed a kind of catapult with the elastic from their younger brother’s trousers and their own socks, and when their captor had returned had let fly. Michael realised now that he had known all along that it was a useless and childish ploy, but they had had to feel like they were doing something, and it had cheered Thomas up for a while. In any case the rocks had been dispelled by the hooded figure almost like there was some sort of shield protecting him; sparks of different colours ricocheting around the room. It was then that they had realised exactly what they were dealing with. This was no ordinary man, but someone who had powers that they had only read about in fairy tales.

The man’s rage had been a thing to behold. His pale blue eyes had glittered furiously, as sharp as glass shards in his head, and the expression on his face had been as maniacal as the devil himself. In a one swift, mesmerizing, movement he had held aloft what Michael now supposed was his wand and pointed it at Thomas.

‘Would you like the little brat to suffer for your foolishness?’ he had said, smiling callously at the small, quivering boy.

Michael had stood bravely in front of Thomas and Lee, his expression determined even as his legs shook beneath him. He had braced himself for whatever he was given; determined that if the captor meant to harm his brothers, he would do so only over his own dead body.

The captor had paused and laughed mockingly, before replacing the wand in its holder. He had then taken his silver serpent-headed cane to Michael, thrashing him with it skilfully till he had him crumpled in a heap on the floor - battered and humiliated, though still in one piece.

‘Let that be a lesson to you ,’ the captor had said shortly before turning on his heel to leave in a swirl of black velvet robes. He was not about to take any nonsense from the impudent muggle brats – whether the Dark Lord required them (more-or-less) unharmed or not.

Michael had smiled wryly as his brothers had helped him to his feet, and he had dusted himself down, wincing with pain. He felt he had got off quite lightly considering the man’s power - a hiding he could take.

He felt his brother’s stirring now and sighed. Just what this all meant and where it would all lead he didn’t know. He didn’t know if the ‘magic’ was simply an illusion, or if it was somehow real, and he had no idea what a ‘filthy muggle’ – a term his captor often used when addressing them – was, much less where they were and who the Dark Lord could be.

He resolved from that moment, though, that whatever the next few days had in store for them, he wouldn’t cry again.

It had been two days since Snape had set off to visit Dumbledore to tell him what he had found out from Lucius, and this time he had not given in to one of the many ‘distractions’ he had found to keep him from his goal.

‘Yes.’

‘And the curse used on Harry?’

‘There is no question that the curse as it was when Mr Malfoy stumbled upon it was in an earlier stage of development.’

‘I see. And the fact that Voldemort needs captives to test the curse on suggests that it is something perhaps more sinister than we imagine.’

‘It indicates to me, headmaster, that it is both extremely dangerous and perhaps irreversible,’ Snape said, irritably, clutching his burning wrist at his mentor’s use of his former master’s name. ‘The fact that Potter survived probably says more about the traces of strength the Dark Lord inadvertently left upon him.’

‘Perhaps,’ Dumbledore said, placing his fingertips together. ‘However if the curse were indeed dangerous then why go to such lengths to take the children prisoner and keep them in such a way? It would have been simpler and less dangerous to simply pick off muggles, or other wizards, and then dispose of them.’

‘To conceal the spell?’ Snape suggested after a moments thought.

‘I am inclined to think that Tom is thinking more laterally than that,’ Dumbledore said. He did not, however, offer any more explanation. As his pale blue eyes turned once again towards his potions master, Snape could see that there was a certain challenge behind them. He braced himself as Dumbledore opened his mouth again to speak, his tone grave.

‘In your haste to determine the fate of the Pickles children, Severus, you have put yourself in a most precarious position.’

Snape’s lip curled automatically in response to the criticism. As a spy for the Order he was already in a precarious position. He did not, however, contradict Dumbledore. He found it best in such situations to simply let the elder wizard talk himself out.

Dumbledore, however, seemed to guess his mind. ‘I am well aware that you risk yourself, admirably, for the Order at my bidding, and I am most grateful – we all are.’

Snape opened his mouth to scoff that he did not do it for thanks; Dumbledore, however, held up his hand. ‘Hear me out, Severus.’

‘Perhaps against my better judgement I allow you into the presence of the Death Eaters, and also to bring me information about Tom’s plans. But this I do with a heavy heart, and only because it is your will to serve the Order. By questioning Lucius, however, you have jeopardised your position. He will wait for the moment that he can use such information to his advantage and when he does it may fall beyond my power to help you. That is why I asked you to trust myself and the Order to deal with the disappearance of the Pickles children. There was a reason that Tom did not wish you to know about the attack, and therefore by knowing you have immediately put yourself – and Lucius I might add – in danger.’

The reproach Snape had expected in Dumbledore’s tone didn’t hurt him as much as the disappointment. He suddenly felt like a recalcitrant student and he lowered his eyes uncomfortably to the desk. As if deciding the message had been driven home, when Dumbledore spoke again his tone was lighter.

‘We will of course act upon the information you have given us, but I must ask you not to approach Lucius again. You have an important job to do, Severus, here at Hogwarts with your young charge. Lucius may be an adept spell-maker, but you are more adept and more driven, and I have every confidence that you can crack the mystery of the curse.’

He smiled then. ‘Do I have your confidence, as you have mine? Will you trust the Order to address the kidnapping?’

Snape nodded as he looked deep into Dumbledore’s twinkling eyes. ‘Yes headmaster,’ he said quietly.

‘Thank-you Severus,’ Dumbledore said.

As he watched the potions master leave his study, however, Dumbledore wondered if it was a promise that had been made to be broken. ‘What do you think Fawkes?’ he asked the once-proud Phoenix, who was withered and weeping, ready to die and be born again. As if in response, Fawkes chose that moment to burst into flames. Dumbledore smiled wryly as he popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth, ‘My sentiments exactly.’

Draco caught sight of himself in the mirror that hung above Snape’s fireplace and grimaced. He knew that he looked paler than usual, and he had lost his appetite so that his cheeks were pinched slightly at the bone. It was two days till the Quidditch game, therefore two days till he had to face his father’s wrath, and it was this that was laying heavy on him.

He had tried, unsuccessfully, to pen a letter to his father to forewarn him that he wouldn’t be playing. Every attempt had sounded ridiculous. In the end he had decided that he would just let Lucius find out; but now it was drawing closer his nerve was failing him. It wasn’t just the fact that he had been banned, it was that he was terrified that his father would find out about the curse he had done on Potter. The fact that Harry was still a baby (even if an older one) told Draco that it was no ordinary spell; and he had a sinking feeling that it was also a very important one to his father’s death-eater activity. If his father tried to enter his mind and read what had happened then he was going to be in very serious trouble. Draco had not had it confirmed to him that Voldemort was back, but he suspected that this was the case. If it was, then not only could he be in serious trouble with his father, but he, or even Lucius, could be in mortal danger as well. It was well known that Voldemort would kill his followers without a second thought.

That brought his thoughts on to Snape. He wondered vaguely why Snape was protecting him. But then, Draco concluded, the dual nature of Snape’s loyalty meant that it was very hard to discern exactly why he did what he did. If he showed loyalty to Voldemort, then Dumbledore and his little followers would catch him out, but the same was true vice versa – it was very confusing.

‘Mama, Dada,’ Draco heard Harry say. Immediately he snapped his head up.

‘What did you say, Potter?’ he asked.

Harry turned wide emerald eyes onto the goldy-haired boy. He had asked him for his flying picture book because sometimes he liked to look at his first mammy and daddy. He toddled over to the side of the play pen and held the book up to show Draco, pleased that he was getting some attention.

‘Mama and Dada,’ he said again.

Draco, interested, hoisted the little boy up and sat him next to him on the green, velvet sofa. He ignored the way that Harry snuggled into him, the large book balanced precariously on his lap, and peered at the picture that Harry had shown him. It showed a smiling, waving couple, sat at the head of a very long table, with empty bottles of champagne and a half-eaten, four-tiered, wedding cake to one side of them. The woman, Draco noticed, was pretty. She had the same clear green eyes as Harry, and long, auburn hair that framed her face. Her cheeks were flushed with pleasure and Draco found himself smiling back at her.

‘This your Mum?’ he said stiffly.

‘Yes,’ said Harry. He pointed a grubby finger towards the man with the messy hair and glasses, ‘Daddy.’

‘Hmmm.’

Draco suddenly felt uncomfortable. He knew that Potter’s parents had been killed, and he also remembered how he had taunted him about it last year, when an article had appeared in the Prophet.

Cried for your mummy lately, Potter, he had said.

Looking at the picture in the album he suddenly felt quite sick: Yes, Potter’s mother was a mudblood, as his father had told him, but she didn’t look that bad, nor did the father. He thought about something happening to his own mother and he felt a sudden cold chill. He looked down at Potter with a strange feeling of guilt. Had it been Draco’s own father that had had a hand in their deaths? He didn’t know. It was possible. It was the first time he really thought through the consequences of the life his father might live, and he found himself hoping, for once, that the rumours he had heard about his father - rumours that built up his fearsome reputation - were just that – rumours.

‘Draco?’ Harry said, wrinkling up his nose at the funny pale boy, ‘I need potty.’

It was the bit of relief Draco needed to forget about what he had seen. As he lifted Harry over to the little red potty, and helped him with his trousers, he found the uncomfortable feelings passing – for the moment anyway.

‘Not really, Sir,’ Draco said. Potter was at his feet playing with the Quidditch figures that Snape had managed to revive after their drowning experience. Harry was watching them fly around, hitting the little bludger at each other, wondering when he was going to be big enough to ride a broom. He had the instinctive feeling that he would be good at this flying business. It seemed fun.

‘Very well,’ Snape said. He opened his mouth to tell Draco that he may go, but, as he looked him over he noticed the pale, gaunt countenance. He didn’t take any satisfaction from the obvious concern Draco was feeling at facing his father. He sighed.

‘Has Mr Montague found a replacement seeker?’ he enquired.

Draco looked hopefully at his house-master, ‘Not that I know of.’

For a split-second, Snape considered rethinking his punishment; but, as he looked down at Harry, who was insanely laughing at the way the Quidditch figures looped on their replica brooms, he was reminded of exactly what Draco had done to warrant such a punishment in the first place.

‘Then I suggest he does so, and quickly,’ he said shortly.

A crest-fallen Draco left the room without another word.

Harry looked up as the pale-goldy-boy left and felt frustrated. He was sick of these big people coming and going all the time. It was bad enough that Snape left him at every opportunity, but there was now so many people looking after him that he couldn’t even remember all their names. He pouted. It was getting ridiculous.

Somewhere deep inside he knew that it was unreasonable, but suddenly he felt very angry. He looked up at Snape.

‘Bad Nape,’ he said.

Snape raised his eyebrow quizzically. ‘What was that, Potter?’

‘Bad Nape,’ Harry repeated, shouting. He grabbed one of the long suffering Quidditch players and launched it at his guardian. The Quidditch player fought hard against the momentum, but he hit the stooping potions master square in the nose.

Snape gasped slightly at the unexpected blow. He knelt down so that he was level with Harry.

‘How dare you show your temper like that, Potter,’ he said dangerously. ‘You will behave or, mark me, I will punish you.’

Harry, however, was in tantrum mode. He hadn’t slept very well the night before because of his bad dreams about evil cloaked men, and he felt cranky. Dwaco leaving without so much as a good-bye was the last straw. He had enjoyed introducing Dwaco to his Mammy and Daddy, and he had liked showing how much he was a big boy going in the potty. Snape was just a mean meany and Harry was going to show him what he thought of him. Not only that, but he was interested in this word ‘punish’ that Mwolly and Snape kept saying – maybe it would be fun.

Now that Snape was almost face to face with him, Harry was in a better position to make his feelings known. Sticking his bottom lip out, his face red, he smacked Snape on the nose.

‘Snape bad!’ he screamed. ‘No make Dwaco go!’

Snape looked with a degree of surprise at the small boy as he rubbed his nose gingerly. His shock didn’t last for long though, and his eyes darkened as he picked Harry up brusquely. Harry, seeing this change in the batman suddenly began to whimper. Perhaps being naughty hadn’t been the best idea?

‘Right Potter,’ Snape said, ‘you are in serious trouble.’

Ignoring the boy’s whimpers he crossed into the kitchen area of his quarters and retrieved the little wooden stool that Molly had given him. ‘You are going to learn obedience,’ he said firmly.

Harry beat his fists against Snape’s shoulder as panic overtook him. He didn’t like feeling out of control but he was stubbornly hoping that he could regain it.

‘Protestations are useless,’ Snape said, placing the stool in the corner as Molly had advised. Staying Potter’s flailing arms, and ignoring his protruding lip, he sat him firmly on the stool so that he was facing the wall.

‘You will stay here quietly for five minutes and think about the consequences of your actions,’ Snape said. ‘You do not hit.’

Harry immediately started to bawl. He didn’t like this hard stool that Snape had put him on. All he could see was the wall and it was boring. More than that, he didn’t like being punished - it made him feel like a naughty boy.’

‘No punish,’ he said, trying to wrestle himself from Snape’s grip.

‘Yes,’ said Snape firmly. ‘You will sit there for five minutes - however long it takes.’ Snape was determined that Harry would learn a lesson. He fully approved of discipline, and had been lost without the house points to take away, but Molly had offered him a life-line. He knew that having to be quiet and still would infuriate Potter and would serve as a good punishment.

Predictably, Harry tired to get up. Molly had instructed that Snape was not to hold Harry on the stool, but simply to place him back there every time he got up. This Snape did and Harry felt angrier and angrier not to get a reaction.

Harry got up off the stool at least twenty times. He run off everywhere he could think of, even climbing into the bath; but Snape picked him up and wordlessly placed him back on the stool every time.

‘No stool,’ Harry said, kicking out. Snape simply feigned a bored look and held him still before placing him back on the stool.

Harry cried and carried on. He even picked the stool up and threw it with a clatter on the floor, but Snape wasn’t relenting. When Harry’s screaming and bawling subsided into gasping sobs, he eventually decided that the only way he was getting off the hated stool was to sit for his five minutes and be quiet. So, folding his arms sulkily, that was what he eventually did. He hated being quiet for so long with only the stone wall to amuse him and he determined that he wouldn’t be naughty again.

Snape was pleased when Potter finally took his punishment. It had been a trying half-hour. After his five minutes, though, it was his turn to feel uncomfortable. Molly had told him that he had to get an apology and then give Harry a cuddle.

‘Right, Potter,’ he said, bracing himself as he bent down, ‘I want you to say sorry for hitting.’

Harry, his breathing still irregular, apologised immediately. ‘Sowry, Nape,’ he said.

Snape felt he had no choice but to ‘hug’ Potter. He put his arms around the small boy, intending the embrace to be brief, but Harry jumped on him.

‘Sowrry, he said, hugging the Professor with all his might. He couldn’t stop the tears falling down his little face as he cried from tiredness and the shame of being naughty. Snape sighed.

‘It’s alright Potter,’ he said, distractedly, rubbing the boy’s warm back as he felt the exhausted tears soak his robes.

Harry cried for at least five minutes, comfortable in Snape’s arms. At the end he stuck his thumb in his mouth as he rested his head sleepily on Snape’s shoulder. It had been a learning experience being punished and he determined that he wouldn’t ever do anything to be put on the naughty stool again.

‘Do you want a bottle, Potter?’ Snape said wearily. Harry nodded happily. ‘Fine - a bottle, then a nap,’ he continued, patting the toddlers bottom awkwardly. It had been a tiring afternoon but Snape felt that he had made some headway with Molly’s ‘naughty stool’. If only Draco was as easy to deal with, Snape thought wistfully, tucking a blanket around Harry and Cheep-Cheep, who was nestled happily in the toddler’s contented arms.

With that thought he went back to his work, determining to find a cure for Potter before his black hair turned grey.

The sun hadn’t even risen in the sky but Draco had been up for hours. He was sitting on the grass bank near the river outside of Hogwarts, gazing up at the silver sky without seeing it.

It was the day of his father’s visit and yet he still hadn’t sent him word that he wasn’t to play in the match. Just thinking about it his whole stomach seemed to drop to his boots. He drew a hand through his hair. He knew he looked as bad as he felt. His hair was matted with a night of tossing and turning and his robes were crumpled and torn from fighting his way through the rose garden to the waters edge. His face was paler than usual and his blue eyes were cold and dull.

Inside he marvelled at the effect that he knew his father had on him. He felt like he had been dangling over a nest of vipers ever since he had heard that Lucius was going to make an unexpected visit to Hogwarts. Everyday another thread broke on the rope that held him, bringing him closer to the hungry creatures; their erectile fangs poised to devour him.

He wasn’t sure what he was more frightened of; his father’s anger on hearing that he had been dropped from the Quidditch team, his finding out about the curse he’d used on Potter (his curse), or the real reason that his father was visiting Hogwarts, whatever that may be.

As he was thinking he had inched closer to the water’s edge. He knew that if one of the professors found him outside of the school grounds that early then he would probably be in trouble, but he didn’t care. He leant over the edge of the lake, which at this point of the bank loomed far higher above the water than it seemed. All of a sudden he had the urge to be swallowed up by clear blue, calming waters. He edged further forward.

‘Draco Malfoy!’

Draco almost fell in as a pink seahorse did a backflip out of the water, spraying him with ice-cold water, waking him from his thoughts. He had heard about the Oracle of the lake before – his father had spoken of him – but he had scarcely thought he would meet him.

The sea-horse sat back on his curled tail which levitated him above the water. He was dressed in a purple silk tuxedo, finished with a blue dickie-bow that would have looked odd on any seahorse but himself. Draco noticed that the suit was bone dry.

Sir Dapper rarely appeared above the surface, and knew that the un-breathing it involved would tire him for the rest of the day, but then again, he knew it was written that he would do it before he had.

The Oracle of the lake knew many things but only rarely was he called upon to act. The Weasley falling into the lake and alerting him to the fate of the boy-who-lived had embroiled him, however, in a chain of events that it was beyond him to resist. Even the schools of fish that populated the upper surface of the lake were keeping their distance from him now, as though they knew that something of significance, good or evil, was about to taint him.

‘What – er – what do you want?’ Draco stammered. Immediately he felt stupid. It was not a good idea to ask the Oracle of the lake what he wanted.

‘Listen to me, Draco Malfoy,’ Sir Dapper said. ‘Today you will live to be given a choice. That choice will be like a raindrop in the lake; the ripples will spread far and wide.’ He smiled then at the petrified-looking boy. ‘You will choose as your heart leads you, young Malfoy – we are born to fulfil a destiny and you will fulfil yours, whether the ripples swallow the minnows or whether they spread to water the lily-pads.’

With that Sir Dapper flipped back into the lake and disappeared from view.

Draco sat for a long few moments before he rose to head back to the castle. He couldn’t quite fathom what the Oracle had told him, he didn’t know whether he was supposed to. All he knew was that he felt calmer about the day before him – wherever that day would lead him.

Snape was trying unsuccessfully to dress Harry. It was the day of the Quidditch match between Slytherin and Gryfinndor and Dumbledore had suggested that it might be a good idea to take Harry to headquarters for the day since Lucius Malfoy and some of the other officials from the ministry were going to be in attendance at Hogwarts.

Harry had been doing very well with his toilet training over the last few days, he had even been dry for one or two nights, but Snape wasn’t going to risk any accidents in Grimmauld Place. In his own quarters Harry was always within reach of his little potty and was used to it, but Snape had the feeling that the excitement of a change of scenery might take his attention away. It had happened the other day when Hermione had taken Harry to the park in Hogsmeade, and even though the young girl had handled it very well, reassuring Harry that it didn’t matter, and that ‘accidents happened’, Harry he had been beside himself and it had taken Snape hours to get him settled.

‘Come on, Potter,’ Snape said, ‘it’s just for today. Be a good boy and don’t make a fuss.’ As always when he had to resort to using the childish talk Snape grimaced.

‘Big boy,’ Harry argued, ‘no nappy, big pants!’

Snape felt his patience, as it always did when Harry argued with him, wearing thin. It was at these moments that Snape remembered exactly why he didn’t get along with the teenage Potter – his stubborn defiance.

‘I’m not arguing about this, Potter,’ Snape said. He lifted the wriggling toddler and put him on his back. Harry squealed and whimpered, but Snape, now adept at handling a wriggling Potter, managed to secure the pin on the nappy with minimum fuss and securely enough so that it wouldn’t be wrenched off. He stood Harry up.

‘There you go,’ he said in a clipped tone, ‘that wasn’t so difficult was it?’

Harry stamped his foot and folded his arms. ‘Mean Nape,’ he said sulkily.

‘There’s nothing wrong with wearing a nappy occasionally, Potter,’ Snape said dismissively. Now hold up your arms.

Five minutes later and Snape had managed to dress Harry into an orange jumper with a glowing, smiling pumpkin embroidered on it, black velvet trousers and travelling robes to match, and a red bobble hat. Harry pulled at the toggles on the hat which itched under his chin, but he looked less sulky – it was his favourite jumper, as when he got cold the pumpkin lit up and warmed him up, and when he squeezed its stem it sung a little song.

The sky is blue,
The grass is green,
Have you got a penny for Halloween?
If you haven’t got a penny a halfpenny will do It you haven’t got a halfpenny then I’ll GET YOU!

‘Potter!’ Snape snapped, rolling his eyes at the jumper that Hermione had brought for Harry, and that he didn’t seem to want to take off his back, ever, ‘Halloween was four weeks ago!’

Harry simply smiled at the Professor with a toothy grin. ‘Sky is blue, grass is green,’ he chanted.

Frowning Snape took hold of Harry’s hand. ‘Come on,’ he said, ‘time to go.’

He walked Harry over to the fireplace deep inside his chambers and knelt to pick up an urn filled with green ash.

‘Mucky!’ Harry said, wrinkling up his nose as he peered into the pot. He held out his chubby fist to grab some of the dirty stuff but Snape yanked him out of reach.

‘No Potter,’ he said. ‘This is Floo powder – it’s for grown-ups not little boys.’

Harry stuck out his bottom lip. There seemed to be a lot of things in Snape’s chambers that were for ‘grown-ups and not little boys’.

‘Don’t pout,’ Snape said irritably. He decided to explain the Floo Powder to Harry, as if he didn’t he got the feeling that he would be bombarded with questions. Harry’s new favourite word seemed to be Why?

‘This is ash created from burnt cedar wood,’ Snape explained patiently as the boy watched him with curious eyes. ‘The trees grow in the forests of the elves and it’s the minerals in the water supply and the soil the elves tend that give it its magic properties. We take a handful like this,’ he went on, holding a fistful of ash over their heads, ‘and say the name of the place we want to go to in a clear voice. The explosion from the ash connects us to the Floo network.’

Snape went on to explain some of the other rules and regulations of the Floo network but Harry had lost interest. What had really captured his attention was the word explosion.

‘Boom boom!’ he said, grabbing for the magic shiny powder.

‘No Potter,’ Snape said wearily. ‘In the wrong hands it’s quite dangerous. He stooped to pick Harry up. ‘Now hold on tight,’ he commanded and brace yourself.

‘Grimmauld Place,’ Snape said, releasing the powder. Five seconds later, to a whirl of activity in the grate, they appeared at Grimmauld place.

Sirius and Molly were waiting for them.

‘See-rus,’ Harry shouted joyfully. Snape pulled off Harry's hat and robe that he had used to protect him from the ash and placed him on the floor and Harry ran full throttle into Sirius’s outstretched arms.

‘Hiya kid,’ Sirius said twirling Harry around so that he squealed with delight.

Sirius’s whole expression had transformed itself in a matter of seconds and Molly marvelled at it. For days she had been on the verge of flooing Lupin out of concern for Harry’s godfather. Sirius’s eyes had once again begun to take on the haunted quality that they had acquired in Azkaban; luminous, but cold and vacant, like the glass orbs of china dolls in muggle toyshops. But now they sparkled with mischief, and for the first time in days his gaunt cheeks glowed.

‘Here is Potter’s things,’ Snape said, ignoring Sirius and speaking to Molly. He handed her the baby bag and Molly looked inside.

‘Nappies?’ she said sceptically. ‘Isn’t the potty training going very well?’

‘It’s fine,’ Snape said, colouring slightly as Sirius grinned at them.

‘Well why have you put him in a nappy then?’ Molly asked.

‘It’s just for today,’ Snape said.

Molly pursed her lips but didn’t say anything. She thought it unwise to take Harry a step back if he had been doing well, but decided to give Snape a break - after all he had been doing quite well with the toddler, and she knew that he was having a hard time at the moment. Dumbledore had filled the entire order in on the situation with the Pickles, but, though they had their best people looking for them, no-one was very confident about finding them, or what they might find even if they did. She could tell just by looking at Snape that it was on his mind, and she had the feeling that it was particularly so today as he would be seeing Lucius at the Quidditch match.

She wasn’t feeling very happy about Lucius’s visit to Hogwarts herself. She had sent an owl to Fred, George, Ron and Ginny, warning them to be on their guard – it was one of the few times that she wished that her children weren’t so skilful at Quidditch.

‘Weeee,’ Harry squealed. Sirius was holding Harry’s hands and letting him walk up his legs and flip over in a somersault when he got to the top. Harry felt like it was the most fun he had ever had. ‘Again, again,’ he said happily, and, dutifully Sirius complied.

‘I’ll return for Potter in the morning,’ Snape said. ‘We are unsure how long our “visitors” will linger at Hogwarts.’

‘That’s fine,’ Molly said. Then she frowned. ‘Of course, I won’t be here all night. I have to get back to the Burrow … Maybe if I floo Arthur and ask him to get his own dinner I would be able to stay a bit …’

‘We don’t need you to baby-sit us, Molly,’ Sirius said good-naturedly as he flipped Harry over for the fifth time.

Molly looked at Sirius and Harry dubiously. Harry was giggling hard, but she also noticed that he looked slightly queasy. ‘I think he’s had enough of that game, Sirius,’ she said.

Sirius was just about to protest when he noticed that Harry was holding his stomach.

‘Sicky,’ Harry confirmed.

‘Oh,’ Sirius said sheepishly. ‘Sorry – we’ll play something else.’

Molly put her hand into the bag and pulled out Harry’s cup. Pointing her finger at it she filled it with milk and handed it to him.

‘Sit down and drink some of this quietly, Harry,’ she said.

As Harry resignedly took the cup and plonked himself down near Sirius’s feet, Sirius seemed to notice Snape for the first time. His eyes darkened as he spoke over the top of Harry’s head. ‘He doesn’t look much older, Snape,’ he said icily.

‘That’s because, Black, he isn’t,’ Snape said.

‘How long has it been now?’ Sirius said, ‘two weeks? More? Perhaps you should have given him to one of first year classes – I’m sure that even they could have had him half-way to his normal age by now.’

Snape felt his hand clench round his wand as he returned Sirius’s sarcastic sneer. ‘Well by all means, Black, if you think you could do better,’ he said evenly. ‘Oh no, that’s right, I forgot, magic isn’t really your forte is it? In fact you only passed one OWL didn’t you? Transfiguration, wasn’t it? Hardly surprising considering you turn yourself into a mongrel at the first sign of trouble.’

‘Really!’ Molly said sharply in exasperation, causing Snape and Sirius to break their glares and Harry to drop his sip-cup on the floor. ‘You two are behaving just like toddlers yourselves.’ She went to Harry and picked up his cup, wiping his chin with a tissue that she had balled up in the cuff of her sleeve. He was smiling happily, enjoying seeing the two grown men getting into trouble.

‘Nwaughty stool?’ he suggested. Molly laughed. It was obvious that Snape had been following her advice about discipline.

‘It’s a shame they don’t make them in adult sizes,’ Molly agreed. ‘Are you any further with the spell?’ she said to Snape, shooting Sirius a look that said don’t-you-dare-say-anything.

‘There are certain things that have come to my attention that I am attending to,’ Snape said. Sirius snorted and Snape glared at him. ‘Spells, such as the one directed at Potter here, take time and patience to uncover. Lucius’s and the Dark Lord’s branch of magic is not as simple as transfiguration – an animagus transformation, for example, is infinitely less complex.’

Sirius’s eyes narrowed and Molly decided to step in once again. She could tell that he was trying to come up with a retort. ‘Of course Severus,’ she said. ‘I have every confidence in you, as does Dumbledore.’ She beamed down at Harry – ‘It seems like you might be with us for a little while longer young man. It makes me broody, seeing him like this,’ she went wistfully and to no-one in particular. She knew, however, that that particular owl had flown. Arthur had, for once, put his foot down; he said that seven children was a very respectable number to finish on.

Snape cleared his throat. ‘I think I will be going,’ he said.

‘Yes,’ Sirius said, determined to get in a last insult, ‘you don’t want to keep your dear friend Lucius waiting.’

Harry had looked up when he heard the word ‘going’. He hadn’t been very interested in what the grown-ups were talking about, and had been talking to the pumpkin on his jumper who seemed to understand him much better than anyone else, but that word caught his attention.

‘Going?’ he echoed, his face starting to betray the first sign of obstinacy. He toddled over to Snape and, to Sirius’s horror, attached himself to the elder man’s legs. He had thought they were all going to have a lovely day playing together – him, See-rus, Mwolly and Nape, and wasn’t about to let his favourite one leave.

Snape was always trying this trick with him and Harry, for his part, was always trying to think of inventive ways to keep Snape from leaving – which always unsettled him. First he had tried hiding Snape’s billowy cloak – but apparently Snape had more than one so that hadn’t worked. Next he had tried the old favourite – a tantrum, but it hadn’t worked either and he had found himself put on the hated naughty stool for the second time as ‘punishment’. Now he decided that he would simply hang onto Snape’s cloak – which would mean that wherever he went, Harry would have to go too. He thought he was very clever and smiled sweetly up at Snape.

‘Me go,’ he said.

He hadn’t banked, however, on Molly’s intervention. ‘Come on Harry,’ she said, bending down to pry his fingers from Snape’s cloak, noting the disdainful expression on his and Sirius’s face, ‘Professor Snape will come back, but he’s very busy today. You can stay here and play with Sirius and myself.’

‘No!’ Harry said stubbornly, sticking out his bottom lip.

‘Potter,’ Snape said, ‘kindly detach yourself from my robes this instant.’

‘Don’t speak to him like that,’ Sirius snapped; angry that Harry would choose to stay with Snape over himself. ‘You must have been brainwashing him or something. I know for a fact that Harry, like James before him, can’t stand to be anywhere near you.’

Snape gave Sirius a withering look. ‘I assure you, Black, that I have not given Potter the slightest encouragement to cling to my robes. However, I hardly find it surprising that he wishes to return to Hogwarts rather than remain in this place.’ Snape jerked his head pointedly towards the stairs where the portrait of Sirius’s mother could be heard screeching about blood traitors and turncoats. His eyes also lingered over the film of slimy dust that was collecting again around the surfaces in the large reception room and the empty coffee cup and plates. It was obvious that Molly had not visited for a while and that Sirius was not lifting a finger to keep the Order’s headquarters ticking over.

‘Me go,’ Harry said, pulling on Snape’s robes for attention. Snape glanced down into the sad emerald eyes. Breathing-in heavily he crouched down and took hold of the small boy’s arms, maintaining eye contact.

‘No Potter. You will stay here and behave yourself and I will return for you.’ He reached into his pocket and pulled out a raggy purple bird. He lowered his voice so that Sirius would have to really strain to hear, ‘Cheep-Cheep will keep you company till I return.’

Molly, who was within earshot smiled. She watched as Harry scrunched up his face, deep in thought.

‘Alright Nape,’ he said at last, taking Cheep-Cheep with an air of resignation. He could feel tears forming in his eyes but fought to swallow them down and behave like a big boy. Besides, Snape always returned when he said he would. Instinctively he hugged the stuffed bird to his chest for comfort.

‘Good, Potter,’ Snape said awkwardly. He got to his feet and smoothed down his robes.

Sirius, seeing that Harry was distracted by the scruffy looking bird lifted him up and took him wordlessly from the room – irritated by the bond that appeared to be developing between Harry and Snape.

‘You’re doing a good job with him, you know, Severus,’ Molly said, noting the way that Snape’s gaze followed Harry as he left the room. Snape didn’t reply. He reached for Sirius’s pot of Floo powder.

‘You won’t speak to Lucius about the Pickle children, will you?’ Molly blurted out before she could stop herself. ‘You know that it would be dangerous – and Harry needs you.’

Snape watched Molly carefully for a moment. Then, wordlessly, he let the ash fall over his head.

‘Hogwarts: Severus’s Snape’s Chambers!’

The niggling feeling of foreboding Molly had harboured since the morning reared suddenly like a wild animal in her breast.

It was several minutes before she felt composed enough to seek out Harry and Sirius.

Lucius smiled at the compliment. ‘And what of today?’ he said. He was speaking not only of his son’s Quidditch match, but also of the further business he had to complete on his trip to Hogwarts.

‘A good day by all accounts,’ the Mirror said, thinking for only a few moments. ‘Though perhaps it will reveal itself in ways other to those you may think it.’

The Mirror fell silent then and Lucius knew he would get no more from it till the following day. He frowned slightly, marring the perfect reflection of his countenance slightly. However, he soon shrugged it off – the Mirror was a prophet, not a voice of authority and often spoke in riddles. He had every confidence that the day would come off as planned.

He turned on his heel and went to manipulate the solid golden eagle that protected the secret passage to his dungeons, at the same time speaking the words that would open the wings. He had time to check on his prisoners before he left.

Fred, George, Ginny, the Weasley twins and Hermione sat in the Gryfinndor changing rooms waiting for the game to begin. They were early and the other players – Angelina Johnson, Alicia Spinnet and Katie Bell - had not arrived yet which meant they could speak freely about Harry. Ginny had replaced Harry as the seeker, though no-one was less pleased about the reason for the substitution than her, and she had assured the others that as soon as Harry was back to full age she would happily relinquish the position.

Everyone else in the school thought that Harry was still suffering from a ‘rare muggle disease’. Angelina had driven Ron to distraction asking him if Harry would be fit for the match against Slytherin: 'One of the most crucial games of the whole history of Quidditch and no Harry,’ she had said incredulously, ‘I don’t believe it!’ The other players had echoed her. They had had their memories modified so that they didn’t remember what had happened the day in training, and they all agreed that Harry’s arms and legs must be falling off to prevent him from playing in such an important match. In fact the only thing that had slightly consoled them was the knowledge that Draco wouldn’t be playing for Slytherin. This had almost taken over as the favoured topic of speculation in the dining hall, as, aside from Hermione and the Weasleys, no-one knew exactly why he had been banned, and Draco was being particularly evasive about it. In fact he had cursed three Slytherin students already simply for mentioning it.

Still, in the last few days, in the build up to the match, a fresh round of questions about Harry had begun. ‘But what exactly is it?’ Alicia had pressed Ron the day before day. Ron had struggled for something to say, ‘Er small-pox?’ he had ventured. Hermione hadn’t been very pleased about that, but it was the only muggle disease Ron had heard of. It had spread through Hogwarts like wild-fire, and now the majority of students thought that not only was Harry on his deathbed, but if he were to survive he would be covered in horrible scars for the rest of his life. Cho Chang had been particularly upset about this and Ron hadn’t known what to say when she had run off crying merely on the mention of Harry's name that morning.

‘Honestly,’ Hermione said irritably, as the Slytherins could be heard roaring a verse of ‘Weasley is our King’ in the stands, ‘they’re such idiots.’

‘I don’t know,’ Fred said, ‘it has a certain ring to it …Ow!’ he groaned as Ron stubbed his toe with his broom, ‘I was only joking.’

‘Very funny,’ Ron said, his face red.

‘How are you feeling about the match?’ Hermione said to Ginny. She noticed that the young girl was very pale and quiet.

‘Fine,’ Ginny said. Hermione noticed, however, that her hands were shaking around her broom.

‘You look it,’ Fred laughed. ‘You’ll be fine. Just don’t do anything stupid, we don’t need a round of “Weasley is our Queen”’.

This made Ginny close her eyes as though in pain and Hermione frowned.

‘Very sensitive, Fred,’ she said haughtily.

‘Any news on Harry, then?’ George said, changing the subject back to their star seeker.

‘No change,’ Hermione said miserably. A short silence followed this as their thoughts turned to Harry.

‘At least Dumbledore’s got him out the way while Lucius is here,’ Ron said after a few moments. ‘I wouldn’t put it past him to attack a toddler – and Harry can’t even hold his wand properly at the moment.’

‘I can’t imagine Lucius is going to be too thrilled when he finds out that Draco’s been banned from the match by Snape,’ Hermione said thoughtfully.

‘Good!’ Ron said violently, causing Ginny to jump, ‘It’s about time Malfoy got a taste of his own medicine – I hope his father curses him and turns him into something horrible so that he knows what it’s like.’

‘He’s already something horrible,’ George quipped.

‘Come to think of it,’ Hermione said, ‘Draco has looked pretty awful all week. You don’t think he’s worried that his father will find out about what he did to Harry, do you?’

‘So what if he does?’ Ron said.

‘Oh Ronald, read between the lines. It’s obvious that the curse Draco used is something that Lucius was working on for the Dark Lord. For all we know it was meant for Harry. Draco could have done his father a favour. If Lucius finds out that Harry is a baby then there’s no telling what might happen …’

Unfortunately no-one had time to reply to this piece of wisdom, as at that moment the other players walked in.

‘Come on you lot, buck up!’ Angelina said. ‘You look like your best friend’s just died. What we need is positive attitudes!’

The slightly high pitched tone to her voice, however, told them that Angelina wasn’t as confident as she was pretending to be.

Ron felt his heart pounding in his chest as he got to his feet, the chorus of ‘Weasley is our King’ ringing in his ears. He pushed all thoughts of Lucius and Draco and even Harry to one side. The only thing he wanted to think about at that moment was preventing the Quaffles from getting through the hoops, and Gryfinndor winning the game.

As Snape made his way up to the Slytherin side of the Quidditch stands he noticed that Lucius was already there speaking to Cornelius Fudge who was sat beside him. The death eater was dressed immaculately and his clothes and stature made a stark contrast with the small, podgy Minister for Magic - who was wearing a bottle-green and yellow spotted suit which clashed horrendously with his turquoise shirt. Snape was late and the game was about to begin, but he had had to make sure that he cleared his chambers of every bit of baby debris, anticipating that Lucius may expect to pay a visit there after the game. With all the contraptions, toys and clothes that Molly insisted in donating, it had taken longer than he originally anticipated.

Snape’s eyes quickly took in the sea of Slytherin students cheering and jeering in the stalls, chanting a ridiculous song about one of the Weasleys. He failed, however, to pick out the person who he was searching for. Crabbe and Goyle were there, tucking into large hotdogs dripping with mustard, spraying crumbs everywhere as their scornful voices insulted the Gryfinndors, but Draco was nowhere to be seen. Snape pursed his lips; if Draco wanted to aggravate his father even further then he was going he right way about it. Rather than face up to the consequences of his actions and inform Lucius that he had been banned from the match, warning him far in advance so that his anger would have time to dissipate, he appeared to have simply buried his head in a cauldron, hoping that he would be able to avoid Lucius – which of course he wouldn’t.

‘Ah, Severus,’ Lucius said, pointing his cane at the potions master, ‘come and join us.’

Snape hesitated slightly before he wound his way up to the box that had been erected on top of the stand to accommodate its official guests. He had not seen Lucius since the night at Spinners End and he took time to build up invisible layers within his mind. He always had to be on guard when he met with any of the death eaters. His position as double-spy made him constantly vulnerable. A large number of the Dark Lord’s circle suspected that he was disloyal and he had lost count of the number of times one or other of them had attempted to breach his mind – not that any of them were a match for his occlumency, which was something he had been perfecting since he was old enough to think.

Madame Hooch was refereeing the match, and as Severus greeted Lucius and the Minister her voice boomed out around the stadium.

‘Welcome students and visitors to the first Quidditch match of the season between Slytherin and Gryffindor,’ she began to a huge roar from the crowd. She glanced swiftly up towards the Slytherin box, and added, in a slightly less enthusiastic voice, ‘And a special welcome to the Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge, and our other honoured guests.’ Their was a smattering of applause at this last announcement and Fudge beamed around the stands, waving his fat hand as though he was royalty. Snape noticed that Dumbledore simply peered over his half-moon spectacles from his position in the central stands as he regarded Lucius and Cornelius. He patted his hands together politely but there was fire in his eyes.

‘I will be refereeing the match today,’ Madame Hooch went on, ‘and Lee Jordan will be providing the commentary. Now lets meet the teams. Firstly - Gryfinndor!’

Lucius craned his neck to see the Gryfinndor team fly onto the pitch and take up their positions.

‘I see Mr Potter is still out of action, Minister,’ he said, his lip curling in satisfaction. ‘I hope that that business with the “dementors” hasn’t unhinged him.’

Fudge puffed out his cheeks, ‘It is rather odd,’ he agreed. ‘I would have thought Albus would have given us a more thorough report on the boy’s condition by now.’ He turned to Snape, ‘You teach the boy potions, don’t you Septimus – er – Severus?’ he blustered, ‘Has Dumbledore confided in you about his condition? He appears to be keeping his cards very close to his chest.’

Snape was saved from answering by Madame Hooch’s announcement that the Slytherin team was to take up their positions.

‘Ah, Minister,’ Lucius said with a pleased smile, ‘I did inform you that my son, Draco is the star seeker on the Slytherin team, didn’t I?’

Fudge smiled approvingly. ‘Very good, very good,’ he said. ‘It must be in the blood – I believe you were something of a Quidditch player yourself when you were at Hogwarts?’

‘Quite,’ said Lucius self-importantly, ‘I was beater from my first year, and Captain from my fifth.’

As the players flew into position, however, Lucius’s arrogant expression faded slightly. He squinted up at the players as though he couldn’t quite believe what was in front of his eyes.

‘I only met your son very briefly, Lucius,’ Fudge said. ‘Tell me, which one is he?’

Snape took this as his cue to pull Lucius quietly to one side and explain the situation to him. As he did so, the usually composed face transformed itself into a mask of rage. Lucius’s cheeks coloured and his eyes flashed like fire bolts.

‘Is there a problem?’ Fudge said easily.

Lucius fought hard to keep his temper in check. He swallowed down his anger and forced the blood from his cheeks.

‘It seems, Minister, that my son has gotten himself into a bit of trouble and has been banned from the match,’ hesaid through gritted teeth.

‘Oh,’ said Fudge, slightly taken-aback, ‘well nothing too serious I hope?’

‘Draco has had some problems with his transfiguration charms,’ Snape said evenly, sticking to the story that he had instructed Draco to tell his father. ‘He is also behind on some of his other lessons.’

‘Oh well,’ Fudge said dismissively, turning his attention back to the game, ‘boys will be boys I suppose. Though I must say I am surprised to hear that the boy is behind with his spells of all things – especially with your adeptness for spell-making, Lucius.’

Lucius forced his stiff jaw to smile, and it was perhaps just as well that Fudge had turned away, as the gleam of venom there in his eyes would have been hard to disguise.

‘Where is my son?’ he hissed to Snape.

Snape shook his head slightly, indicating that he didn’t know, and telling Lucius that he should remember himself. He knew it was what Lucius would expect from him.

With what seemed like a great effort, Lucius turned back towards the game. It was an tumultuous match, charged with tension. Fouls and tricks were carried out by both sides, though Gryfinndor mainly in retaliation to Slytherin. Ginny bore the brunt of many harshly hit bludgers, and one almost knocked her off her broom before Fred could get to it. ‘Hang on sis,’ he shouted, as he hit it full force back to Montague, who had to dodge to avoid his eye been taken out.

From the off, however, Gryfinndor appeared to have the edge. The anger within Lucius’ breast grew as he listened to the song ‘Weasley is our King’ transfer itself from the Slytherin to the Gryfinndor supporters as the young Weasley saved every Quaffle that was hurled at him. He watched with a fist curled round his wand as the chant eventually altered to ‘Weasley is our Queen’ and as the red-headed Weasley brat caught the Golden Snitch ahead of Draco’s inept replacement, Gomaz Warrington – who was out-flown and out-classed infinitely. When it was all over, Lucius was fit to burst. Only the watchful eyes of Dumbledore and the Minister prevented him from casting a silent spell to silence the infernal cheers of victory in the Gryffindor stands.

When it was all over Fudge turned to Lucius. ‘It’s a shame your boy wasn’t playing,’ he noted. ‘With Potter out of action I think he would have caught the snitch no problem. That girl is good, but I’m sure that with your family background in Quidditch it would have been in the bag. I hope that you give him a stern talking to when you see him.’

Lucius’s anger seethed out of every pore. ‘Oh don’t worry, Minister, I will …’

He sat for a few moments after the game finished and composed himself. His father was bound to come to look for him and he would be even angrier if he made him wait. Sighing, he got to his feet and dusted the feathers from his robes and pulled a comb through his hair. It wouldn’t do him any good to greet his father looking like a half-plucked chicken. He decided to make his way to the bottom of the castle and walk the corridors near to the dungeons. He had the feeling that that was where his father would start.

Dumbledore, ever the host, had arranged for a feast to take place in the Grand Hall following the match. Annoyingly, Lucius found that he couldn’t get away, and instead was forced to endure the meal, sitting on the platform at the teacher’s table, making small talk with Fudge and listening to the excited chatter and cheers of the Gryfinndor table. His pale eyes looked with scorn around the room. It was Saturday and the students were allowed to dress in non-uniform. At least half of the students were in muggle attire. The only exception was the Slytherins, who all wore dark robes like a uniform – an ordered mass, Lucius thought with satisfaction, in the sea of riff-raff. His eyes lingered on Hermione Granger, and her pink jumper and faded jeans. He knew her to be a Mud-Blood brat with ideas above her station. He had once caught a glimpse of her parents, as large as life in Flourish and Blotts. Only the presence of the Photographer for the Daily Prophet (and perhaps the fear of reprisal) had prevented him from harming them. Muggles did not belong in his world; in fact, if he could help it, he thought with a sneer, they did not belong in any.

Hermione appeared to sense the eyes of the Death Eater upon her. She felt a shiver as she looked up and made eye-contact with the pale, glittering eyes. He smiled in sardonic recognition, a thin sculpted silver eyebrow raised on his forehead. At the same time he appeared to absentmindedly run the tip of his forefinger over the blade of his knife before looking away. Hermione bit her lip.

‘Moron,’ Ron said. He had followed the silent exchange between the two, ‘Just because we beat Slytherin hands down.’

‘I’m sure he’s not thinking about Quidditch, Ron,’ Hermione said impatiently. ‘Not everyone sleeps breathes and eats it like you, you know.’

‘Humph!’ Ron said, ‘Well then he’s probably sick about his precious little son being banned from the match. It wouldn’t surprise me if he called for an inquiry or something.’

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione said uneasily. She had made it her business to keep her eye on Lucius in case he tried anything during the match, and she had noticed the brief, fearsome expression on his face as he had looked around for Draco.

‘Just ignore him,’ Ron said, before going back to his third helping of spotted dick and custard (Quidditch always made him hungry he told himself), ‘he won’t try anything with Dumbledore around.’

Hermione, however, wasn’t as convinced. As the others trailed off to the common room she stayed, pretending to be taking her time over finishing her Caramel Tart. Really she was watching Lucius. As he slipped away from the table and set off in the direction of the dungeons she made a split-second decision to follow him. She knew instinctively that he was going to seek out his son, and with what Draco knew about Harry she had a bad feeling about it.

Unknown to Hermione, Lucius had another destination in mind. He was going to visit his son, but he had a different errand to complete first – an errand that had been the intention of his visit to Hogwarts from the beginning. He was mildly surprised at how easy it had been to give Dumbledore and the other members of the Order the slip. He knew, though, that if he performed magic then they would be on him in a shot (Dumbledore had many complex charms protecting the students) but the duty he had been given by the Dark Lord did not involve the use of his wand and so he felt safe from detection.

Lucius wound his way down to the lower floors, only taking one wrong turning before he came across the portrait of St Filius. He thought very hard as he had been instructed as he walked up and down the corridor three times.

Hermione, who had tailed him since the Grand Hall, was puzzled at this. She was even more astounded as a door suddenly appeared in the wall and Lucius walked through it.

Once he was inside she crept up to where the entrance was, but to her exasperation it had disappeared. Lucius must have known the code to some kind of secret passage. She hadn’t a hope of cracking it before he emerged. Instead she waited in the shadows of a large gargoyle, waiting for the moment that he was to appear.

It was almost an hour before Lucius emerged. As he did she saw that there was an unpleasant flush of pleasure about his cheeks and neck. It was obvious that whatever task he had been performing had been a success. He pulled his cloak, which seemed bulkier than before, tightly around him and then set off once again in the direction of the dungeons, too distracted with thoughts of his own cleverness to notice the petite witch on his tail.

It wasn’t long before Lucius found Draco. It seemed as though his son had been wandering aimlessly, knowing that he would bump into him.

‘Father!’

Draco was more relieved than anything. He had been working himself into a state in the last few hours waiting for his father and just wanted it over and done with so he could go to bed and forgetthis day had ever happened.

A sneer curled at Lucius’s lips and his nose turned up in distaste, as though Draco was a bad smell underneath it.

‘Well, well, well,’ he said. ‘So this is where my son has been hiding.’ He looked with pointed disgust around the dank and dreary corridor. From the corner of his eye he saw a rat darting away. His fingers twitched on his cane as he fought the age to obliterate it in a flash of green light.

‘I - I ... ’

‘’Silence,’ Lucius interrupted as his son stammered. He grabbed Draco’s arm and propelled him inside a deserted room, which was also a store-room of some description holding old desks and lecterns.

‘Light the lamps,’ Lucius said. He released his son heavily and Draco stumbled. He took out his wand with a shaking hand at pointed it at the rusting torch holders.

‘Lumos!’

‘So there is at least one spell that you can get right,’ Lucius said as the torches burst into flames. He watched his son for a few seconds. He looked like a salamander caught in a snow storm. He wondered for the hundredth time how Malfoy stock had managed to produce such an inept brat.

‘What did I say to you over summer, Draco?’ Lucius said.

‘I’m sorry father,’ Draco said miserably. He deduced that Snape must have told his father the concocted story about his school-marks and decided to play along. ‘I did try, but what with Quidditch practice and …’

‘Don’t mutter your miserable excuses to me,’ Lucius roared, as the mask he wore for the outside world well and truly disintegrated. ‘I gave you simple instructions to improve your marks this year and to be sure not let me down in the Quidditch match and you have not managed to obey either.’

Draco recoiled from his father’s anger, ‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered.

‘I am not interested in your apologies,’ Lucius barked. He advanced on his son and grabbed the collars of his robes in his right hand raising his cane with his left, ‘You have disgraced me and you will suffer the consequences.’

Before the first blow landed, Draco had time to notice a glint of something silver beneath his father’s robes.

It was Snape. Noticing Lucius missing from the Grand Hall he had set out to investigate and had stumbled across Hermione and the scene in the store-room. He glared at the young, meddlesome girl.

‘Go back to your dorm and speak a word to no-one,’ he spat in a whisper.

Hermione noted the fierce look in Snape’s flashing eyes and turned on her heel to leave immediately – confident that Snape would not allow the beating to continue. Snape waited till she had disappeared along the corridor before intervening. He was grudgingly impressed that the girl had even thought of interrupting Lucius in his anger, but was equally furious with her for flouting the rules and putting herself in such danger. The Gryfinndor ‘nobility’ would be the death of its students.

Snape managed to stop Lucius with a minimum of fuss. Draco was hurt, but, thanks to his intervention, not greatly so. After a few seconds persuasion he managed to persuade the pair to accompany him to his chambers. The trio left silently; Lucius triumphant, Draco fearful, and Snape thankful that he had had the opportunity to stop Lucius before Draco broke and confessed to him the real reason for his punishment – safe in the knowledge that that reason was far away from his quarters, tucked up in Grimmauld Place.

He and See-rus had been playing fun games all day. See-rus had found a little broom in the attic. It was a wonderful magical broom that lifted Harry off the ground and flew him round and round the room – though it didn’t go nearly as high as the ones Harry had seen in the little enchanted Quidditch book.

Mwolly hadn’t been too keen on that toy though. When Harry had crashed headfirst into the coffee table, attempting, quite successfully, to perform the ‘whirling curl’ that Ron had explained to him the other day, and knocking her cup of cocoa onto the floor, she had been quite cross - not with Harry but with See-rus - and had made Harry give the beautiful toy back. Harry of course hadn’t been too keen on that idea and had had a little wrestling match with her for a while. He was very sad when he found that his chubby arms were no match for hers and had had a kick and a scream. Not too loudly, though, because Mwolly wasn’t a big person to put up with much nonsense. When she threatened him with the naughty stool Harry had been quick to be quiet. She wasn’t like See-rus – he was fun.

When Mwolly had had to leave (good riddance Harry thought mischievously) See-rus had let Harry eat chocolate frogs and cauldron cakes till he was covered, head to toe, in chocolate and crumbs. Next he had given Harry a bath – but not a boring bath with no bubbles and no toys like Nape often did when he was cross - but one filled with purple, pink, blue, green, gold, red, and every other type of bubbles Harry had ever seen. They were big ones, teeny ones, ones shaped like bats and birdies and other fun things. Harry had played a chasey, poppy game – chasing them around the huge bathtub and popping them so that foam covered him and See-rus, who had laughed and laughed and not told Harry off for being messy.

There had been a worrying time where Harry had slipped on his backside and disappeared deep under the water, thrashing and squealing to get out, but See-rus had soon rescued him and wrapped him in a big fluffy towel to dry off, singing him a silly song about a Cyclops and some lady called Rose.

When Harry was dressed in his bogey green pyjama suit that Snape had insisted on packing as an alternative to his pumpkin jumper, they had sat in front of the fire and watched the little fire-lizards dancing in the embers. See-rus had at first given him a bottle, but Harry had been more interested in See-rus’s bottle, which was bubbly and made his cheeks glow. Apparently it was called Butter-beer. Harry had pestered and pestered until See-rus had relented and given him one of his own.

Harry had drunk the warm liquid deeply – it tasted just like buttery-gold-magic. He had been feeling very sleepy before, but, all of a sudden, he had had lots of energy. He had giggled and screamed as See-rus chased him round and round the big, darky house. He had clambered on furniture, bounced on the beds and banged pots and pans together, till See-rus said his head was spinning! Harry had felt like his head was spinning too. He felt very silly and dizzy. See-rus had started muttering something about bed-time then, and had picked up Harry and sat him on his knee in front of the fire to tell him a story. Harry hadn’t been very pleased about sitting still when there was so much other fun to be had, but See-rus had looked tired, so Harry thought he would play along for a bit.

That brought him to now. See-rus had fallen asleep with Harry still wide awake on his lap. Harry had pulled his nose and tried to pry open his eyelids, but See-rus had simply grunted, and moved a bit and then started snoring again. Harry had had to cover his ears because the snoring was so loud. Eventually he had got bored and detached himself from See-rus’s grip and got down to the floor. He had decided to play a little game of hide and seek and that was why he was under the table. Unfortunately See-rus wasn’t very good at hide and seek because he hadn’t come to find him. Harry was feeling a bit cold and fed up now; he also had another problem – his stomach was pressing and he knew that he needed to go in his potty. That wouldn’t be a problem if he still had a nappy on, but See-rus seemed to have forgotten to put it on after his bath, and so now Harry was only in his pyjama bottoms. He whimpered slightly as he felt the pressing feeling getting more urgent. What was he going to do? He didn’t want to wee all over himself like a little baby. See-rus had been telling him all day that he was a big boy, and he didn’t want to prove him wrong.

Harry wondered if he could find the bag that the batman kept all of his stuff in and put on his nappy. He chewed his sleeves thoughtfully – no, that wouldn’t be any good, there was that horrible ouchie pin that hurt when it dagged him. Suddenly Harry dropped the sleeve from his mouth and broke into a wide toothy grin. The Foo Powder! It was so obvious. He would simply go to the fireplace and transport himself back to Nape’s room so that he could go in his potty. His brow furrowed slightly as he remembered that Snape had said that the powder was made for grown-ups and not little boys – but, then again, See-rus had said he was a big boy.

‘Boom, boom,’ Harry said happily to the silent room.

He was looking forward to travelling by Floo powder. It also meant that he might see the batman. See-rus was fun, but he missed his night-time bottle and the warm comfort of his big-cot and Snape’s funny little ways.

Once he had made up his mind, Harry found it easy to ignore the nagging feeling in his belly that this was perhaps a ‘naughty’ thing to do. He pulled himself to his feet and toddled out from under the kitchen table. The room with the fireplace was right next door and Harry beamed as he saw the big urn of Foo powder within easy reach. He then had another clever thought. He saw his cloak and hat on the big squashy armchair and retrieved them, giggling at his cleverness as he put them on, pulling the hat down so far over his head that only his eyes were visible. Snape would think he was very smart to remember to put on his travelling things. He then grabbed a handful of the powder, sneezing as some of it went up his nose. He stood in the fireplace and held it over his head like he had seen the batman do.

‘Napey’s room,’ he said happily, releasing the powder over his head. Immediately there was a flash of green light and a loud bang as Harry disappeared.

Deep inside the ministry’s offices Victor Hillias glanced up from his desk. The Floo network was warning that a wizard under the solo-Floo age of ten had attempted to journey. He sighed – he had just been having a most pleasant dream as well, about the lady that worked in the offices below him. He lifted his head and read the dials that told him where the impostor had come from. He squinted through his thick glasses as pushed his head of greasy hair – which he thought made him look like a rocker – out of the way; the location was ‘unplottable’. He groaned. He had never got round to reading that part of the manual. In fact he had only been in the job for a few months, getting the position straight after failing his NEWTs. Staff cuts, however, had made him the only evening watchman for that part of the network. He knew he should floo his supervisor for instructions, but also knew that if he did so then he would be given a stern lecture about being ‘prepared’ for the job and so decided against it. He glanced back up at the co-ordinating machine and saw that this impostor had originally come from a chamber in Hogwarts. He decided to send them back there – hoping that whoever was looking after them would realise what had happened. He pressed the appropriate button then promptly fell asleep; it had been a tiring day.

‘Weeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee,’ Harry screamed as he made his way back to Hogwarts and Snape’s chambers.

By the time they had reached Snape’s chambers, Lucius was calm and unrepentant. Snape filled a glass with brandy and gave it to the elder man, knowing that he would not accept any other refreshments. It was now night and the chambers were cold so Snape had led them through to the inner cloister that held his fireplace, which he lit with a click of his fingers.

Lucius reclined in the easy-chair and sipped his brandy. Draco was hovering near the door, as though waiting for the moment that he could turn and bolt. Snape could see that he was holding himself slightly awkwardly, but he was aware that he had prevented much of Lucius’s anger from venting itself.

‘Your chambers are scarcely preferable to that muggle abode you call home, are they?’ Lucius said looking around the perfectly acceptable, cosy rooms, and comparing them unfavourably to his own luxurious mansion. ‘Still,’ he went on with a sneer, ‘I suppose Dumbledore would not dream of allowing his followers to live in extravagance when there are muggles to be saved.’

Snape decided to let that remark pass. He was used to Lucius goading him about his wealth – or lack of it. He remembered when he had first come to Hogwarts, long before he had learned that there were other means of ‘greatness’. He had been humiliated by the merciless teasing initiated by the elder boy for his dowdy robes and tatty, second hand books. It had gone on for the entire year and then followed him through Hogwarts. Of course that had all changed when a chance encounter had led to the Dark Lord singling him out for ‘brilliance’, and Lucius had been forced to befriend him; but Lucius, in his subtle ways, never let him forget the wretched boy he had once been.

What Snape really wanted to do was question Lucius further about the Pickle children who, though he had never met them, nevertheless seemed to have gotten under his skin. He had been warned by several members of the Order against such an undertaking, and as good as forbidden by Dumbledore, but, though it would be risky, he knew that Lucius would still be terrified enough of Snape revealing what he knew about the lost death-eater mask that he would think twice of relaying Snape’s interest to the Dark Lord. Of course, it would need delicate handling, and there would be a fair amount of bluff and double-bluff involved – the most desirable situation being one in which Lucius would think that Snape was in on the plan – but Snape had a lot of experience in that particular area and thought he was more than capable of pulling it off.

The problem, then, was Draco. Though he might brag that he knew everything that his father was involved in, and act like he knew everything about Voldemort’s return, Snape knew it was just a ruse to impress. None of the death eaters would dare speak to anyone outside the circle about what went on within it. If they did, and if they were discovered, it would be on pain of torture and then, immediately, pain of death. Of course Voldemort occasionally relaxed that rule in favour of Snape’s dealings with the Order – but he still thought he had complete control over what his double-agent knew and talked about, and he scarcely imagined that there were things Snape kept from his ears.

‘Draco, perhaps it is time you went back to your dormitory,’ Snape suggested, jerking his head in the direction of the door.

Gratefully, Draco turned to leave, stopped only by the cold, heavy silver of his father’s serpent-headed cane on his shoulder.

‘I do not recall telling you, you had permission to leave,’ Lucius drawled, pulling his son back towards him.

‘Sorry father,’ Draco said, his voice almost a whisper.

‘Fine boy I’ve raised, here,’ Lucius said loudly to the silent chambers. ‘Not only a backward student, but a coward as well. Tell me, Draco, why was I not informed of your impending ban’ – he looked at Snape. ‘-well when exactly was this ban given?’

‘Two weeks-’

‘-very well, two weeks ago?’

‘I-I don’t know father. I thought …’

‘You thought you would be able to hide it, or yourself perhaps, from me?’ Lucius said, his lip curling in disgust.

‘Y-yes father.’

‘Pathetic. You are a disgrace , Draco. Now get out of my sight.’

As Draco turned to leave, glad that his ordeal was over, Lucius seemed to have a fresh wave of anger. He yanked the boy back to him by his arm so that their pale eyes were level. ‘This isn’t over,’ he said with quiet venom, before releasing him.

At that moment, however, something happened to stop all three of them in their tracks. A wind blew through the grate, extinguishing the flames, and Snape’s heart skipped a beat as he realised that it meant an apparation was imminent.

Three pairs of eyes turned towards the fireplace, and three mouths fell open as a sooty, grinning toddler fell into the grate in a flash of green light.

‘Nape …’ he said, his voice wobbling slightly.

Snape’s mask of indifference reappeared almost as soon as it had left him. He glanced at Lucius to see if he had noticed the brief panic in his eyes at seeing Harry in such a dangerous situation, but Lucius was too busy trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Snape was reluctantly impressed to see that the toddler Harry had managed to pull his hat so far over his head that his scar was hidden and that he wasn’t immediately identifiable.

‘What is the meaning of this?’ Lucius said, getting to his feet. Snape was satisfied to note that for the first time, Lucius appeared flustered. His pale-blue eyes darted from Harry to Draco and his voice had a slight waver.

Harry looked up at the pale-blondy-shouty man, and, all of a sudden, he felt a pain sear through his forehead. He stumbled back slightly and then tilted his head to look straight up into the cold, bottomless eyes. Suddenly his head felt like it was spinning around on his neck. Memories stumbled into his mind like he was watching action through omnoculars, rewinding and fast-forwarding the parts that were the most significant. He saw the man in front of him speaking to a boy with the same scar as him in a book-shop. He saw him speaking to a skinny, wrinkly man across a counter of a shop filled with horrible things. Most significant of all, however, he saw him in the graveyard bowing to the man who killed his parents. In fact, thought Harry, it was Lucius, Malfoy’s father and minion of Voldemort.

Suddenly, Harry knew that the boy in the pictures in his head was him. He knew exactly who he was, knew exactly why he was a toddler, and knew that if Lucius was to find out that the toddler in front of him was Harry Potter, then he was going to be in a lot of trouble. He looked at Snape and a silent moment of understanding passed between them. Harry didn’t have time to think about how Snape had been his carer for the last few weeks – putting him down for naps, changing his nappy, potty training him and making him sit on the ‘naughty’ stool – he had to keep his head and help get them all out of trouble.

‘Who is this?’ Lucius said, his voice filled with venom.

Harry looked straight up at him. He was fighting his toddler urge to cry very hard. He realised that though he had his memory back his development was still that of a two year-old. He felt his bottom lip push out at Lucius’s hard tone, but shook his head to shrug it off. He tried hard to form words in his mouth, screwing up his face in concentration.

‘Me Alby,’ he said, stabbing at one similar to Balbus, which the toddler in him had already learned.

As soon as he said it, Snape looked upon to him with disgust.

‘How dare you leave Professor Trelawney’s quarters without permission again, Albert Trelawney,’ he snapped. Harry dutifully pouted and stuck his tongue out. He found that the latter act was quite instinctive to Snape telling him off.

Lucius was regarding the pair furiously. He kept glancing at Draco, who was even paler than before and biting his lip to the point where he could taste blood.

‘This is Albert Trelwaney,’ Snape said with a dismissive wave in the direction of the small boy. ‘We have had some trouble with him wandering where he is not supposed to.’ This time there was an edge to Snape’s voice, and Harry had the vague feeling that he was going to be in trouble when or if they managed to talk themselves out of this.

Lucius, however, didn’t seem convinced. Snape wasn’t surprised; if he was working on a spell for the Dark Lord that transfigured victims into babies, then to see one at Hogwarts was at best suspicious. He wasn’t, however, prepared for his next move. With powers of deduction that Snape found incredible, a furious Lucius grabbed hold of his son, spun him in front of him and the entered his mind violently.

Draco found that he was surprisingly calm as his father performed a powerful legilimens against him. He felt a pain almost split his head in two, burning his eyes and blinding him with its ferociousness. The walls in his mind which he had been practicing constructing for the past two weeks flew up as though they had been there all along. Lucius had been entering Draco’s thoughts since he was old enough to misbehave, and though he hid it from his father, Draco had found that he had had an almost instinctive resilience to it. He used it to full advantage now –revealing nothing about the curse he had stolen from his father’s office, and nothing of the baby in front of them.

Lucius felt his anger abate slightly as his worst fears were not confirmed by the journey through his son’s pathetic memories. He decided that he had seen enough and, as a lasting reminder of his power, left his son’s mind as violently as he entered it. To Lucius’s mild surprise, however, it seemed almost as though his son was equally fighting him out. He felt a pain between his eyes as the activities of the morning shot before them. He tried to stop it, but wasn’t able to before Draco got a glimpse.

As father and son pulled apart they watched each other carefully for a few moments. Draco was looking at his father with fear, but also with revulsion - the memory he had glimpsed of what his father had been up to that morning disturbing him greatly. Lucius stared back with challenge. He smiled triumphantly as Draco made no comment about what he may or may not have seen.

‘When you’ve quite finished attacking my students,’ Snape broke in with a sneer. Lucius whirled round to face him.

‘He is my student, not yours, Snape,’ he spat. ‘You would do well to remember that.’

The exertion of the attack on his mind had drained Draco and he fell to his knees exhausted and in pain. Harry watched him with an uncomfortable degree of respect. It was obvious that Lucius had tried to break into his mind, but that Draco had somehow resisted.

Lucius stooped down to Harry’s level and, as Harry flinched, reached down and wrenched the bobble-hat off his head, as though for further confirmation. Luckily Harry hadn’t tied the strings under his chin, otherwise he would have been half-strangled. Lucius knelt, taking in the unmarred forehead and auburn hair of the boy in front of him and he felt the last trace of dread leave his blood.

‘Ugly looking thing, isn’t he?’ he said, the drawl back in his voice.

Harry stared in shock at his reflection in Lucius’s pupils. He realised that Snape must have cast some kind of silent charm on him as soon as he entered the chambers to hide his true identity. Now that he knew they were more or less out of trouble, he felt his toddler self become angry at the man’s insult and stuck his tongue out.

‘If the wind changes you’ll stay like that,’ Lucius said in a bored voice. ‘It looks like the Trelawney brat needs taking in hand,’ he added, getting to his feet. ‘If that is indeed who he is.’

Apparently thinking he once again had the upper hand, Lucius picked his brandy glass back up and began to drink. He turned to Draco, who was panting on the floor.

‘Get out,’ he said simply.

When Draco had gone and the two men were alone with Harry, Lucius’s eyes again darkened. ‘Don’t think I don’t know what this means, Severus,’ he said. Then, draining the rest of the brandy in one, he stormed from the chambers.

As soon as Lucius had gone Snape turned on Harry. Now that disaster had been averted he found that he was furious that the toddler had managed to get them into such a dangerous situation. He was also equally furious that Potter had prevented him from speaking with Lucius about the Pickles as such a situation would not present itself again in a hurry.

‘Well, Potter,’ he barked, ‘you certainly know how to make an entrance, don’t you?’

Snape was aware from Potter’s quick thinking that his memory had been restored by the chance encounter with Lucius. He knew, however, that at Potter’s current age the memories would not stay there forever – his brain would be too underdeveloped to such a large amount of information. He might keep some of the memories, and would perhaps grow in the night, as had been the pattern over the last two weeks, but that would be all. He wanted to get his say in before they disappeared.

Harry looked up at Snape. His fifteen-year-old self wanted to make some clever retort back, but the toddler in him felt sheepish. Snape had told him to stay away from the Floo powder and he had ignored him. Not only that but, as Harry now understood the situation, he had put Snape in great danger by appearing in front of Lucius. Snape had shielded him from the death eater and if Voldemort found out then he would be in a lot of trouble. Harry felt grudgingly grateful somewhere inside, but he was also suspicious – why would Snape help him anyway? There had to be more to it. A little voice from somewhere in his brain told him that that was stupid – that Snape had been taking very good care of him as a baby, but, obstinately, he refused to listen.

In any case, Harry didn’t trust himself to answer the Professor, and instead simply stood as tall as he could, regarding him defiantly. He knew that his toddler self didn’t have a very good command of language and he didn’t speak, not wanting to sound stupid. He tried not to think about the bogey green pyjamas that he was dressed in and the need he had to go and get his little red potty. He also fought every childish urge that he was feeling to run and hide until Snape wasn’t mad at him anymore.

‘Cat got your tongue, has it Potter?’ Snape said. He found himself not only angry, but frustrated. When he had seen Harry appear in the grate he had felt an uncomfortable pull inside his chest, and it was perhaps this that made him more aggressive in his approach. He stooped down on one knee and looked the toddler in the eye. ‘Just you try and remember this at least, Potter,’ he said carefully. ‘Remember that sometimes there are people who know better than you.’

As soon as the words had left his lips, however, Snape noted a look of utter bewilderment pass across the toddlers face. The emerald eyes clouded over and suddenly Harry looked coy again, as though he was a little boy in trouble – which now he was, most of the memories that had returned slipping away just as Snape had predicted.

Harry was left with one; Lucius, Draco’s father. He knew instinctively that he was a baddy; friend of the mean skinny wizard man who’d killed his parents. He also had the vague notion that he had nearly got the batman into a whole lot of trouble by being naughty and using the Foo powder. He looked up into Snape’s stern face and his bottom lip began to tremble.

Snape changed tack, realising that now it was a naughty little toddler he had to deal with and not the teenage Potter.

‘What did I tell you about the Floo powder?’ he said, still crouched in front of him.

Harry looked down at the floor. He could tell that Snape was very, very angry with him. He wondered whether it would be a good idea to try and cover his tracks. He had the cunning thought that if he didn’t do it on purpose then Snape couldn’t be mad, and paused for a minute, wrinkling his brow before answering.

‘Didn’t do it,’ he said at last, shrugging his little shoulders, ‘fell!’

‘Don’t lie to me, Potter,’ Snape said ‘– you knew exactly what you were doing. Now tell me the truth – did you use the Floo powder?’

Harry thought for a few seconds; he knew it was naughty to lie but he couldn’t stop himself. He smiled as innocently as he could up at Snape, ‘No Nape,’ he said sweetly, ‘aks-see-dent.’

Snape felt himself snap at this remark. Everything about the day seemed to converge on top of him. What made him most angry was Potter’s instinctive knack of nearly getting himself (not to mention Snape and Draco) killed. He reached out and grabbed Potter’s arm and then reached round and smacked his backside, hard. This was not the occasion for the naughty stool – what the boy needed was a short sharp shock to deter him from putting himself in danger ever again.

‘That is for lying to me and for disobeying my instructions,’ he said.

Harry’s lip immediately pushed itself forward as Snape released his arm, and his hands travelled to clutch his bottom. Snape hadn’t hit him hard enough to really hurt him, but he felt very upset that his clever plan to cover his tracks hadn’t worked, and he didn’t like being smacked like he was a naughty boy. He marched away from Snape and threw himself on the floor and began to cry and yell and carry on. He flung himself about, trying to make Snape feel very bad about smacking him, wiping snot and tears on his little green pyjamas for added effect.

‘You brought it on yourself, Potter,’ Snape said dismissively as Harry screeched so loudly that his face turned red.

It was to this chaotic scene that Dumbledore arrived.

‘Harry!’ he said, his eyes twinkling as he looked upon the small boy, ‘Sirius hoped that you’d been Floo’d safely back to Hogwarts.’ He turned more gravely to Snape. ‘Did he meet with …’

‘Lucius?’ Snape finished. ‘Yes. Fortunately Draco and I were able to avert a disaster. Of course Draco suffered before his father was convinced. I will send him to the hospital wing to recover.’

Dumbledore nodded, ‘I see.’

‘I will make my full report after I have put Potter, here, to bed. I will also have some questions about why Black left a toddler in his care unsupervised.’

Dumbledore appeared to ignore Snape’s last remark and turned his attention to Harry. ‘What’s all this noise about, young man?’ he said in a friendly but firm tone; one that would not stand to be ignored.

Harry dropped the volume slightly and sat up. His face was now a beetroot colour and his breath came in sharp gasps. ‘Nape mean,’ he said between sobs.

As Snape pursed his lips, Dumbledore bent down and scooped the young boy without ceremony into his arms. ‘Stop crying Harry,’ he said. He waited silently for a few moments until Harry’s tears had subsided slightly then took out an enormous silver handkerchief with his initials embroidered onto it. He held it to Harry’s nose.

‘Blow,’ he said.

Harry, feeling slightly calmer, blew into the handkerchief. He grasped it in his fist and helped Dumbledore wipe the tears from his little cheeks.

‘Now tell me what happened,’ Dumbledore said firmly.

Harry looked into the twinkley grey-blue eyes and somehow knew that he had to tell the truth. ‘Me fib,’ he said sadly, ‘me bad.’

Dumbledore’s lip twitched slightly at the forlorn expression on the young Harry’s face. ‘No Harry,’ he said, ‘you’re not bad, but what you did was bad. Do you understand the difference?’

Harry thought for a moment then nodded his head vigorously; that made sense.

‘Running away from Sirius and using the Floo network without an adult was a very irresponsible thing to do,’ Dumbledore went on, ‘it was also very dangerous. And you should always tell the truth.’

‘Nape smack me,’ Harry said, slightly sulkily, pointing at his bottom. He felt he at least deserved a bit of sympathy for that.

Dumbledore turned to look at Severus and nodded slightly. He didn’t make any comment to Harry except to say, ‘Well I hope you learnt your lesson then Harry. Professor Snape cares about you and that’s why he is cross when you do something dangerous.’

Snape snorted at this last remark as Harry nodded grumpily. The toddler then let out a big yawn. It had been a very tiring day, what with See-rus and Floo adventures and that horrible slimy blonde man.

‘Time for bed,’ Dumbledore said, hoisting Harry up over his shoulder, onto which the toddler promptly laid down his head. ‘Shall I take him Severus?’

Harry snapped his head back up. ‘Nape,’ he said, holding his arms out to his guardian over Dumbledore’s shoulder. He might be a bit mad with the batman but that certainly didn’t mean that he didn’t want him to put him to bed – how else was he going to get a night-night cuddle?

‘Very well,’ Dumbledore said as Snape frowned, but took the toddler from him, ‘I will expect you in my office in an hour, Severus.’

Harry was so busy cuddling his body into Snape’s robes that he didn’t even hear Balbus call good-bye.

‘Come on then Potter,’ Snape said, ‘nappy, then bed.’

‘Story?’ Harry said sleepily.

‘I think you’ve had enough adventure of your own today,’ Snape said shortly.

‘Potty,’ Harry said, suddenly remembering why this whole adventure had begun in the first place. He was surprised, in fact, at how long he’d been able to hold on.

Snape rolled his eyes before he went to fetch the potty. When the boy was finished he placed him on the changing table and put a nappy on him to little protest. Harry seemed to sense that he wouldn’t take any more nonsense today, and that they’d both had a very narrow escape.

As he laid Harry in his cot, however, Snape relented slightly about the story. He felt almost guilty for smacking the boy; after all it had been Sirius’s responsibility to stop him getting into mischief. Five minutes into An Adventure in the Magical Forest and Harry was fast asleep.

‘No pen,’ he said grumpily, thumping his fist on the floor as he sat cross-legged glaring up at Snape.

‘Yes you will stay in your pen,’ Snape said, his nose in the air. ‘I want you where you can’t run off until you prove to me that you can be trusted.’ He pointed his wand at the toy chest and levitated a few of Harry’s favourites into the pen with him. ‘Play with those quietly,’ he said.

‘Don’t want to,’ Harry spat, sticking his tongue out.

‘Put that away,’ Snape said, before turning back to making their breakfast.

‘Don’t want to!’ Harry insisted, talking with a mouthful of tongue. Snape ignored him.

At first Harry simply folded his arms, turning his back on Snape and ignored the toys in protest. He hated being confined to the stupid wooden prison. He liked wandering around Snape’s chambers best – every time was like a new adventure because Snape had lots of fun things to look at and prod. Eventually, however, he got bored. It wasn’t having any effect anyway because Snape wasn’t taking any notice of him so, sighing, he picked up the little Quidditch players and started babbling to them about how mean Snape was. He wished desperately that he had the magnificent broom that See-rus had found for him and then he could have flown out – he had been a natural flyer – but he had a feeling that the batman wouldn’t let him have that back for a very long time.

After breakfast, and after Harry had had an unsuccessful sit on his potty which aggravated his tetchy mood, Dumbledore came to see Snape in his chambers.

‘Balbus!’ Harry yelled, running to the edge of his playpen and holding out his arms to be picked up. He was very excited to see someone else and decided to try and persuade the old smiley man to help him escape.

‘Hi Harry,’ Dumbledore said brightly. He stooped to pick Harry up (much to Harry’s delight) and give him a cuddle, but then, to Harry’s disappointment, set him back down in his playpen.

‘Don't want to!’ Harry said, his fists grabbing handfuls of the purple and silver cloak to prevent Dumbledore from putting him down.

‘Come on Harry,’ Dumbledore said gently, prying the small, vice-like fingers from his cloak, ‘play nicely in your pen while I speak to Severus.’

‘Don’t want to!’ Harry said pouting, repeating his new mantra.

‘We all have to do things we don’t want to Harry,’ Dumbledore said evenly, standing up, ‘isn’t that right Severus?’

Harry, however, wasn’t listening. Once again he turned his back sulkily on the two men.

‘I have been to see Draco,’ Dumbledore said, watching the potions Professor - who had so far remained silent - carefully. ‘He is much better. He has expressed a wish to speak to you as soon as you can spare the time. Since there is no school today, and since the hospital wing is empty except for its one patient, I thought that you might like to visit him this afternoon. Perhaps you could take Harry,’ he added, glancing at Harry, who was lying on his stomach with his head in his hands as though suffering a fate worse than death, ‘– he appears most eager for a change of scenery.’

Snape pursed his lips. Privately he thought it would do the toddler good to learn that everyday was not going to be filled with the ‘adventure’ that, as a Gryffindor, he seemed so fond of. However, he saw determination in Dumbledore’s eyes and so nodded stiffly. ‘Very well, headmaster,’ he said.

Dumbledore smiled. From the visit he had had with the young Malfoy, he had a feeling that Snape may be going to hear something to his advantage. The boy had been restless and anxious, and there was something about his countenance that had suggested to Dumbledore that he had had more significant things on his mind than the altercation with his father. Dumbledore had his own idea as to what that might be, but he had decided not to press him - and instead allow him to confess it in his own time.

‘Out?’ a small voice said. Harry had caught the last part of the two elder men’s conversation.

‘That’s right, Harry,’ Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling at the eagerness in Harry’s voice.

‘Me go,’ Harry said brightly.

‘If you behave, Potter,’ Snape snapped. Harry’s face fell and his eyes took on a look of defiance, but he decided that it sounded better than nothing and so went back to his Quidditch figures.

‘How is Harry?’ Dumbledore said quietly when Harry was fully distracted. ‘Has he shown any further signs of regaining his memory?’

Snape thought back to the screaming in the middle of the night. Harry had obviously had a nightmare, and Snape had eventually had to go and try and settle him. The toddler had gripped tightly to his neck, crying and carrying on about the ‘masky men’. Snape thought that he must have been referring to Lucius and the scene he had witnessed after the Triwizard Tournament.

‘I think that he retains vague recollections, but he does not recognise his own role in those memories. As far as he is concerned he is a two-year old child – And his development,’ he added, with a disdainful glance at Harry, who was babbling nonsensically to no-one in particular, ‘confirms it. He has, however, once again aged – but this time by only one month.’

Snape had found this out after a quick visit to Madame Pomfrey to check Harry over after the incident with the Floo powder. He had been most disappointed to find that Harry had only progressed to 31 months, and, apparently, was still no further on with the potty training.

‘I see,’ Dumbledore said thoughtfully, ‘but there is a pattern emerging as to how the memories may be unlocked.’

‘Yes,’ Snape agreed. ‘The design of the spell is such that it gives the perpetrator a degree of control over how the victim may be re-aged. It appears that Lucius, or whoever owns the spell, have designed a very specific type of anti-dote – one which is intricately linked to memory and incident. The episodes which appear to have caused Potter to age, for instance, are always the result of chance encounters with persons who have played a significant role in the history of his life. It is extremely similar to the technique used to combat black curses with memories of the victims, except that it seems to have been planned in this way by the deliverer of the curse.’

‘Then at the moment it is guess work as to how we might break the code of the spell?’

‘Yes. The “cure” seems to have been designed almost as meticulously as the spell itself.’

‘Curious,’ Dumbledore said, stroking his beard absentmindedly. ‘Curious that one would bother with such an intricate curing process where it would have been quite possible to make the spell irreversible.’

Snape didn’t reply, but the two men stood deep in thought for a few moments. Snape was beginning to realise that ‘curing’ Potter would involve more than simple spell-breaking. It would also mean understanding why and for whom the spell was tailored.

He had thought vaguely that he could simply try exposing Harry to various figures from his past (or future), and hope that this accelerated the re-aging process – but this was by no means guaranteed as the answer. Harry had come into contact with others - Hagrid and Mrs Weasley, to name two – who had not affected him at all. The simple truth of the matter was that it was like searching for a snitch in a snowstorm. It seemed that unless he found a way to question Lucius about the spell (thus putting Harry, Draco and himself at great risk) the boy-who-lived was going to be the toddler-who-lived-to-annoy for the foreseeable future.

Dumbledore seemed to guess what he was thinking. He put a hand on his arm. ‘You can only do for Harry what you can, Severus. I have great confidence that that will, in the end, be enough.’

Snape opened his mouth to reply, but he was beaten by Harry.

‘Potty!’ Harry screeched, crumpling up his face. He had been too busy playing to take much notice of the pressing feeling in his lower stomach, and now the situation had gotten desperate. He scrambled to his feet and trundled over to the side of the play-pen. ‘Potty!’ he shouted again.

‘I can hear you, Potter,’ Snape said scowling. Dumbledore smiled, however, as the frowning man picked Harry up as quickly as possible and hurried to help him get his trousers down and get onto his Potty. Almost immediately Harry relieved himself, a big grin on his face.

‘Me big boy,’ he said as the lion painted on the front roared his approval.

‘Very good Harry,’ Dumbledore said. He reached deep into his pockets and pulled out a small paper bag of muggle sweets filled with pear-dops, jelly-tots and toffee bon-bons. He gave them to Snape, who accepted them reluctantly with an expression of disapproval.

‘Some sweets for you for later, for being a big-boy,’ Dumbledore said.

‘Sweeties!’ Harry said, clapping his hands together.

‘You can only have them after your dinner, though,’ Dumbledore said firmly.

‘After dinner,’ Harry repeated solemnly. He got up and pulled his red trousers up over his belly button.

‘Good boy. Right well I must be getting back. Have a good afternoon both of you, wont you? And don’t concern yourself too much, Severus. These things have a habit of working themselves out.’

‘Hmmm,’ Snape said dubiously.

As Dumbledore left, and Harry started hopping around like a chicken at his feet for attention, tucking his arms into his waist and clucking inanely, Snape began to wonder to himself if the next few years of his life were destined to be spent dealing with an errant toddler Potter.

Harry usually had a nap later in the afternoon, just before his evening meal, and he wasn’t too pleased about going down for one so early in the day. Even though his cheeks were flushed with tiredness and his eyelids were droopy he was fighting to stay awake. He whined as Snape tried to place him in his cot, kicking his legs and grabbing a handful of hair.

‘Don’t want to!’

‘You are tired and you need a nap,’ Snape insisted, grabbing his hair back from the small boy and closing his fist.

‘No,’ Harry said, feeling the tears come to his eyes. He felt like everything was mean today. Snape was trying to make him sleep when he was in the middle of a fun game with Cheep-Cheep – playing hide the Quidditch players up the jumper. Not only that but since Balbus had told him he was going ‘out’ he had been waiting for it to happen and it hadn’t. He thought that maybe they had just been tricking him to get him to do as he was told. Then there was the fact that he had had to eat stupid peas for lunch, and that Snape had told him off for firing them out of his mouth and all around the kitchen. All in all nothing was going his way.

In frustration, Harry flung Cheep-Cheep away from him and onto the floor.

‘Bad Cheep-Cheep!’ he shouted, ‘Bad Nape!’

‘You won’t be getting that back until later now, Potter,’ Snape said, picking the squawking bird up and putting it on the kitchen counter. ‘I have told you twice already today that you do not throw.’

This infuriated Harry even more. When he had been with Hermione the other day he had kept throwing Cheep-Cheep out of his cot and she had kept picking it up for him. It had turned into a fun game and Hermione had laughed at him and forgotten all about making him have a nasty nap, at least for a little while. He had been hoping to get Snape to do the same. Instead he found himself in his cot without his beloved bird. This was too overwhelming for him and he burst into real tears.

‘Cheep-Cheep!’ he wailed pathetically, standing up in his cot and holding his hands up.

‘Go to sleep, Potter,’ Snape said. ‘You can have the bird back when you wake up.’

‘Waaahhhhhhh.’

Harry wailed and wailed. He was feeling hot, upset, angry, tired and awake all at the same time. He jumped up and down in his cot, shaking his arms and pulling at his clothes in a fit of temper.

‘No nap! Cheep-Cheep,’ he screamed.

Snape tried to ignore the tantrum for a few minutes, hoping that Harry would eventually tire himself out and give in to sleep. He knew that the toddler wasn’t really upset, just in a crotchety frame of mind from a lack of sleep. However, after ten minutes he could see that Harry was working himself up into a state.

Snape had begun to notice recently that Harry’s cries went right through him. In fact, sometimes he couldn’t stand them – and had the feeling that it wasn’t just because they were annoyingly loud. This was true now. Reluctantly he reached into Harry’s cot and hoisted him up. He sat him, still-wailing, on the counter-top.

‘Come on Potter,’ he said firmly, as Harry tried to get to his feet and push Snape away, ‘You are giving me a headache and probably making yourself ill as well.’

Harry was feeling slightly better now he had gotten escape from his cot and he dropped his screaming a few decibels.

‘No tired!’ he squealed.

‘You are tired,’ Snape said. He re-adjusted Harry so that he was at eye-level with him. ‘Now you’re going to have a nap and then, when you wake up, we can go and see Draco. But,’ he added sternly, ‘if you don’t have a nap then you can’t go. I am not taking a tired, disobedient baby.’

Harry pouted at his least favourite word – baby. He was still sobbing but the screaming had stopped.

‘No cot,’ he said suddenly, through his tears.

Snape sighed. He wondered if it was really being in the cot that Harry had the problem with. He knew how much the boy hated his play-pen and really it was the same principle. He had kept him in his cot because of his tendency to wander; he didn’t want him wandering (much like the teenage Harry) at night. Perhaps, though, he could make a concession for nap-time.

‘Right,’ he said, ‘stop crying, Potter, and listen carefully.’

This took a few minutes, but Snape was patient and waited until Harry had clamed down slightly before he spoke.

‘You can have your nap on the settee in my study,’ he said.

‘No cot?’ Harry said, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

‘No, not this afternoon.’ Taking his chance whilst Harry was interested, he lifted him up and carried him into the study, sitting him down on the green velvet-covered settee, where he himself had often slept.

‘You can sleep here.’ He picked up the silver woollen throw which was on the arm chair, ‘Lie down,’ he said.

Harry hesitated for a moment. He wondered if this was some kind of big-person trick. He had the feeling that it was, but, then again, he had got his own way about the cot and he did feel like this was probably the place that big-boys took their naps. He also knew he wanted to go and see Draco - and Snape had said that he had to have a sleep if he wanted to.

‘Okay, Nape,’ he said at last. He lay down and Snape tucked the throw around him. Harry’s breathing was still irregular – in heavy little hiccoughs – but he was much more composed. Snape clicked his fingers to dim the lights.

‘Go to sleep,’ he said.

Harry put his head down on the big squashy cushion as Snape left the room and sucked on his fingers. All that crying had made him very sleepy and it wasn’t long till he felt himself drifting off.

‘Night Nape,’ he called sleepily. There was no reply, but when Harry woke almost an hour later, feeling much happier and refreshed for his visit to Draco, he smiled a secret smile to himself as he saw that Cheep-Cheep was tucked under his arm.

As Draco lay in his hospital bed, the vision he had seen in his father’s mind played out like a theatrical show before his eyes.

A small boy of no more than eight cowered at Lucius’s feet. Lucius had a gleam of pure evil in his eyes, as though he was enjoying the scene as much as Draco was repulsed by it. He was dressed in the same jade-green, jewelled cloak that he had worn for the Quidditch match and had his wand poised in one hand, his head held majestically high on his shoulders.

The boy, in contrast, was clothed in rags and shivered either from fear or the cold. The freckles, which Draco supposed normally showed his mischievous youth, now stood out like legions in contrast to his deathly-white skin.

‘So, you thought that you could outwit me, muggle brat?’ Lucius said triumphantly.

‘Leave him alone!’ another, slightly older, boy said ferociously as he jumped in front of him. He was also pale and thin from neglect but his eyes burned with a cold fire that said that his spirit had not yet been broken.

There was a third boy, perhaps aged between the other two, who was lying on his back in a corner of the dungeons. His sapphire eyes were fixated on the ceiling and his ghostly, thin arms were like skeleton bones crossed across his chest; Draco couldn’t tell whether he was dead, or simply stunned.

Draco’s eyes, through his father’s, quickly took in their surroundings. He recognised that it was a chamber of the Malfoy dungeons. His father had once taken him down there to frighten him and he recognised the statue that hung out from the far- wall like a gargoyle. It was the malevolent fairy of the damned, recognisable by its twisted face and broken wing; said to guard the unfortunates imprisoned there over the years by Malfoy descendents. There was another on the outside arch of the gardens with the opposite wing broken and Draco still recoiled from its fierce expression and bottomless eyes each time he looked up at it.

‘Perhaps he needs a lesson,’ Lucius went on, ‘like your other foolish brother.’

Draco saw his father raise his wand and catapult a burning orange curse in the direction of the youngest boy. The screams pierced Draco’s ears and heart as the boy writhed in pain. It was the Cruciatus curse and Draco knew that every bone in the small body was racked with cramps as the mind closed in on itself.

The eldest boy got to his knees. ‘Please, Sir,’ he begged, ‘don’t hurt my brother!’

Lucius curled his lip in disgust and ignored the pleas of the muggle brat. Remembering his instructions from the Dark Lord, however, he released the boy from the curse after a few minutes torture. He replaced his wand in his robes.

‘Not long now, filth,’ he spat, then turned on his heel and left the elder boy comforting his brother through his sobs.

Because Draco had experienced the memory through Lucuis’s eyes, the scene had been coloured with his father’s emotions. Draco felt the pure hatred mingled with pure pleasure that pulsed through his father’s veins at that moment. He knew that had Lucius not been instructed to keep the boys alive for the next few days then he would have killed without a moment’s hesitation.

It had been a sobering experience for Draco, and he was still going over it in his mind when Snape and Harry visited him in the hospital wing. He wondered what, if anything, he was going to do with what he had seen. He had the vague notion that this was what the Oracle meant when he had told him he had a choice to make; the choice to remain silent and seal the muggle children’s fate, or the choice to play a part in their liberation and outcast himself from his father, not to mention the Dark Lord’s favour, forever. All he knew was that every time he tried to dismiss the memory the screams of the innocent boys rang in his ears.

‘Dwaco!’ Potter screamed excitedly as the toddler and his housemaster entered the empty wing. Snape was leading Harry by the hand, but as soon as they got within sight of Draco, Harry wrenched his hand away from the Professor and ran full speed towards the bed.

‘Potter!’ Snape said, ‘What have I told you about running off?’

Harry stopped suddenly and looked up coyly. In his excitement he had forgotten Snape’s warning that he was to hold his hand at all times.

‘Sworry,’ he said. He held up his hand until he felt the firm fingers close around it and they made their way to Draco’s bed.

‘That’s better,’ Snape said.

Draco, despite himself, was amused at the exchange between his housemaster and the Potter brat and grinned, ‘Hi Potter,’ he said.

‘I scarcely think that you have any reason to look so amused given your current condition,’ Snape said coldly.

Immediately the smile died on Draco’s lips and was replaced with a scowl.

Harry attempted to scramble up the bed covers, ‘Up,’ he said. ‘Me up, speak Draco.’

Snape lifted Harry up and put him on the side of the bed, ‘Sit there quietly,’ he said, ‘whilst I speak to Draco.’ Harry frowned but obediently settled himself crossed legged on the bed. After Snape had smacked him the day before he had been trying to ‘do what he was told’ to avoid it happening again.

‘How are you feeling?’ Snape said after a few moments silence.

‘Fine,’ Draco said shortly.

‘I see.’

Harry looked between the two with disbelief. Is that all they wanted to say? He had far more pressing matters than that.

‘Me fly broom,’ he said, ‘Me good kid-itch.’

Apparently that was the wrong thing to say because Draco looked away angrily.

‘You do kid-itch?’ Harry pressed. When he had woken up from his nap Snape had let him have a quiet flick through his book and it was on his mind. He couldn’t wait to get really started with a real broom.

Draco gave him a withering look, ‘Yes Potter, and a lot better than you,’ he snapped.

Harry looked up at Snape, confused with the boy’s harsh tone. He thought that he and Draco were best friends but he was acting just like a meany.

When he got no reaction from Snape he stuck his tongue out at Draco, ‘Me better.’

‘I don’t think so,’ Draco said smugly, happy to use Harry to vent some of his anger, ‘you couldn’t even fit on a real broom; and those little chubby hands and arms – forget it - they couldn’t catch the snitch if it stopped dead right in front of them!’

Harry didn’t like this. He felt that Draco was somehow making fun of him. He got to his feet and toddled over to Draco, his face red. Before Draco could put up his hands to defend himself he swiped him on the nose.

‘Dwaco bad!’ Harry shouted at the top of his voice.

Though the toddler actually had quite a strong arm on him, Draco merely laughed nastily. He grabbed hold of Harry’s arms and stopped him easily. ‘That was pathetic Potter,’ he said.

Harry kicked out his legs, really frustrated now, but Draco stopped him.

‘Oooh, Potter,’ Draco said, ‘temper, temper. You’re in trouble now. You know what happens to naughty boys don’t you?’

Harry was suddenly less sure of himself. He remembered that Snape had told him it was very naughty to hit. As Draco let go of him he spun round to face Snape, clutching his bottom as though to shield it.

‘No smack!’ he whinged.

‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Draco teased, grinning now, ‘Snape’s going to smack your backside - hard.’

Harry’s bottom lip began to tremble and he grabbed a pillow off the bed and put it in front of him to hide behind, ‘No smack,’ he pleaded, close to tears.

‘I’m glad you find this amusing,’ Snape snapped at Draco as he dissolved into laughter.

‘Potter, take that cushion of your face at once; I’m not going to smack you.’

Harry immediately dropped the cushion, ‘No bad?’ he said happily.

‘Your were both in the wrong,’ Snape said, ‘Now say you’re sorry to Draco and we’ll forget all about it.’

Harry hesitated for a moment, ready to defy Snape’s order. He looked at Draco, but instead of seeing mean eyes he saw that he looked funny so he gave in. ‘Sworry Dwaco,’ he said, launching himself on the boy, grabbing him round the neck into a cuddle.’

‘Oi!’ Draco said, ‘don’t strangle me.’

‘I think you should apologise too, Mr Malfoy,’ Snape said.

‘What?’ Draco looked annoyed. Before he opened his mouth to protest, however, he saw Harry looking sweetly at him, ‘Alright,’ he said, relenting, ‘Sorry Potter.’

Harry beamed, ‘Me love Dwaco,’ he said as he flung his arms around him again.

Draco grimaced, ‘Don’t go overboard.’

At that, Madame Pomfrey appeared with tea and biscuits for Snape and Draco and a cup of juice for Harry. After they’d finished, Harry became hyper-active again. He convinced Draco to get out of bed and play rolling the medicine ball with him – perhaps to prove that he did have skill with a ball. As Snape watched, the two rolled the heavy ball between them - Harry squealing every time he managed to stop it. Draco had to admit he was impressed.

‘You better watch it doesn’t squash you,’ Draco muttered, as Harry propelled it skillfully out of his reach. His bones still ached from his father’s beating and he found that wasn’t quite as quick as he otherwise would have been.

After a while, Snape noticed that Harry was holding himself strangely.

‘I think that’s enough for today,’ he said. It was obvious that his young charge needed his potty.

Harry pouted slightly.

As if to demonstrate that he wouldn’t take any arguments, Snape brusquely picked the boy up. ‘Let’s see if Madame Pomfrey will help you use the potty while I speak to Draco,’ he said firmly.

Harry, in the end, didn’t protest. He knew that he had needed the potty for at least ten minutes. Though he didn’t want to stop the fun game, he didn’t want to make a puddle and look like a baby in front of Dwaco.

When Snape returned, Draco had gotten back into bed. He looked paler than usual and exhausted. Snape knew this could be a side effect of his father’s assault on his mind, but he had the feeling that it was also something more. He drew a chair up beside the bed.

‘Professor Dumbledore said that you wished to see me,’ he said.

Draco sat up slightly against the headboard and folded his arms. He had almost forgotten that he had spoken to the headmaster.

‘No.’

‘So the headmaster is a liar?’

‘Yes – I mean no,’ Draco said, ‘It doesn’t matter.’

Snape leaned closer towards the bed. ‘Mr Malfoy, do not waste my time. If you have something to say then please unburden yourself – if not then let me get back to my chambers.’

Draco hesitated slightly. He turned to look into Snape’s eyes. He wondered if those eyes had seen the same things that his father’s had. He turned away suddenly, shaking his head as he tried to rid himself of the vision of the blue-unseeing irises of the boy in the dungeons.

Unburden himself?

Suddenly that seemed like such an inviting prospect; to share with someone the scream that haunted him. Sitting up slightly in bed and closing his eyes he made a split-second decision and told Snape everything he knew.

After Draco had finished telling Snape about the Pickle children’s predicament, Snape was silent for a few moments. He was aware that Draco had opened his eyes and was now gazing at him uncertainly, and he took a few moments to regain his composure, trying to hide the way his heart pounded within his chest and the slight flush that he felt on his cheeks.

‘I see,’ he said at last. ‘You realise Mr Malfoy that were anyone to catch wind of what you have told me then your life would be in grave danger.’

Draco felt his heart skip a beat at Snape’s unreadable tone. His head swam suddenly with fear as he looked up into the fierce black eyes. He wondered if he’d made a mistake confiding in Snape. After all, though his housemaster had seemingly kept silent about the curse cast upon Harry that did not automatically mean that he was not true to Voldemort. They could both be waiting for the right moment to pounce. There was no doubt that Snape was a double-agent – but no-one, Draco included, seemed to know who exactly for.

‘I-I …’ Draco stammered.

‘If, for example,’ Snape continued, ignoring the boy’s stammers, ‘I was to take this information to Lucius, then do you really believe that the fact that you are his son would protect you? You are foolish.’

‘But I thought you were …’

‘Silence!’ Snape snapped, ‘What I am or am not is irrelevant. The mere fact that I could use this information against you should have told you not to come to me. You are not so ignorant as to think that what your father has done with these children,’ - the words seemed to catch uncomfortably in his throat - ‘was not ordered by – someone else?’

‘No,’ Draco admitted.

‘Then already you have placed yourself up against someone infinitely more powerful than yourself; someone who you can not hope to outwit.’

Draco felt himself begin to get angry. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ he spat, ‘keep quiet the fact that my father has children locked in his dungeon – that he will most probably murder them, if he hasn’t already?!’

Snape felt his heart jolt slightly. He regarded Draco silently for a few moments before answering. ‘You tell me, Mr Malfoy,’ he said quietly, ‘I was under the impression that it was your ambition to join your father in the Dark Lord’s ranks?’

Draco slumped back against his pillow. Snape was right. It had been his ambition to be a Death Eater since he had first heard the word. He had been impressed with Lucius’s tales of infinite power and the innate superiority of the pure-blood aristocracy of wizards. Was he really willing to put all that in jeopardy over the sake of a few snot-nosed, muggle brats?

He didn’t know. It had been instinct more than anything that had made him confide in Snape, and instinct that made him recoil with revulsion at the vision of the young children being tortured by his father. To have what it meant to be a Death Eater so suddenly thrust upon him had been confusing to say the least.

He thought back to his second year at Hogwarts; how carelessly he had spoken the petrification and (supposedly) impending deaths of his fellow students at the hands of the heir of Slytherin: You’re next mudbloods, he had said without a modicum of compassion. It had seen almost like a game then; a game where the strongest would win – Survival of the fittest, one of his father’s favourite mantras. He thought also of Cedric Diggory; his own, confusing feelings when Dumbledore had told the entire school that he had been murdered by Voldemort. Was that really for the good of the wizarding world? Was the death of these muggle children – who, before his father got his hands on them, probably thought that wizardry was something only true in fairy tales?

‘I don’t know,’ he admitted at last.

‘Then I suggest that you find out, and quickly,’ Snape spat. ‘This is not a game, Mr Malfoy. If I speak with the Order and they act upon the information you have given me then the responsibility will fall firmly on your shoulders should there be any comebacks. If the Dark Lord were to find out where the information came from then he would be likely to make an example out of both you and your father.’

Draco felt his heart slump even further in his stomach. He suddenly realised exactly what the Oracle of the Lake had meant about the ripples that will spread far and wide ...

‘What about you?’ he said suddenly.

Snape narrowed his eyes, ‘Me?’

‘Yes,’ Draco said. ‘If you-know-who was to find out that I told you and you didn’t tell him …’

‘Don’t profess to know everything about my relationship with the Dark Lord,’ Snape interrupted.

‘But …’

‘That’s enough, Mr Malfoy!’

‘Now,’ Snape continued after taking a few moments to suppress his anger, ‘were I to relay this to Dumbledore, then the Order would be able to offer you a degree of protection should there be repercussions.’

Draco scowled. He didn’t know if he was quite ready to humble himself to Dumbledore and his loony band of followers. Still it appeared that he had no choice. As soon as he had opened his mouth to Snape it seemed like he had inadvertently placed himself on the side of the Order of the Phoenix.

Snape noted the conflict on the young boy’s face, but decided it was best not to address it – it was something that he had to reconcile within himself. ‘Dumbledore would assure your protection,’ he said instead.

‘What would they do about the muggles?’ Draco said. ‘There’s no way that they would be able to get into our – my father’s dungeons. I don’t even know how to do it. And you know that father has spells on the house to prevent anybody even getting close without his permission.’

Snape raised his eyebrow, ‘That is not your concern, Mr Malfoy,’ he said, ‘suffice to say that even your father’s shields are not impenetrable. Now what is your answer?’

Draco looked at his housemaster dubiously, ‘So if I say that I want this to go no further then you won’t tell Dumbledore?’

Snape paused. He wasn’t sure of the answer. Before replying he banished from his mind his own thoughts on the matter, and the traces of feeling he could sense in his eyes.

‘That is correct.’

Draco was now more confused than ever. He had hoped that by simply telling Snape about what he had seen the responsibility would be taken from him – but it seemed he was wrong. He realised, also, that it still hadn’t told him much about which side Snape was really on. After all, if it got back to Voldemort that Snape had passed on Draco’s knowledge to Dumbledore, then it would surely be hard for the black wizard to interpret. Snape could be helping the Order, or simply playing along with his role as spy. On the other hand, there would be no mistaking Draco’s intentions.

‘Fine,’ he said at last, ‘tell him.’

Snape nodded, ‘Very well, Mr Malfoy.’

Draco had a sudden thought, ‘What about mother? I don’t want her involved.’

Snape closed his eyes in slight exasperation.

‘I mean,’ Draco continued, ‘if you go charging round to our home then she’s going to be there.’

‘No-one will “charge”, as you so crudely put it, anywhere,’ Snape said.

‘But …’

‘Leave it to the Order, Mr Malfoy. Albus Dumbledore is not in the habit of causing harm to innocent bystanders.’

Draco heard the edge in Snape’s voice, ‘And what about father?’ he said, feeling the panic rise up in him again.

Snape gave the boy a long, withering look. ‘Lucius,’ he said, ‘is more than capable of looking after himself.’

‘But …’

‘You need no more information than that,’ Snape said. ‘I suggest that you try to forget everything we have discussed. And I mean everything, Mr Malfoy. You have already showed yourself a skilled Occlumens, and if - or more accurately when - you meet with your father again I advise you to be on your guard.’

‘Act like nothing’s happened you mean?’ Draco said, unable to keep the scorn from his voice.

‘Precisely.’

‘But he must have known that I saw into his memory – he’ll know what I did.’

‘One does not lead from the other, Mr Malfoy.’

Draco was just about to argue that that was probably the most stupid statement he had ever heard, when Madame Pomfrey brought Harry back into the room.

‘Me big boy,’ Harry said happily as Snape thanked Madame Pomfrey and took the boy from her, nodding at him.

Snape got up indicating that the conversation was over. ‘As Potter here seems incapable of sitting still for even a moment, we will leave you to get some rest.’

‘Go?’ Harry said, his eyes widening.

‘Yes we are leaving,’ Snape said. ‘And before you start, I will remind you that you are still on a warning from earlier. Any more nonsense and you will be on your stool in the corner as soon as we get back to my chambers.’

Harry immediately fell silent. He was hoping that the batman would let him play when they got back and didn’t want to push his luck.

‘Bye Dwaco,’ he called, waving his hand up and down over Snape’s shoulder as they left the hospital wing.

Draco, however, was too distracted to respond. As he watched Snape carry a babbling Potter from the room, he felt the enormity of what he had done press like the dead weight of ten Cyclops upon him. He hoped that Snape’s assurances about his mother, but, also, his father would prove correct. He had looked up to his father since he was born. Though he had often got stern words (and sometimes curses) in return, he knew, or surmised, that it was just his father’s way of showing that he cared. He didn’t want to be responsible for his destruction.

He thought of what the Oracle of the lake had told him: You will choose as your heart leads you, young Malfoy. He supposed that he had done that in a way – but he wondered why, now it was too late, he wished with all his heart that he could go back and change the moment at which he finally caught a glimpse into the life that his father led.

Harry was fed up with being a ‘big boy’; what had just happened was the last straw.

Everything had been going well. Snape had got him all settled in his new ‘big boy’ bed; which, to Harry’s delight, was a miniature version of the batman’s – with the same silver and green embroidered duvet with the three cobras on it. The only difference was that it had rails to stop Harry falling out of bed. Harry had been contentedly sucking on his fingers for the last ten minutes, watching Snape with sleepy eyes as he told him a story about some big doggy-wolf and a full moon. He was half aware that Snape didn’t quite look himself – and hadn’t since they had been to see Dwaco - but, then again, Nape had so many different looks that Harry never quite could tell exactly what he was thinking.

Anyway, after Nape had finished, and Harry had been almost asleep, the trauma had occured. The batman had said a curt good-night and switched off the bed-side lamp. Harry’s eyes had snapped wide open at this; it was as though Snape was about to leave without giving him ‘Bobba’ – what Harry had affectionately named his night-time bottle. Harry was very confused by this.

‘Nape – Bobba,’ he had called, stretching out his hand.

Harry loved his night-time bottle. It wasn’t really a baby bottle, he reasoned, because he fed himself it. The soothing, warm liquid made him feel sleepy and he loved the sucking noise he made and the reassuring feeling this gave him. Sometimes, when he woke up in the middle of the night and felt a bit scared, he could hug the bottle to himself and slurp on it until he felt better. He had absolutely no intention of going to bed without it.

‘No Potter,’ Snape had said getting to his feet, ‘You’re too big for a bottle. Madame Pomfrey has informed me that it is extremely bad for your teeth – and since you do not seem to have that many to begin with I’m sure you do not wish to jeopardise those which you do.’

Harry had scowled. He didn’t quite know what Nape was babbling about, but he had understood what he had said about being ‘too big’. He was sick of hearing about what big boys did. He was always having to stop his fun to go to the potty ‘like a big boy’, or eat up all his yucky peas or stinky cabbage ‘like a big boy did’. Now he couldn’t have his bottle? That was it as far as he was concerned. If this was what big boys did then he didn’t want to be one.

He thought fondly back to when he was littler. He had a vague image of being cradled in sturdy, warm arms; a bottle (not Bobba, a different one) being raised and dropped gently in a reassuring rhythm into his mouth, and smiley green eyes looking fondly down at him as he suckled. He hadn’t had to worry about anything then. He was not going to give that up - and that was the end of the matter!

‘Bobba!’ he now insisted, sitting up in his bed and absentmindedly rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his fists.

‘Lie down please,’ Snape said, pursing his lips as the signs of yet-another Potter tantrum began to surface.

Snape was not in the mood for Potter’s antics. He wanted to sit in his study in quiet contemplation. He had gone straight to Dumbledore after leaving the hospital wing and filled him in on what Draco had told him of the predicament of the Pickle children. Dumbledore had swiftly fixed a meeting for appropriate members of the Order for the following day, giving them both time to think.

Snape knew that they would have to move quickly to save the Pickles (if indeed they were all still alive to be saved), but, despite his first instincts, he knew that there was no sense in storming Lucius’ Manor to free the children; more casualties may result than would be saved. It was something that needed careful and subtle handling, and Snape was therefore impatient to give it his full attention without any interruptions from his young charge.

He had thought in the back of his mind that perhaps this hadn’t been the ideal time to transfer Harry to his toddler bed, nor to stop the bottle that he had used to get him off to sleep over the past few weeks. But Madame Pomfrey had given Harry a brief examination and informed Severus quite haughtily that the night bottle must be stopped immediately because it was damaging his teeth, and that he was most certainly too large for the crib he had been using. She had also said that doing both would be conducive to Harry’s potty-training which was a definite positive as far as Severus was concerned.

Perhaps, if he had questioned her further, Poppy might have explained to Severus that he would need to cajole and encourage Harry to comply, but Snape had been distracted, and so, without advice, he had simply instigated the changes.

‘NO!’ Harry shouted, ‘Me want BOBBA!’

Snape closed his eyes briefly as he fought for control over his fragile temper. Why the infernal brat had to come up with such degrading names for everyday objects was quite beyond him.

‘Bobba,’ he said, spitting the word at the toddler as a slight flush crept up his neck ‘is not for you. You have had something to eat and drink and you can’t be hungry, so that is it for tonight. Now, lie down and go to sleep.’

Harry glared into Snape’s black eyes for a moment as he tried to decide how mad he was about this new development. He thought about what the big mean-bat had said. Not hungry? What did that have to do with anything? There was always room for his Bobba. He frowned. His cheeks were flushed with tiredness, and he could feel the warmness spread over face and neck.

‘I want BOBBA’, he squealed in such a high-pitched shriek that Snape actually winced; the tiredness was making Harry’s frustration ten times worse than it would usually have been. He kicked off his blanket and arched his back, straining with anger and screeching till he was red in the face – ‘DWINK NOW! BOBBA NOWWWW!’

Snape watched silently for a few moments as Harry’s wails and kicks got stronger. A tantrum was the last thing he needed. He fingered his wand, a silencing spell forming at his lips just before he stopped himself. Very uncharacteristically, he almost considered giving in just so that he could have some peace and quiet to concentrate on the Pickles’ escape – almost. He knew if he did that, however, he would be sending a message that might make Potter even more insufferable than he was now.

‘Come on Potter,’ he said, ‘stop this right now. If you’re thirsty then you may have a sip of water from your cup, but as I have said, you are too old for a bottle and you will not be getting one.’

At these words – ‘will not’, Harry felt the last desperate hope leave him. He had a hazy awareness that having his bottle was now completely out of his control, and he didn’t like it. He knew instinctively that the batman wasn’t going to give in, and he wailed louder. His anger, sadness, frustration, and everything else suddenly exploded. He got to his feet and picked up Cheep-Cheep and started tearing at him in a fit of temper – wanting the stupid yellow bird to feel as bad as he did. Cheep-Cheep squawked loudly (doing nothing to help Snape's irritation) and tried to peck the small fingers in retaliation. Unfortunately, since he was only a stuffed toy, his beak wasn't sharp and so it didn't have any effect.

Snape reached forward and wrenched the bird from the toddlers vicious grasp – realising that if the toy was ruined then the young boy would be even more distraught. A headache was beginning to pulse at his temples, but he decided to simply ignore the tantrum for the time being in the hope that it would simply burn out.

It didn’t.

‘MEAN NAPE!’ Harry screamed, holding his hand out for the bird, which Snape ignored; then, flinging himself down on the bed, ‘BAD CHEEP-CHEEP.’

After five minutes of Harry carrying on, and Snape simply watching, the tantrum got even worse. Harry grabbed hold of the railings of his big-boy bed, ‘NO BED; NO BIG BOY!’ he screeched, and then, to Severus’ surprise, banged his head against it.

Snape wasn’t sure quite what to do. He sat forward on impulse, but he didn’t think the intolerable toddler had hurt himself and so he kept his resolve to ignore the behaviour.

‘BAD!’ Harry shrieked again. He had lost all power of reasoning now and was simply indulging himself in the tantrum. Banging his head had felt extremely satisfying in his frantic state – it seemed to voice his exasperation – and so he did it again; several times.

Snape watched the head-banging edgily, wincing on every impact between railings and skull, before he couldn’t stand any more. Deciding that he couldn’t ignore a baby – which was really all Harry was – hurting himself, he reached down and picked him up. This was more difficult than it sounded given the "baby’s" current state and that Harry didn’t miss a beat. He screeched and bucked himself against Snape, kicking and punching the batman as hard as he could, his face almost purple. Snape felt the strangely strong blows, and, with annoyance, realised that some of them might even bruise him.

‘Stop that!’ he commanded. Unfortunately it fell on deaf ears.

‘BAD! MEAN! WANT BOBBA’ Harry cried.

Snape decided that there was no point in trying to reason with an out-of-control toddler. He sat down on a chair and, with some difficulty, repositioned Harry so that he was on his lap, facing outwards.

‘You are out of control,’ he said, ‘so I will sit with you and hold you, until you are able to regain a modicum of it back. Then you are going to sleep.’

Harry wriggled and squirmed. Snape wasn’t holding him fast so that he couldn’t move, but just enough so that he couldn’t hurt himself anymore. A firm arm was secured around Harry's stomach, holding him loosely in a sitting position; the other was free to stop the kicking or punching when it got too violent.

At first Snape’s grasp frustrated Harry. He screeched louder than ever and thrashed all four of his limbs in a peddling motion, arching his back and neck so that his whole body was rigid. Snape did not react, but held Harry differently so that he was face down over his right arm, bottom up, to make the arching impossible. Almost patronisingly, he patted Harry’s rear.

‘You are really too old for such infantile behaviour,’ he said, as Harry, still screeching, dangled over the forearm - angry that his temper was being foiled.

Eventually though, and much as he hated to admit it, the toddler started to find the strong arms almost comforting. A small part of him seemed to appreciate the fact that Snape was taking control of the situation that he couldn’t. Five minutes and a lot of bawling later, and Harry finally relaxed back onto the batman’s lap, sobbing quietly. He turned slightly and nestled his head into Snape’s bottle green shirt, wetting it with tears. He was really tired now, and didn't have any energy left to put up a fight.

Snape sighed and allowed the boy to cuddle into him for a few moments. He then cradled him back in his arms slightly, permitting Harry's head to rest in his armpit as he rocked him back and forth on his arm. He decided that he could make this concession if it meant that Harry might fall asleep.

Harry, even in his distraught state, appreciated the position. He liked the feeling of being babied; cradled in sturdy arms, like in the memory of his mother. Unfortunately for Snape, who wouldn't suffer for it till the following day, it made being a ‘big boy’ even less appealing to the toddler.

After a few minutes, Snape laid the young boy back down on his bed to little protest.

‘I’m delighted that you managed to calm yourself down enough to go to sleep, Potter,’ Snape drawled. ‘And might I say what a lot of fuss over nothing!’ He tucked the covers around the small boy and replaced a disgruntled Cheep-Cheep on the pillow. ‘Perhaps in future you will try and refrain from injuring yourself when something does not go your way.’

Harry blew a bubble of snot in response. He felt very tired and cold. His pyjamas were soaked with sweat from his exertions.

‘Coldy,’ he said, wiping the snot away with back of his hand.

Snape sighed. He pointed a wand at the small boy, and then hesitated suddenly. ‘Are you wet aswell?’ he asked suspiciously. Harry simply shrugged, too tired to worry about such things, and so Snape reached down and felt his nappy – luckily it was dry. He flicked his wand without the need for any incantation and a split-second later the red and blue striped pyjama suit was bone dry. Harry felt nice and warm again and, though he was still mad with the batman, he half-smiled.

As Snape left the room, satisfied that the boy would soon be asleep, Harry rolled onto his tummy and babbled an apology to his beloved canary.

He yawned sleepily as he closed his eyes. Nape might have won the battle, but Harry was sure that he would win the war.

‘Well it sounds risky to me,’ Molly said frowning.

She and most of the other members of the Order – Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin, Tonks, Arthur and Sirius had gathered for a meeting. They had been discussing their plan for over an hour. They were sat round the huge, round table in the dining room of Grimmauld place. Many years ago this had been the grand location of the Black’s frequent dinner parties; but the years of neglect and its occupation by a rather nasty crowd of Chizpurfles and their fangs, had left their traces and the room was now dull and decaying. The jade, velvet curtains with their silver silken trim – once the pride and joy of Walburga Black - hung threadbare and lifeless; the table, previously sturdy and imposing, creaked under the mere weight of the pots of tea and plates of ham sandwiches Dumbledore had provided; the floorboards were dull and unpolished, and Molly had had to remove several layers of dust from the upholstered chairs simply to make it possible to sit in them, and even then they had to shake the cushions out to avoid receiving a painful nip from one of the niffler babies that were keeping warm in the stuffing.

Worse from the physical appearance of the room, a strange feeling seemed to hang over it. All the members of the Order had remarked on it at previous meetings. Sirius felt worse of anyone. He had remembered when he was young and he used to sneak out of his bedchamber and listen at the door to his parents and their guests discuss unthinkable things. It was as though the malicious chatter and laughter from years ago still remained like ghosts in the shadows.

‘There is no question that it will be, as you rightly say Molly, “risky”’ Dumbledore said. ‘However, I believe that if we do not take action soon then the children will be killed. If indeed,’ he added, ‘they have not already.’

From his seat at the end of the table Snape stiffened, then just as immediately he forced his composure. He felt irritated with himself – he didn’t know why the fate of these children mattered so much to him.

‘What about you, Severus?’ Molly said hopefully, turning to him as she absentmindedly sipped the dregs of her stone-cold tea, ‘After all it is you that will be in the most danger …’

From the opposite end of the table Sirius snorted, ‘Though typically he will be far from the real danger!’ he spat. Living in his old home – especially sitting in this grim room - where he had also been admonished countless times by his father over breakfast – was getting to him. His temper was short and he could scarcely keep the bitterness out of his tone. Even the presence of Dumbledore had done nothing to clam him.

Snape turned to Sirius, tilting his large nose upwards with disdain. ‘And where exactly will you be, Black,’ he drawled, ‘safely tucked up in your childhood home with a cup of tea in your hand and perhaps the morning paper between your teeth?’

Sirius slammed his fist on the table and opened his mouth to retort, but Lupin, sensing yet-another bickering session between the two old enemies, beat him to it. ‘Perhaps we should take a vote on the matter?’ he suggested.

‘An excellent idea,’ Dumbledore agreed, ‘All those in favour if you would please raise your hands.’

Every hand but one shot into the air. Molly turned pink as she regarded her husband incredulously.

‘I’m sorry my dear,’ he said gently, ‘but there does seem to be no other choice. Just think how we would feel if it was three of our boys.’ A tense moment passed between husband and wife before, with resolve, Molly raised her own hand.

‘If you think it is the only way, Albus,’ she said. Everyone pretended not to notice as Arthur grabbed her other hand under the table and squeezed it.

‘Then we are all agreed,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘Perhaps we should go over the finer details …’

Before the discussion could return to the problem at hand, however, a small voice interrupted them. It was Harry. He had woken up for the nap that he had been put down for less than an hour ago.

‘Nape!’ he said urgently.

Harry had managed to crawl easily out of the toddler bed Severus had placed him in and follow the sound of the grown-ups talking. He couldn’t wait, like he’d been told, for someone to come and get him because when he had woken up he had realised that he had wet himself. His trousers were cold and dripping and he felt very uncomfortable. He had been very angry with himself when he realised that he’d wet the bed, but Cheep-Cheep had made him laugh by turning loops and so he hadn’t burst into tears as had been his first instinct.

He walked shyly into the room with Cheep-Cheep tucked under his arm, keeping his legs as far away from each other as he could, so that he looked quite comical – as though he was wading in a muddy ditch.

‘Nape …?’ he pressed, his nose wrinkling up. Though he wanted to be dried and cleaned up by Snape as soon as possible, he didn’t want to announce to the crowded room exactly why he needed him; he was oblivious to the fact that the reason was very obvious, and that seven pairs of eyes were now watching Snape with amusement.

Snape’s eyes darkened as he looked at the toddler. Harry’s purple play-trousers had a dark patch that spread right over the front and down the legs and he was pulling at the material awkwardly. Inside Snape grimaced. This was the first ‘accident’ in a few days. Snape had hoped that the boy was getting used to using the potty. Still, he reasoned, it had occurred during his nap. Snape was putting nappies on the boy at night and so Harry could have been confused. He would, however, be having a little ‘chat’ with the toddler. He got up from his chair.

‘It’s alright,’ Molly said rising, ‘I’ll deal with this. You’re needed here.’

Snape paused for a moment. From the corner of his eye he saw Harry’s chin stick out. He didn’t know why, but Harry seemed to want him to do everything for him at the moment; he got into a sulk when Snape left him for even a moment and whined when anyone else – even Hermione – tried to contribute to his care in any way. Earlier that day when they had arrived at Grimmauld place, for example, he had run away and hidden under the table when Sirius tried to help him off with his travel-robes (Snape had been quite pleased at the look of hurt that crossed over Black’s face), and then he had followed Snape around like a puppy-dog till he had been put down for his nap.

Snape weighed up the probability of another tantrum if he didn’t clean Harry up himself against the satisfaction of allowing Molly to do it - and not giving the brat-who-lived everything that he wanted. In the end the latter won. Besides, if he left the others he was concerned that Molly would be able to convince them to ‘take more precautions’ or ‘wait a few more days’, and Snape knew that if they were to save the Pickles then there was no time to lose. He had grown increasingly irritated by the doubts and insinuations that he was not capable of carrying out with precision everything that he had told the Order that he would. He wondered if they quite realised exactly what he already had to do spy for them. If they realised what was involved in going against the powers of his former master then perhaps they would have more faith – not that he was in a mind, however, to convince them.

‘Very well,’ he said, sitting back down.

‘Nape do it!’ Harry said quietly. He was still intimidated by the room full of grown-ups, but he wanted to make it clear that he didn’t want the firewoman to dry him – he wanted the batman.

From the opposite end of the room, Sirius rolled his eyes and turned away from the toddler in disgust. A small part of him realised it was bravado, but stubbornly he refused to take any notice to it. He was furious that Harry had allowed himself to be taken in by Snape, and even more furious that Dumbledore had allowed them to get so close. He was confident that the elder Harry would be in full agreement and made up his mind to talk to Dumbledore about as soon as he had the chance.

‘No dear, Snape’s busy,’ Molly said brightly. ‘Don’t worry – I’ll get you cleaned up in a jiffy.

For a moment Harry was about to protest. He opened his mouth to whine again that he wanted Snape, but before he knew what was happening Mwolly had hold of his hand firmly and was escorting him from the room, chatting to him cheerfully. She wasn’t like Nape when he’d had an accident – he was usually quiet and moody, cleaning and changing Harry’s clothes with as few words as possible. Soon she had him giggling. She taught him a magic word that she said Moo-gels used: Abwa-cad-bra, or something like that.

The pair walked through the house back to Sirius’s room where Harry had been having his nap. Molly frowned as she saw the spell Snape had cast on Sirius’s bed to make it fit for Harry - it was a permanent charm. Really! she thought. They were like children themselves.

‘Say the magic word,’ she said as she stopped in front of the bed and pulled Harry round to face her, pointing her wand at him.

‘Abwa-cad-bra,’ Harry shouted. Instantly his trousers felt dry and he clapped his hands happily. ‘Mine!’ he said, holding his hand out for the wand.

‘One day,’ she said laughing. She then pointed it to the bed, ‘say it again,’ she said.

‘Ab-ca-da-bra’ Harry repeated. Molly felt the bed –

‘Bone dry,’ she said, ‘Well done you! Now, let’s get you out of those trousers.’

Molly tried to help Harry out of the trousers, but they seemed to have shrunk slightly with the spell and so, in the end, she picked him up and put him on the bed on his back so that she could get at him better. He watched her quite contentedly, and unusually still, as she removed his dirty things, lifted his legs in turn and cleaned him with several wipes – that were cold and made him squeal slightly – then finished the job properly with her wand. She chatted to him throughout. It was only when she asked him to put his feet in the leg holes of his yellow underpants that he started to kick. An idea had occurred to him. Being on his back, being talked to and being fussed over reminded him of being on the changing mat. He realised that he had missed that – it was yet another thing that he’d had to give up because he was ‘big’. All he got to do now was sit on the stupid potty with a boring book, concentrating on ‘going’. Perhaps he could persuade Mwolly to give him a nappy instead? Then he would definitely get more attention and he wouldn’t have to stop playing to sit on his potty.

‘Nappy?’ he said as she tried to guide his foot into the pants.

‘No dear,’ she said, ‘don’t worry; I won’t put a nappy on you. You can still wear your big boy pants. Accidents will happen but you’ll get there in the end.’

Harry’s face fell slightly. He kicked his feet slightly as she tried to pull his clothes on.

‘Keep still Harry,’ she said, ‘there’s a good boy.’

‘No pants!’ Harry said petulantly.

Molly mistook Harry’s eagerness for a nappy as apprehension that he would have another accident. She spoke words of encouragement as she deftly lifted him to his feet and dressed him. Harry struggled slightly, but Molly was used to resistance from toddlers and managed to keep him distracted enough that when he was dressed he wondered exactly how it had managed to happen.

‘There, that wasn’t so difficult now, was it?’ she said, admiring her handiwork. She had dressed Harry in his red and gold jumper with the lion on - which she hoped would remind him of his potty - and a pair of cotton trousers with an elastic waist which could be easily pulled off.

‘I baby,’ Harry said. He pushed his lip out sulkily as he imagined that a baby would.

‘No, you’re a big boy,’ Molly said, putting him on the floor, ‘Now stop worrying – no one thinks you’re a baby. You can come and play with your toys under the table if you want.’

Though Harry realised that his idea hadn’t worked very well, the prospect of playing in the ‘den’ he had built under the table was too much to resist. With a last look of disdain, Harry stalked off towards the room, his arms swinging violently at his sides. Grown-ups were so stupid. Didn’t the fire woman realise that Harry didn’t mind being a baby? Babies had much more fun than ‘big boys’.

After the meeting of the Order had eventually broken up, Molly prepared a bowl of hot stew for everyone in the kitchen. Snape reluctantly agreed to join the others. His patience was at breaking point, but he had the feeling that if he left before everyone else then he might miss something important.

‘Potter!’ he called as Molly put the hot-steaming bowls down on the table, ‘come to the table!’

Harry looked up from the corner where he was playing but didn’t move. The beardy-smiley man had cast a spell on an old pipe so that every time Harry blew in the end of it a cloud of bubbles filled the corner; he could then jump up and pop them all. It was very, very fun and he was reluctant to leave it.

‘Potter!’ Snape said, still irritated with the small boy, ‘I said it was lunch – Now! - If I have to come and get you then you will be sorry.’

‘Don’t speak to him like that!’ Sirius snapped at once.

‘Oh, by all means, Black, if you can do a better job then please go ahead,’ Snape snarled. Lupin beat them both to it. He stooped and picked Harry up on his way into the kitchen.

‘Come on trouble,’ he said, hoisting Harry over his shoulder, holding him by his feet like a sack of potatoes.

Harry giggled. His hair fell over his face and the blood rushed to his head as Lupin took him to the table and then pulled him upright and sat him down on his booster chair – Mwoony was silly.

‘Be careful with him,’ Molly warned.

‘I wouldn’t drop him!’ Lupin said, winking at Harry.

‘Well not on purpose,’ Molly muttered as she turned back towards the stove.

As the gathered members of the Order sat down to dinner the mood lightened considerably. Everyone chatted amicably with everyone else - with the exception of Snape, who remained quiet, not being inclined to ‘chat amicably’ with anyone – and the meal progressed pleasantly. Snape noticed Arthur wink at Molly as the pair of them watched Nymphadora and Lupin laughing together, oblivious to the conversations going on around them. He raised an eyebrow - it was obvious that they thought there was something going on between them. Privately he thought that the girl would be hopelessly naïve to even consider getting involved with someone who transformed at every full moon; but then again, she herself was something of an oddity. The other thing he noticed was the pale twinkling eyes that constantly lingered upon him - though he tried to shrug them off, refusing to make contact. He knew that Dumbledore would want to speak to him alone at the first opportunity. What he had to do to save the Pickles could have enormous repercussions and the elder man would want to give him the opportunity to rethink it. It annoyed him. Dumbledore knew him well enough to realise that he would decline, but for some reason felt he had to ask him anyway.

It was always the same when he and Dumbledore had meetings about his ‘spying’. Snape could sense the guilt that surrounded his mentor. He often wanted to reassure him that he was doing what he wanted to – what he had to - but felt in the end that it was easier to pretend that he didn’t notice. It made him uncomfortable. He was not used to concern and his natural instinct was to scoff at it – after all, it was such ‘feelings’ that made a person weak against their enemy. He knew from experience that sentimentality and his stringent belief in the ‘good’ in people was the only thing that could cloud the headmaster’s judgement, and he sometimes had the nagging feeling that it would one day be his downfall.

Molly’s voice roused him from his musings.

‘Harry, you haven’t touched your stew,’ she said, ‘don’t you like it?’

Harry smiled angelically, pleased that someone had eventually noticed that he wasn’t going to eat the ‘big boy’ food. Not only was it mildly disgusting, but it was part of his plan.

‘Milky …’ he said in his best baby voice.

‘You can have some milk to drink later,’ Molly said firmly, ‘after you eat up your stew like a good boy.’

‘Milky!’ Harry protested, again in a baby voice, ‘Me baby.’

‘No Harry,’ Molly said. ‘You’re a big boy. Big boys eat stew with their spoon.’

Harry decided that Mwolly wasn’t getting the message. He tipped his bowl all over the table – causing a startled Lupin and Tonks to abruptly turn their attention away from each other - and rubbed his hands in it, smearing it in circles like he used to do when something was yucky. ‘BABY!’ he said.

‘He’s certainly wilful!’ Tonks said laughing.

‘That’s naughty Harry,’ Molly said as everyone (with the exception of Snape) tried not to laugh at the toddler – even Dumbledore’s lip seemed to twitch under his beard. She pointed the wand at the boy, rapidly cleaning the mess and pouring him a fresh bowl of stew. ‘Now come on, show everyone what a big boy you can be.’

Harry, however, was enjoying the attention, and was not about to give up his quest. He tipped his head forward and, before anyone could stop him, put it into his bowl, giggling. When he looked up his hair was sticky with stew and it was all round his face.

‘Bad baby!’ he announced.

‘Potter!’ Snape spat.

‘Its okay,’ Molly said quickly. ‘Harry, I want you to eat your food and stop playing with it please,’ she said, cleaning him with a flick of his wand. ‘Don’t pay any attention to him,’ she said, ‘he’ll soon get bored.’

Five minutes later and it was obvious that Harry wasn’t about to get bored. He continued babbling in a baby voice and playing with his food and demanding ‘milky’ and ‘bobba’. Snape had been gritting his teeth and glaring at him, hoping the toddler would get the message, but to no avail. Harry seemed to sense that he didn’t want to shout at him in front of audience.

The last straw was when he messed the stew into his hair. ‘Waaahhhh’ he said, in a mock-baby wail ‘I want milky!’

Before Molly could say anything, Snape got to his feet and stalked round the table to Harry.

‘I’ve had quite enough of this nonsense,’ he said. He picked up a kicking Harry (who was starting to wonder if he’d pushed it too far). Carrying him over to the corner of the kitchen, he summoned a stool and put him on it facing the wall. ‘You will sit here for five minutes,’ he said, ‘then you will eat your food or go without.’

Of course as soon as Snape let go of Harry’s arm, Harry shot off. He didn’t want to be punished in front of all the big people. He searched the faces of the grown-ups, and then went to Sirius, holding up his arms, hoping that the funny man would help him. He got the feeling that he didn’t really like the batman much.

Sirius stared down into the little red face. He hesitated. He knew that Harry probably deserved to be put in the corner really, but, then again, he was pleased he had run to him. He reached down.

‘Don’t, Sirius!’ Molly warned. As Sirius hesitated, Harry realised that he probably wasn’t going to help him now. He darted off towards the door, but unfortunately his chubby little legs were not match for Snape - he grabbed Harry and walked him back over to the corner.

‘Five minutes, Potter,’ he said. In reply, Harry kicked the batman’s shin as hard as he could and ran off again. Snape closed his eyes for a moment in pain and then snapped them open again. Harry realised, almost immediately, that he’d probably gone too far. He ran and tried to hind behind Balbus’s legs. Unfortunately, Snape could still see him. He grasped Harry by his arm and reached down and walloped his backside. He wasn’t just angry that the toddler had kicked out (and hurt) him, he wasn’t about to go through a chasing debacle in front of the Order. Sirius looked towards Albus incredulously, but the elder man simply sat as serenely as if he was waiting for a night bus.

‘Awww,’ Tonks whispered to Lupin as Harry began to really wail, ‘poor Harry.’

‘Poor Severus, I say!’ Lupin said smiling.

As Harry clutched at his bottom, Snape walked him back over to the corner. ‘Five minutes Potter!’ he snapped.

Crying and feeling sorry for himself, Harry finally admitted defeat and sat screaming in his corner. He hated being smacked! This time it had even hurt a bit and it was even worse having an audience. His cheeks flamed; he felt very naughty - and, he thought uncomfortably, he probably had been.

‘Are you just going to let that happen?’ Sirius demanded, raising his voice over Harry’s screams.

‘He has to learn, Sirius,’ Molly said gently, ‘And he had plenty of chances.’

‘He’s a toddler!’ Sirius said.

‘Even so, you can’t let him get away with kicking.’

‘Remus?’ Sirius said, looking for support.

‘It was only a tap,’ Remus said neutrally. He knew that had it been Molly, or anyone else for that matter, who had smacked Harry then Sirius wouldn’t have said a word.

Sirius got up glowering; the wildness his eyes had acquired in Azkaban returning as it always did when he was angry. ‘Well Snivellus,’ he barked, ‘I see that you’ve got James’ son exactly where you want him. And the rest of the Order. But just remember, you don’t fool me!’

From his place in the corner, Harry paused from crying and whimpered slightly; he swivelled round to see what the shouting was all about.

‘Turn round!’ Snape barked. ‘Anyway, there’s nothing to see. Black’s simply having one of his little tempers.’

Sirius stepped towards Snape. Arthur got to his feet as Snape drew his wand.

‘Gentlemen please!’ he said.

Sirius pulled his own wand as he shrugged Arthur aside to advance on Snape. He pointed his wand directly at his chest.

‘Well go on then, Black,’ Snape said fiercely, ‘I’m waiting.’

‘You’re not worth it,’ Sirius said after a few moments of tense silence. ‘Knowing what you are and what you’ve done is enough for me. I spent twelve years in Azkaban for a crime I didn’t commit - but five times that wouldn’t be long enough for you to atone for the ones you did.’

‘That’s enough!’

Dumbledore’s voice encompassed the room. He got to his feet, his cloak billowing out like a storm cloud; and as he faced Sirius and Snape his eyes flashed with blue fire.

Harry turned instinctively and ran to Molly. She picked him up in her arms and cradled him protectively without a word of reproach. Every person in the room felt like doing the same. It was rare to see Dumbledore angry and when you did it was a thing to behold.

Snape, who had turned a deathly white, was jolted out of his anger on hearing Dumbledore speak. He realised almost guiltily that had the words come a split second later the curse that had died on his lips would have seriously injured the other man. He was the only person in the room to realise that the warning had been meant for him as much as Sirius.

Sirius felt a slight pang of guilt, perhaps realising he had gone too far, but remained stubborn. ‘You might have forgiven him, Albus,’ he said stiffly, not able to make eye contact with his old headmaster, ‘but some of us have longer memories. I listened for twelve years to his friends – Death Eaters - reciting their deeds to one another through the walls of their cells; chanting their loyalty to Voldemort - (everyone winced and Snape clutched his wrist) - like they were heroes. His name came up more than once. I’m afraid if you’re asking me to forget it, then you’re asking too much of me. Excuse me.’ With that he left the room.

Harry had watched the scene with wide eyes. He looked at Snape and twisted in Molly’s arms. ‘Nape,’ he said, holding his arms out. He didn’t really understand what Sirius had said, but he could sense that it had made the batman upset.

Snape took Harry wordlessly. The others were all looking away uncomfortably, trying to avoid each other’s eyes. Molly could feel her legs shaking slightly. Since Dumbledore had placed his confidence in Snape, none of them had let themselves think about what he might have done before he changed sides. They knew that he had stopped being a true Death Eater before Voldemort’s fall, and that he could not be accused of simply covering his own back by switching sides as some – Lucius Malfoy for one – had. They were also were aware that he had taken many risks since that time for the Order. Still, to have his past put the way Sirius had disturbed them, even if only temporarily.

‘Perhaps, Molly, you would be as kind as to send Harry’s things to my chambers,’ Snape said at last. The mask of composure had by now reformed the features of his face, and as he continued his lip curled - ‘I appeared to have outstayed my welcome.’

‘Severus …’ Lupin began, but Snape interrupted.

‘Good-day,’ he said sharply. He then turned on his heel to leave; Harry lay over his shoulder sucking his fingers thoughtfully as they left the room, his crying and the memory of his ‘smacking’ faded by the strange turn of events he had witnessed. He didn’t even protest at leaving.

As they left Dumbledore sighed. A few moments later they heard the clatter of the grate as Snape and Harry disappeared into the Floo network.

‘Perhaps it is time to adjourn the meeting,’ Dumbledore said at last. ‘Nymphadora – if you would OWL me when you and Mad-Eye are in place …’

‘Of course,’ she said quickly.

‘Very well – good day to you all.’

As Dumbledore left, the others stared after him; each of them wondered the same thing – whether the feud between Snape and Sirius would ever be resolved, or whether it would grow worse. Each of them tried to ignore the nagging feeling that it would one day reach a terrible conclusion.

When they arrived back in his bedchambers, Snape put Harry on the floor and then sat silently in his sturdy armchair. What had happened at headquarters had shaken him more than he cared to admit and he needed a few moments to think. His eyes were directed towards Harry, but they didn’t really see the toddler struggle with his travel robes and hat, pulling faces.

He pulled his shoulders back into the hard backrest and pressed his fingertips together in contemplation, irritated to find himself taking in a deep breath. He knew why Black riled him so much – but that didn’t make it any easier to admit to himself. He tried to remind himself that Black was insignificant; that he was merely a mangy mongrel, frustrated with his own uselessness. He tried to clear his mind of the morning’s events, listening to the rhythm of his heart to focus his attention. He managed to fade the beginning of Potter’s whines and the echoes of footsteps in the stone corridors outside his quarters, but, try as he might, he could not banish Black’s words from his ears.

Instead, his memories seemed to play with him. Scenes flashed rapidly through his head like muggle film clips. He saw himself in a potions lesson, receiving points whilst Black was given detention for his poor attempt at a sleeping draught after being typically under-prepared. He heard again the taunts thrown to Black in the courtyard from the Slytherin students who never forgave him for being placed in Gryffindor, and then remembered how they had turned on him, calling him “unworthy material” for their precious house. He saw Black, Potter and some of his other classmates upside down as he dangled in the air; Lily’s emerald eyes bright with anger. Next he was sat huddled in a corner of the Quidditch stands behind the Slytherin students. Jeers and catcalls deafened him as Potter caught the snitch – and as he looked up Black’s malicious black eyes met his from the other side of the pitch and he shook his perfect mop of hair errantly, dragging a finger across his throat. Snape gathered himself together enough to mirror the action, but by that time Black had turned to speak to the gaggle of friends that surrounded him – missing it.

That last memory had been near the time when things between them had escalated; right before he had been convinced by Black (foolishly) to go to the shrieking shack to find Lupin and his own near death. Afterwards, in Dumbledore’s office, Black had been pale and contrite – Snape had deduced that it was an act. As this scene passed before him, however, he took a second look at Black. His eyes did not quite have their usual venomous brightness and, as he stood in front of Dumbledore and McGonagall, Snape thought he could almost recollect a slight shake to his demeanour. In fact, Snape had found at the time that it had not been Black but Potter who he’d been most furious at. Pity was for the weak and he had cursed the raven-haired teenager for showing him it. He felt he might rather have died.

Snape followed the scene to its conclusion. After Sirius and McGonagall left, Dumbledore had spoken gravely to Severus. He had suggested that he and his ‘adversary’ had a reasonable amount in common. Both were subject to high expectations from their parents – expectations that neither of them could hope to reach, though both were above average intelligence; both had a malicious streak and knew curses well beyond their years. Snape had not been interested in what the headmaster had to say. In fact, in those days he had not listened to anything Dumbledore, or any of the other teachers, had said to him. Lucius Malfoy had already gotten to him.

This ‘incident’ had occurred exactly eight months before his seventeenth birthday, and therefore exactly eight months before he had taken the Dark Mark as the youngest member ever to join the Dark Lord’s circle. Snape did not allow his mind to wander over those memories, however. He never did. He fleetingly pondered Black’s comment about his experiences in Azkaban: His name came up more than once he had said. Well it would do – he had proved himself to the Dark Lord in a way that none of the others could ever hoped to have equalled. Perhaps luckily, that memory was hidden away in a pensieve deep within Dumbledore’s quarters. Since Dumbledore had siphoned it from his mind, hoping to provide him with respite from the tormenting echo that haunted him, he had only once asked to see it again – in the early morning after the night of the Triwizard Tournament when he had returned to Hogwarts, his body weak and his mind wavering.

Snape gave a last involuntary shudder before he managed to compose himself and return his mind to the present. As he did so, he could see that Harry was standing in front of his chair watching him curiously. He had a book in his hand but he didn’t hold it out immediately.

‘Nape?’ he said.

Snape looked wearily at the young boy. His gaze fell first onto the lightening-bolt scar and then the emerald eyes.

The two regarded each other silently in silence. For one strange moment Snape felt the beating of his heart quicken. There seemed to be comprehension in the face that looked back at him. It was as though the toddler had been privy to his thoughts.

‘Potter?’ he said. He waited in tense silence for several moments before the youngster responded.

‘Nape, sad?’ Harry ventured. Before he had looked into the batman’s eyes, he had been about to jump on him and demand a story, but something had stopped him. He had the weirdest feeling in his belly (and it wasn’t because he needed the potty). It was like a being in a dream. His mind was stretching out for something that he couldn’t quite get his small fingers around. Like when he tried to remember a word and wrinkled his face up really hard to concentrate on saying it, but he just couldn’t get it out. He stamped his foot slightly, frustrated. He put his finger to his head and stuck his tongue out, closing his eyes tightly in such a way that anyone else witnessing it would have found it comical. This stance carried on for a few moments before he had a moment of inspiration.

‘Daddy,’ he said suddenly. Somehow he knew that it had something to do with the scruffy-cheeky man who had been his daddy when he was a baby. And his mammy: ‘Mamma.’

The words jolted Snape like well-timed hexes. He experienced a feeling of foreboding quite foreign to him as he wondered exactly how much Potter remembered. His defences were already low and he prepared them for another attack.

Instead, however, Harry held his arms out to Snape. He thought vaguely that Snape might have been bad, as he had the look that Harry did when he had done something that he felt sorry for - like when he had kicked Nape in the oddy-house before. However, something instinctively told him that Nape was far sorrier about it than Harry had ever been (even when he had almost killed Cheep-Cheep).

Snape hesitated. He almost wished that Potter did remember that he hated him. He was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the child’s shows of affection towards him – especially as he knew it was the exact opposite of the teenage Potter’s feelings. It hadn’t bothered him at first because he enjoyed having the boy at a disadvantage, but the longer it had gone on the more uneasy he felt.

‘Nape …’ Harry said sweetly, his thin lips pulled into a shy smile, ‘Up!’

Sighing, Snape lifted the boy onto his lap. Before he knew what was happening, Harry put his arms round his neck and hugged him. Snape remained stiff, but allowed the toddler to hang there for a few moments, simply patting his back stiffly. When he eventually sat back, Harry looked solemnly up into his face.

‘Nape good,’ he said.

Snape felt an uncomfortable pull in his chest at these simple words. He coughed slightly.

‘Yes, well.’

Harry then swivelled round and snuggled his back into the warmth of Snape’s robes. He pried apart the cardboard pages of his favourite book about the talking pumpkin-head man. He loved the times he got to sit on the batman’s laps – which were not many.

‘Reed-dee?’ he suggested.

‘Very well,’ Snape said. He decided a distraction might be what he needed to gather himself together. He put his arms under Harry’s to hold the corners of the book. ‘This is a story of Mr Pumpkin Head …’ he began.

Within ten minutes Harry was asleep, thumb in mouth. Snape let him sit there for a while longer, his arms cradling him back slightly whilst he mentally prepared himself to put into action the plan the Order had agreed upon. For a while only Harry’s small shallow breaths punctuated the silence, but rather than serving as an annoying interruption, Snape actually found them quite calming – perhaps because they were so rhythmic.

Instead of waking the toddler for a bath, Snape decided that it wouldn’t harm him to simply put him to bed. He hadn’t napped much during that day and he was obviously worn out. He transported the toddler first of all to the changing table to put on his night-time nappy. Though Harry murmured slightly and wriggled as Snape fastened it on and pulled up his trousers, he didn’t wake fully up.

‘Night Potter,’ Snape said as he put him into his bed and secured the railings. He lifted a small arm and placed Cheep-Cheep under it, knowing that Harry would get grizzly in the night if he awoke without the stuffed bird. After tucking the covers around his young charge he left the room and went to his desk. He once again opened his secret draw and took out the raven’s quill. The time had come to drop Lucius a line.

When Dumbledore had adjourned the meeting he hadn’t left headquarters. Instead he had sought out Sirius, who he found in the dusty, gloomy attic, sitting under the skylight, stroking a crooning Buckbeak. Sirius’ legs were curled up underneath him on the shaggy blue rug and a glass of firewhiskey was sat next to him on a wooden chest of the Black’s heirlooms that he had banished out of sight. He looked calm. The orange glow of the setting sun shone warmly on his face and his black eyes had lost their agitation as they gazed up to the sky.

Sirius heard someone enter and saw Dumbledore’s reflection in the glass.

‘I like seeing the sky,’ he said, not turning round. ‘Almost as much as I like flying in it. One doesn’t get to see many sunsets in Azkaban.’

Dumbledore didn’t reply. Instead he reached down and stroked Buckbeak, looking gently into the deep, inquisitive eyes. He patted the proud feathered head and immediately the hippogriff detangled himself from Sirius’ grip and got to his feet, taking himself off to sit the opposite corner of the room. Sirius let him go.

Dumbledore then conjured a chair and another glass. He pointed his finger first at Sirius’ then his, filling them both to the brim.

‘Cheers!’ Sirius said, raising his glass to Dumbledore before tipping his head back and drinking deeply from it. Dumbledore nodded his head but kept his glass where it was. They then watched the sunset quietly together until the dusky pink rays melted into the inky night. At last, Dumbledore spoke.

‘The beauty of the sun, Sirius, is that each day the cycle begins again. If one thought deeply about it one might say that the sun’s very life starts with the daybreak and that at each night, as the sun sets, the day is forgotten and the promise dawns of a new beginning.’

Sirius faced Dumbledore wearily. ‘I don’t believe he’s changed, Albus,’ he said simply. He knew what his old headmaster was getting at. He expected him to give Snape a chance to “begin anew”. ‘Have you forgotten what he did? I have always known that he took the prophesy to Voldemort. I heard – as you must – everything he did to ingratiate himself with Voldemort. My cousin Bellatrix was most vocal in her insane, wicked ramblings, especially when she knew I was near. She knew all along of my innocence, and for years I don’t care to count she taunted me about James and Lily. When she did so, she couldn’t help but remind me who it was who helped Voldemort in their demise. Don’t forget that we were children at school together and she knew of the rivalry between me and Severus. The dementors let her go on because they could sense that it affected me more than their cloaks ever could.

He sighed, again drinking from his glass. ‘I’m not asking for your pity, Albus,’ he went on, ‘simply your understanding. You act as you think best, but to me Snape will always be a traitor. He was always a coward – from school to his days as a Death Eater - and as I look at him now that’s all I see.’

‘And yet,’ Dumbledore said quietly, ‘perhaps you have never really looked hard enough. I once told Severus that you and he were similar,’ Sirius snorted but Dumbledore held up a cloaked arm, ‘You were both raised in unhappy homes; you are both stubborn, you are both resilient and you are both fiercely loyal …’

‘Loyal?’ Sirius spat incredulously, ‘you compare my loyalty to that – snake’s?’

‘I don’t expect you to understand,’ Dumbledore said patiently. ‘You wear your heart very much on your sleeve, but Severus has shown great loyalty to the Order since he returned. Despite what you think of him, he risks his life every time that he stands before Voldemort, and that he does on our behalf.’

‘He says he does,’ Sirius said, ‘but how can you be sure? He spent many years perfecting his act to the outside world when he was a Death Eater, who is to say that it’s not an act that we see now?’

‘I know that not to be the case.’

Dumbledore’s face remained calm, but his voice was firmer than it had been till then. Sirius took the warning, but he could not leave the statement unchallenged.

‘You have said so before, but you have never said why you are so sure.’

‘What happened is between Severus and myself. I must respect his wishes to keep it so.’

‘Then you must respect mine too. I’m sorry Albus. I will accept that he is a member of the Order out of respect for you, but I will keep a close watch on him, especially where my Godson is concerned. It’s what James and Lily would have wanted.’

‘Is it?’ Dumbledore said sadly. ‘I’m not sure Sirius.’ He got to his feet. ‘However, your heart will lead you as it must; just be careful that you do not become bitter. Times are dark and we will need as much friendship as we can to guide us through them.’

Before he got to the door Dumbledore turned back. He could see that the bottomless eyes of the other man were bright with tears. It reminded Dumbledore of a day many years ago. It was the day before Sirius was due to go home for the summer holidays in his first year at Hogwarts. Dumbledore had found him alone, for once without his usual circle of friends, sitting by the river and watching the sunrise. The same vulnerable expression had coloured his face. Though Sirius had maintained his façade of bravery, pretending that he was simply out of bed to be disobedient, Dumbledore had sensed his fear at returning to Orion and Walburga. They gave him a terrible time at home, and despite acting like he didn’t care, Dumbledore knew that their constant cruelty had wounded the boy much more than he would ever care to tell anyone – except perhaps James.

Dumbledore paused for a moment, his eyes tracing the lines on the younger man’s face. He saw clearly the sadness and loneliness that surrounded his heart. ‘If I could take back the years you spent in Azkaban I would, Sirius,’ he said gently.

Sirius looked up and half-smiled, half-nodded at the elder man. ‘And I would let you with all my heart, Albus’ he said, before turning his eyes back up to the stars.

Michael Pickles woke abruptly and rolled over on the cold, stone floor. The baby was crying again; it had been crying on and off all night. Michael blinked his eyes and then rubbed at them aggressively. As he looked up at his brother Lee he sighed with the frustration that was becoming second nature to him in within the circular walls of their prison. His younger brother had the baby cradled in a ragged blanket and was rocking him silently, as though he would be able to comfort it and take away the pain. In truth the baby was cold, hungry and wet.

When their vile blonde captor had brought the baby in kicking and screaming, he had simply placed him on the floor at their feet with a malicious smile and not a word of explanation. He had given them nothing they needed to look after it with the exception a small bottle of milk that occasionally refilled itself. There was no crib, no change of clothes, no toys or bath, and only a dirty towel for a nappy and a bucket of cold water to clean it. Michael had a very bad feeling about it all. It told him that they were perhaps not expected to be in the prison much longer. He glanced up at Lee and saw fear and confusion in the deep blue eyes. He noticed that the usual twinkle had been dulled and his heart sank - it was starting to feel beyond him to protect his younger siblings. Lee, he knew, was still weak from the curse that the man had thrown at him several days earlier. Michael had thought for one awful moment that he was dead, but it turned out that it had been just another trick to try to break them.

Michael had never seen such hatred from anyone as the man showed to them and he wondered often as to the cause of it.

‘Shut him up, will you?’ Michael snapped now as the screaming rose a few decibels and the chubby fists pummelled the air. It had been days since he had slept properly and it made him short with his brother.

‘He can’t help it,’ Lee said quietly.

‘I know,’ Michael said at once, sorry now. He sat up. ‘Here, give him to me.’

Wordlessly Lee passed his elder brother the crying baby. Michael absentmindedly wiped snot and tears from the small nose and mouth with his sleeve.

‘He’s hungry,’ Lee said.

‘We’re all hungry,’ Michael said, wondering at his brother’s irritating knack of stating the bleeding obvious. He looked down into the familiar podgy face. Since the wizard had brought this baby instead of his brother, Thomas, back to the dungeon Michael had been trying to shake off any feeling of recognition. He refused to believe that his eight year-old brother had been transformed to the one-year-old baby he now held, but as he looked at him closely any doubt left him. It was Thomas, from the turned up nose to the stubborn chin. He didn’t find it strange how rapidly he accepted this explanation, even though, before they had been taken, he had thought magic was something you only read in fairy-tales. He was resilient and shrewd and had adapted to the fact that anything was possible in their current situation. What he had yet to figure out was how he could use it to his advantage.

‘What are we going to do?’ Thomas said. He played with his hands as he spoke refusing to look at Michael. He had repeated the question so many times since they had been taken that he half-expected a clout for his troubles. It seemed, however, that Michael was beyond anger.

Michael sighed. He lay down on his back, with baby Thomas cradled to his chest, hoping to share with him what little warmth remained in his body. Above him the crackling lantern swung like a pendulum in the draft that rattled their dungeon day and night. He followed it with his eyes listlessly, back and forth, back and forth, as Thomas grumbled with hunger. The spindly shadows that the dim light cast round the circular funnel seemed to grow and dart over them both, like a spiders web taunting them, waiting for the moment it would snare them and engulf them with darkness. He blinked rapidly as the ugly gargoyle of the fairy with the broken wing appeared to wink at him. It wasn’t the first time Michael had imagined things in the still of the night. He sometimes got the feeling that the twisted piece of stone was watching over their every move.

‘I don’t know,’ he answered at last.

Lee hugged his knees up to his chest in resignation and closed his eyes. It had been the answer he had expected. He tried to blank his mind so that sleep might overcome him. At least when he slept he didn’t have to deal with their situation; he could imagine that he was in his own, comfortable bed that he shared with two of his younger brothers; he could pretend that they were kicking and jostling with each other for the warm quilt, safe in the knowledge that when they woke there would be a cooked breakfast and clean clothes; their mother’s smiling face and his father ready to ruffle his hair before he left for his job in the factory. Those memories, however, were getting fainter and fainter. There were times when he couldn’t even picture his room or their high-rise flat. He was a sensible boy and a realist. He knew in his heart that, despite Michael’s assurances that they would escape, there was a good chance that they would never see home again. He cursed himself for all the times he had taken his mother and father and brothers and sister for granted. He had the niggling feeling that he would never see normal life again. As Lee looked at the sobbing baby that seemed to have once been his brother, Thomas, he felt angry tears spring to his eyes. He put his head into his hands, trying to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that that was only the beginning of what the dark wizard had in store for them.

Alastor Moody and Nymhadora Tonks were positioned on top of a chalk downland on the edge of Wiltshire. They had their brooms in their hands and were huddled together under an undetectable concealment charm that they had had approved by one of the Order’s “marks” in the ministry – being that this wasn’t strictly “official business”; in fact it was very unofficial. Tonks held out her wrist displaying a thin glowing bracelet, which was really a ward-detector, and pointed it towards the manor that lay upon the hill. After a few moments a frown altered her face and her hair turned impulsively from discreet-black to blood-red. 

‘Alastor!’ she hissed, ‘I can’t apparate inside the Malfoy’s manor – the charms are such that only a pure-blood could even hope to gain admittance. And even if I could, the spells are more intricate than those that guard the Ministry of Magic.’

‘Pull yourself together, girl, and talk sense,’ Alastor said gruffly, automatically taking a swig from his small flask. ‘Do you really think that Dumbledore would have given us the task if we couldn’t have completed it?’

‘But these wards are new,’ Tonks said waving her wand over the bracelet. ‘There’s no way that Dumbledore …’

‘Don’t underestimate the knowledge of Albus Dumbledore,’ Alastor interrupted impatiently, stabbing the air in front of her with a thick lined finger to reiterate his point. ‘Do you really think that a wizard of his calibre could be outwitted by the likes of Lucius Malfoy?’ He spat out the words contemptuously and Tonks paused to wipe the drops of saliva from her face before replying.

‘Even Dumbledore can’t predict the workings of the Death Eaters,’ she said.

Alastor smiled grimly. His glass eye rotated wildly in its socket, which it often did when he was agitated. ‘He has Snape, doesn’t he? He does have his uses.’

Tonks pulled her sleeve back over the detector. Mad-Eye had spoken in a tone quite different to his usual bark and she waited for him to continue, sensing that there was more to the rescue than the information she had been given in the meeting. As an Auror she understood that operations such as the one they were about to carry out involved high risks which necessitated secrecy.

Alastor seemed now to be weighing something up in his mind. It was a long few minutes before he spoke again in hushed and deliberate tones -

‘Dumbledore knows of a magic that goes deeper than anything Lucius Malfoy would ever let himself remember. There have been rules guarding our world since Salazar Slytherin spread his poison. Why else have we been able to live alongside muggles? Voldemort tried every trick in the book to rid the world of them – but even he had to deal with the laws I am about to tell you. Muggles, for all we might consider them harmless, have had ties with the magical world since our time began. They would, as well we all know, flounder in any duel with the magical world, but since it has not been the general intention of most magical folk to quarrel with muggles, we have, over the years, put in place conventions that would stand them in better stead.’

‘But muggles have always been slaughtered by Dark Wizards,’ Tonks said.

Moody glowered. ‘If you would let me speak and not interrupt I will explain,’ he said. Tonks reddened slightly and nodded.

‘There have been those – such as the Death Eaters – who have killed muggles for sport. No one can hope to stem the tide of insanity that has affected men and wizards since time began, but the leaders of the muggles that have been in contact with the Ministry through the years have often come to agreements about what is known as “times of war”. The clause that we are going to use to rescue the children was put in place, I believe, by the Prime Minister of the muggle world, Winston Churchill, after the war of 1938. It was agreed, in collusion with the Ministry of Magic, that any muggles taken as prisoners of war by members of the wizarding world would be granted the Right-to-Magical-Intrusion-and-Participation if it could be proved that there were two warring sides and so they were indeed prisoners of war. It was set in place to even out the score between muggles and us. In this case it qualifies because the Death Eaters are set against the Order of the Phoenix. It doesn’t grant prisoners an immediate ticket home, but it does mean that they are granted temporary magical power to aid their release. It is not a law well-known except in those trusted by the Ministry – in fact out of the Order, only Dumbledore was privy to the information and that was only because of his service when Voldemort last terrorised our world. But it is a law, and we can use it now – without Ministry approval or knowledge. It is something written into the very fabric of our world and it can’t be refused in any circumstances – to do so would guarantee the captors immediate death - which is why I suppose Voldemort has gone to such lengths to keep the imprisonment secret from the order - not even trusting Snape with the knowledge.’

‘But they’re children!’ Tonks said. ‘They can’t possibly hope to know the law or use it.’

‘And that’s where we come in,’ Alastor said. ‘You are proficient, or so I’ve been told, in Legilimency.’

‘Yes’ Tonks agreed, ‘though nowhere near the powers of Severus …’

‘Severus is occupied elsewhere,’ Alastor said firmly. ‘We will use legilimency to guide the children’s use of magic. We also need this helmet plucked from the head of a general in World War Two,’ he added, fishing deeply into his robes and taking the item out. ‘It has been bled over by the two leaders that agreed to the convention – and Dumbledore managed to procure it from the ministry through Kingsley Shacklebolt. It will serve our purpose.’

‘It seems too easy,’ Tonks said looking at the helmet dubiously. Seeing Alastor’s dour expression she knew she had spoken rightly.

Alastor said simply, ‘The magical law requires that the liberating side show it a sacrifice. One of us will have to lose a limb. We will place it in the helmet in order to ignite its powers. They had to make such a dispensation so that it would not be easy for muggles to bribe wizards to invoke the law.’

‘Oh perfect!’ Tonks said.

Alastor smiled. ‘I’ll use one of my fingers,’ he said. ‘If we are successful it will grow back in “five and twenty years”’.

‘You mightn’t be alive in “five and twenty years”,’ Tonks said grinning. ‘We can use my little finger if you like; I’ve never been partial to it.’ As if to prove the point, she waved her wand and magicked a large hunting knife. ‘Might as well do it properly,’ she said, and, before Alastor could protest, she sliced off the little finger of her left hand and placed it in her helmet, stemming the stream of blood with a quick binding spell.

‘There was no need for that you silly girl,’ Alastor blustered, his one eye filled with revulsion at the sight of the pale amputated finger in the helmet. ‘You won’t be able to grow it back using your metamorphmagus abilities.’

Tonks shrugged. ‘It’s about time I bore a scar or two – the other Aurors are beginning to talk.’ She spoke with bravado, but in actual fact the pain that seared through her arm was quite acute and she had to bite her lip hard to stop herself wincing at the sight of her finger in the helmet. As she looked into the elder mans’ eyes, however, and saw the new respect for her in them she felt that it was worth it.

‘Right then,’ he said abruptly, taking out his wand, ‘time for phase two.’

Far away in Spinners End Severus Snape was pacing his faded living room carpet; fifteen steps forward a precise turn and then fifteen steps back. Lucius, as usual, was late.

 Snape had left Potter screaming and crying for him that afternoon. It had also been a difficult night. Snape thought that the young child had perhaps picked up on his preoccupied mood. Snape had paced his study all night, his mind going over the meeting with Lucius. Every now and then the boy’s small voice had called for him. When Snape had ignored it had broken down into tears. He had given up in the end and fetched Potter from his bed.

‘Me sleepy,’ Harry had said through tears.

‘Well go to sleep then,’ Snape had said with exasperation.

‘Can’t,’ had been the response. ‘Baddy men.’ It seemed that the child was having nightmares. ‘Pale-baddy,’ Harry had said, snot bubbling around his nose.

Snape had raised his eyebrow wryly. He had the feeling that he knew exactly what Potter was referring to. If he had been a bit older and more able to communicate, then Snape thought he might have pressed the child to tell him his dream – after all they had often been significant in the past - but the inane ramblings of a toddler were no use to him.

‘Want bobba milky,’ Harry had then said innocently. Snape had to admire his persistence. He had been trying to persuade him to give him his bottle in various ways for days. Instead Snape had given him a tumbler of milk to drink. Harry had slurped it cross-legged on the floor as Snape had resumed his pacing. After a few minutes Harry had gotten to his feet and shadowed Snape, pursing his lips and pushing his eyebrows down into a frown, trying to emulate the potions master with his deliberate walk and using his dressing gown to copy the billowing cloak. If Snape had been inclined to humour he might even have smiled. It made him feel slightly gratified that the boy tried so hard to copy him.

‘Time for bed,’ Snape had said at last as Harry’s eyelids had begun to droop. He had scooped him up into his arms and then laid him gently in his bed to little protest.

Harry had looked tensely up at him as he was about to leave and said uncertainly, ‘Mean baddies?’

‘No bad men will enter my chambers,’ Snape had assured him, as he absentmindedly tucked the covers around the small body. ‘You are quite safe with me.’

‘Nice Nape, goody Nape,’ Harry had said, satisfied, before rolling over with Cheep-Cheep tucked snugly under his arm. Snape had watched him silently until his breathing became regular, strangely relaxed in the toddler’s presence; he had then snuffed out the lamp and gone back to his study to resume the rhythmic pacing that helped him to think.

Snape was woken from his musings by a loud crack that reverberated around the room and shook its walls. Lucius Malfoy appeared a few feet in front of him smiling knowingly. A split second after the second crack Snape’s whole body stiffened as he realised that Lucius hadn’t come alone. He rushed to draw his wand, his black eyes burning with hatred as the second man did the same. He heard the malicious laughter of Lucius and curses in the air, before, with a purple flash of light and a sickening thud a body dropped to floor.

Snape stood back in horror as he regarded the body on the floor. His curse hadn’t meant to kill, only shock, which was how he knew Lucius had murdered his ally – the relatively new Death Eater that Lucius had recruited on one of his recent drives. It was a man called Eric Stiffbroom. He had been only a first year when Snape had been in his last year of Hogwarts; Snape’s sharp memory now reluctantly recalled the freckle-faced midget he had been to mind.

‘Now you know I’m serious,’ Lucius said smiling. He went to the dusty glass cabinet and retrieved the bottle of fire-whiskey that had stood untouched for many years, serving as an item of display if anything. Instead of wiping the thick layer of dust from its stem, he took his wand and cleaned the glass so that it gleamed like new.

Lucius poured two glasses and Snape took his without a word, downing the hot liquid until warmth spread through his body. He realised that he had needed the drink to steady himself, if not outwardly – his mask never slipped – but somewhere within. It had been a long time since he had heard the killing curse rolled off the tongue so maliciously. His adversary, however, watched him amused, as though Snape had shown some weakness that could be used to Lucius' advantage.

‘I thought I should take some precaution,’ Lucius smiled. ‘It seems that I was correct.’

Snape looked at the lifeless form on the floor. The eyes were bulbous and unblinking, the whites marred by cobwebs of red broken veins and an expression of pure shock frozen in the pupils forever. The dark mark stared back at them from the thick pale wrist. Snape realised that had Lucius not killed the man, he himself would have been lying in his stead. He could feel no gratitude, however. There was a price to be paid and for the moment Snape could only wonder at what it would be.

‘You wanted me out of my Manor, Severus,’ Lucius said after a few moments of silence. 'And you knew that Narcissa was not there - being with our relatives that live in the alps.' He had removed his paper-thin leather gloves and placed them on the crooked coffee table. He inspected the upholstery of the green velvet armchair, finding it lacking, before, grudgingly, sitting down on it, his sheer-black cloak like a shroud around him. ‘This fool,’ he pointed with the toe of his silver-capped boot, ‘came to help me find out why. Now we are co-conspirators in the murder of one of the Dark Lord’s newest recruits, perhaps you would like to tell me yourself.’ He paused, an unnatural gleam appearing in the pale irises - ‘Before I finish what he started.’

‘Legilimency isn’t enough,’ Tonks said after several moments of concentration. ‘The children’s minds aren’t open to it.’

Nymphadora Tonks and Alastor Moody had wound their way closer to Lucius’ Manor. The sacrifice Tonks had made seemed to allow them an ocular advantage that neither had expected. The cloak of invisibility that guarded the Manor from less than pure bloods’ eyes – which made it appear simply as a country house - had been lifted and the dense shadows of the building now appeared bold and many in the dusky light. Both Aurors had been mesmerised briefly by the vast towers, turrets and battlements that made up Lucius’ ancestral home; the moat that surrounded it running with oozing green liquid that harboured Bogdugs and Kappas and other swamp dwelling creatures; the drawbridge and portcullis, guarded by creatures of stone – dragons, fairies and Cyclops – that had an air of realness about them that made one think that they had once lived and could do so again. It was purely breath-taking. Even the protective stone walls had decorative carvings shorn into each brick, some engraved with solid silver.

They stood now a mile or so away from the area of sunken cloisters that Draco had told them held the Pickle children’s dungeon. The night was clammy, and the cloying smell of lillies that Narcissa decorated the gardens with invaded their nostrils, along with the fresher smell of dewy grass. Both of them felt a chill that was unnatural in the mild evening, but neither of them commented upon it.

Alastor concentrated on the vision that Dumbledore had shared with him, siphoned from Draco’s memories that afternoon. His revolving eye searched the grounds, eventually settling on an arch and a fairy that guarded the gardens.

‘There is a stone fairy that guards the children – the Fairy of the Damned.’ He pointed, allowing Tonks time to take out her monocle, which was really a high-powered telescope – standard issue for all aurors. She put it to her eye and focused where Alastor indicated. ‘That is his brother – the Fairy of All Souls. You see his broken wing?’ Tonks nodded. ‘Its twin had the opposite wing broken. It is symbolic – to stop them fleeing their master. Draco’s eyes lingered upon it when he entered his father’s mind. It should serve us now – Dumbledore commented upon it this very afternoon. One is connected to the other and it may be able to aid the children’s escape.’

‘How?’ Tonks said, genuinely surprised at such a deduction. ‘The fairy and its brother are under Lucius’ protection. Surely he wouldn’t use the fairies if they were liable to help their captives.

Alastor grinned and it was such a shock to Tonks that she dropped her monocle.

‘I don’t see what’s so funny …’

‘Your confidence in Lucius,’ he said. ‘His arrogance will always be his downfall. He doesn’t suspect for one moment that the fairies under his watch would ever betray him. He presumes their loyalty like his forefathers. That is if he even deigns to think of them at all. I think you may be surprised by what we find. Besides which,’ he added with a low chuckle, tapping his nose, ‘stone fairies are easily bribed. They are fickle as they come.’

Alastor set off in the direction of the gardens and Tonks followed, astounded that something so simple might be the saving of the children. She took out her wand - they still had certain wards to penetrate and the creatures of the moat to tackle.

‘So,’ Lucius said, animated for the first time after hearing what Snape had to say, ‘Dumbledore and his lapdogs have discovered my connection the children?’ He spat the last word out contemptuously.

Snape smiled sardonically, drinking in the fear in Lucius that now showed in his demeanour.

‘Oh it’s more than that, Lucius; those lapdogs, as you put it, are at this very moment in the process of rescue.’

‘That is impossible!’ Lucius said dismissively. ‘The very fabric of my Manor protects them.’

‘You are mistaken,’ Snape said carefully. ‘Albus Dumbledore would not promise rescue where there was hope of none. You know that.’

Lucius stood up, making use of his full height. ‘Then it is you that have aided them.’

Snape’s eyes gleamed with an amusement that he didn’t feel. ‘I don’t think so,’ he said. ‘I did not know of the plan until the hour in which you received my owl by raven’s quill. As you know, and as the Dark Lord knows, there are many plans that the Order does not make me privy to. They, like he, are concerned as to what I might be forced to confess under deep powers of torture.’

Lucius regarded Snape’s unblinking gaze for a few moments, searching the very light reflected by his pupils for a moment of weakness. He found none - though in truth he had not expected to.

‘What do you want from me?’ he spat at last. ‘If you took this information to our Lord then you could finish me. He would not allow one of his mark to be discovered by those fools so easily.’

Snape relaxed slightly. It had taken much for Lucius to admit this and he decided that it needed proper deference. He knew that his old friend was in recovery mode. He refilled their glasses from the bottle of fire-whiskey, offering Lucius the second.

‘I want nothing,’ he said. ‘I have played my part in league with the Order. You were away from your Manor tonight – though the Death of this unfortunate,’ he gestured to the dead man, ‘was not part of the deal.’

Lucius smiled, as if remembering for the first time the man that lay at their feet. ‘He was my insurance,’ he said. ‘If you had denied all knowledge of our meeting to the Dark Lord then I could give him proof of your deceit. The traces of your disarming spell lay on his skin.’

‘The Dark Lord need know nothing of the purpose of our meeting,’ Snape said carefully, watching for Lucius’ reaction. ‘Just as he need not know that you have allowed the Order to guess your plans. I presume that you have not given him the details yourself?’

‘What do you know of my plans for the muggle brats?’ Lucius roared. His pale eyes now shone in brilliant anger and his face reddened with an angry flush. Snape noted that the fingers of his hand held his wand tightly – ready for action.

‘Only that it was you and your – minions- that took them from the green in London. That knowledge was imparted through the Order. They have not yet ascertained the cause for the kidnap – nor, I must admit, have I.’

Lucius visibly relaxed. ‘What I held them for is over and done,’ he said rather smugly. ‘The Order have acted too late.’

Snape filed this information away in the layers of his mind for future reference, but outwardly he gave a little nod. ‘Then the Dark Lord, as I have guessed, did not know the details.’

‘No,’ Lucius admitted. ‘He entrusted me with a certain task to complete, but did not care to know the means through which I undertook it.’

‘Then all is well,’ Snape observed. ‘Dumbledore and his fools have achieved their mission without affecting the Dark Lord’s orders.’

‘True,’ Lucius said. ‘But that does not explain why you have taken action in the shadows, and why you did not go to Him when you first heard Dumbledore’s plans.’

Snape took an exaggerated breath. He drained his glass purposefully and allowed Lucius to see him wring his hands.

‘I feel that our Lord tires of me,’ he said. ‘If I had gone to him then I feel that he might have unwittingly jeopardised my position. There will come a day where I will no longer be useful as a double agent, but I do not feel the time is right to relinquish such a privileged situation – if it were so then I would be without protection.’

Lucius glowered. ‘You doubt the Dark Lord’s judgement?’ he asked shortly.

‘No, you misunderstand me,’ Snape said lightly. ‘I have merely picked up on his mood. When I am in his presence now I feel like he has a secret that none of us Death Eaters must know. It is as if there is a knowledge that makes him invincible – and one which makes his need of me less and less.’

Lucius could not keep the smug expression from his face and inwardly Snape celebrated a victory. He knew then that whatever spell Lucius had been working on was the cause for the Dark Lord’s good humour and arrogance. As always the knowledge of his foe’s feelings would eventually give him, and the Order, the advantage.

‘Very well,’ Lucius said more lightly. ‘Then we shall once again keep our own counsel. I will allow the brats to go because they are no longer of use to me, and you will keep the news of their detection from our Lord. Our friend here will have been sacrificed in battle.’

‘Very well,’ Snape said.

‘Of course we must agree to this under the unbreakable vow,’ Lucius added, as though as an afterthought. Snape stiffened momentarily, but made himself relax as he felt his adversary’s eyes drinking him in.

‘Of course.’

They both kneeled in front of each other and Lucius raised his wand, his eyes locked with Snape’s peculiarly, as though they were brothers damned by some abominable truth.

In a few moments it was over, but the unease Snape felt at their pact did not leave him, and he felt it would only vanish entirely on his death.

Tonks looked wearily at the stone fairy with the broken wing that separated them from the Malfoy’s grounds. ‘How will you awaken it?’ she asked. She was tired from fighting the Kappas in the moat, but she would not let Alastor know it. They had both skilfully unpicked the finer wards that surrounded the Manor. It had taken a great deal of time and dusk and the light of day beckoned.

Alastor took a deep breath. ‘In language that it will recognise.’

As he spoke Alastor reached up, hovering in the air, and placed his hand on the stone fairy. To Tonks’ surprise the hand began to glow, passing to the fairy until it came quite alive before her eyes. Even more surprising was when Alastor began to sing, low, in cajoling tones, enticing the hovering fairy as it beat its wings with curiosity.

Living fairy speak to me,

You were a captive, now you’ll see,

Once a nymph out of the sea,

Happy once again you’ll be.

Imprisoned here a thousand years,

You’ve watched over those in tears

With no choice you’ve been held here,

Help us now and hold us dear.

Captive fairy, look around,

Those you keep let roam abound.

They’ve done nothing ill or bad

Help us now and you’ll be glad.

Living fairy speak to me,

You were captive, dead to plea,

Once a nymph out of the sea,

Let our riches set you free.

Alastor then reached in his pocket and took out several pieces of gold.

The Fairy of All Souls, having listened to the song, grew happy and snatched the gold from the hand, taking a small sack from around his bony neck and placing the warm metal in it, pulled the leather cord tight. It spoke to Alastor in high and excited tones.

‘Me and my brother hate the captives that Lucius has lately given us. These are muggle children that have done nothing and we have welcomed the chance for such liberators. We have watched how our former master treated them. One of the children has changed – maybe forever. We will give them up gladly for your cause and for our freedom and the coffers that line our purse.’

Alastor smiled. ‘How do we find them?’

The fairy blinked the long lashes of his eyes. ‘My brother will awaken them. Nothing can come from beyond. You will have to invoke the clause.’

‘As prisoners of war?’ Tonks said.

The fairy looked at the stump that stood instead of the finger on Tonk's hand. ‘I see you have already made the sacrifice. That will do. You must wait on the hill. My brother will rally the children – he will help them dissaparate. The magic will last only for three-hundred breaths. After that they will be lost forever.’

‘The promise I have made you will be kept,’ Alastor said. He pointed his wand at the fairy and in a flash of blue light restored the broken wing.

‘I think me and my twin are beyond redemption,’ the fairy smiled, stretching the newly-mended wing. ‘But at least we will not be poor, nor stone captives for eternity. This is the first time I have felt the wind through my wings for five-hundred years and for that I am grateful – it revives me. Do not trust us though, Alastor Moody, I and my brother will fold to the highest bidder – it is our nature. Know that I am satisfied now that the children will get away; if I had a conscience then It would twinge for them at least.’ He smiled. ‘Good-bye my friends. Now and forever …’

‘Michael, wake up,’ Lee said. He had heard singing in his sleep, but now he knew he was wide awake. The stone fairy that had stood above them was smiling and batting his wings furiously.

‘Wazzthematter?’ Michael asked sleepily.

Lee shook him, waking Thomas in the process. The baby, who seemed to have grown several months in the past few days, did not cry, though, he simply stretched out his fists and blinked rapidly.

‘Hungwy,’ he said.

‘Not again!’ Michael groaned. He was just about to roll back over and go to sleep when the fairy caught his eye; his crooked and twisted head nodded at him.

Michael grabbed Thomas into his arms and put his arms round Lee’s shoulders.

‘What do you want?’ he demanded. The fairy laughed.

‘Little human, do not fear,

I come to take you far from here,

This makeshift wand will take you thither,

To our saviours I’ll deliver,

You and all your brothers two,

Make haste for time won’t wait for you.’

As he finished the song the fairy wrenched the stalk from his broken wing, white feathers falling around them like a blanket of snow. He threw it to Michael’s feet and it glowed orange before bursting into flames, to the shock of Lee and Thomas. It then settled itself into a thin, wooden pole.

‘Your wand,’ the fairy said with a smile. ‘Pick it up.’

‘Don’t trust ‘im,’ Lee said. ‘It might be one of the wizard’s tricks.’

‘Cawww,’ the fairy roared, swooping down to their level; it’s face was twisted with fury. ‘Say the curse!!! Say it now you fools!’

Michael, almost in a dream, picked up the wand.’

‘The clause will work now – but be quick,’ the fairy urged.

As soon as the wand was in his hand, Michael found that he knew exactly what to say.

‘To the hills,’ he shouted, clutching his brothers tightly.

In a ray of sparks and hissing, Michael, Lee and Thomas Pickles felt themselves leave their dungeon. In a sensation that felt like being washed down the plug-hole they were transported to the top of a hill, the fairy’s laughter still ringing in their ears. Alastor and Tonks were waiting to receive them.

‘Let’s away to Hogwarts,’ Alastor said at once, as the children whirled above their heads and then tumbled to the ground – baby Thomas still safe in Michael’s arms. ‘Dumbledore will know how to proceed.’

Without a word of protest Michael and Lee took their arms and the strange sensation began again.

When Lee and Michael, who was trying his best to hang on to a wailing and struggling Thomas, has dusted themselves down they found themselves in front of a strange man with twinkling blue eyes and a long grey beard.

They were in an even stranger office. Lee could only gawp around in wonder at the various objects; the moving, muttering pictures of what seemed, from their long robes and pointed hats, to be wizards observing them from the walls; the proud, magnificent, red bird standing and smiling at him from a shining silver perch above a mound of ashes; the deep star-studded bowls of coloured boiled sweets; ones which also glittered and steamed, giving off such a pleasant mix of aromas that it made Lee’s stomach roar with hunger. Finally, the four shining shields on the wall decorated with different coloured metals and jewels with an animal on each; a snake, a lion, some kind of bird and a badger.

‘It’s not much but its mine,’ Dumbledore said to Lee with a smile, nodding first to Alastor and then Tonks who were standing on each side of the boys.

‘Its … Its …magic!’ Lee said as one of the paintings pointed at him and his brother, whispering furiously to the lady next to him.

‘Quite,’ Dumbledore said. ‘And much more pleasant I suppose than the quarters you have till now been occupying in Lucius’ dungeons. I see that the rescue went to plan.’

‘Just about,’ Alastor nodded. ‘The girl here lost a finger.’

‘A worthy sacrifice, Nymphadora,’ Dumbledore said; ‘and one that will be easy to cover up in due course.’ Nymphadora flushed with pleasure – her hair turning a bright shade of pink.

‘Lucius?’ Michael said, his eyes narrowing, as he tried to calm a still-shrieking Thomas. ‘Is that the geezer what took us?’

Dumbledore looked confused only for a moment. ‘Oh you mean your kidnapper?’

Michael nodded.

‘Yes that was him.’

‘He could do tricks,’ Lee said. ‘He had a wand. He made me whole body hurt just by pointing it at me and he …’

‘Shush,’ Michael said sharply, stopping his brother’s rambling. He looked at Dumbledore suspiciously. ‘Who are you?’ he said. ‘Where have you got us now?’ He fingered the wand that the fairy had given him. ‘We want to go home.’

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and looked at Michael for a few moments. He could see from the way he was with his brothers that he was a kind and sensible boy. He was obviously suspicious that they had been taken from one prison to another and no-one could blame him for that – it must have been a horrendous experience. Even worse, as Dumbledore had expected, Lucius had already carried out some kind of experiment on the youngest child. Dumbledore’s eyes clouded slightly as he looked at the distraught toddler. He stroked his beard thoughtfully.

‘Have a lemon drop,’ he said at last. Lee went to reach for a sweet but Michael grabbed his arm to stop him – which was very difficult with Thomas still wriggling around.

‘Don’t trust him,’ he said. Lee pulled his hand back as though he had been burned.

‘Nymphadora, why don’t you take the little one to the hospital wing whilst I have a talk to Michael and Lee?’ Dumbledore said.

‘Of course,’ Nymphadora said, holding her arms out for the toddler.

Michael hugged his brother closely to him. ‘You aren’t taking my brother anywhere. You hear me? You aren’t having him.’ As he spoke he drew his wand with his free arm, though unlike the last time no words came easily into his mind.

‘Don’t be stupid, boy,’ Alastor said. ‘We’re trying to help you. It was Lucius that was trying to hurt you.’

Dumbledore held his hand up. ‘It’s okay Alastor. Michael has every right to be suspicious.’

‘How do you know my name?’ Michael demanded, still pointing his wand in the headmaster’s direction.

‘I know many things about both you and your brothers,’ Dumbledore said. ‘I know that you were taken by Lucius exactly two weeks, three days and seven hours ago when you were playing truant from school. I know that in those weeks you have all suffered greatly at the hands of your captor. I know that you must be very frightened and that you are – quite rightly – wary of trusting us.’

‘I’m not scared of you!’ Michael said, stepping in front of Lee.

‘Michael,’ Dumbledore said kindly, ‘I give you my word that me and my friends,’ he gestured to Alastor and Tonks, ‘will not harm you. In fact the opposite is true; we mean to reunite you with your mother and father and your family as soon as possible.’

Michael watched Dumbledore very carefully as he spoke in his calm, gentle tone. There was something in his voce and his pale eyes that inspired confidence; something that gave Michael a feeling deep down inside that he could trust him.

‘You can get us back to our Muvver?’ he said slowly.

Dumbledore nodded. ‘I give you my word – and my word is something I have never gone back on in the one-hundred and fifty years, four months and seventeen days I have been alive. Lee giggled in spite of himself. ‘We have brought you here, to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, simply as a stop gap between our world and yours.’

‘School?’ Lee said, his eyes wide. ‘What you mean kids come here to learn how to use magic?’

‘But of course,’ Dumbledore said. ‘Just as you go to school to learn about muggle things.’

‘Muggle?’ Lee said confused.

‘Non-magic,’ Dumbledore explained. ‘But there will be plenty of time for explanations later; I am sure you have many questions to ask. What is important first is to have you checked over in our hospital wing. The state of Thomas, of course, does complicate things a bit.’

Michael looked down at his brother. ‘We wondered at first if it was really him. The evil …,’ he searched for a less offensive word from the one he intended, ‘…man, just dumped him down without a dicky-bird. But see I was nearly four when he was born. I think I knew it was him all along really – I couldn’t mistake that screeching anywhere. He’s always been a noisy baby. Me Mum reckons he takes after me Grandad.’ He looked up at Dumbledore. ‘Can’t you change him back? Using magic I mean.’

‘I’m afraid it’s not that simple,’ Dumbledore said. ‘The dark magic used on your brother is very powerful. In fact we have another child – a student from this school – in the same predicament as we speak. Lucius belongs to a group of Dark Wizards called Death Eaters – you know what dark means?’

‘Bad,’ Lee said.

‘Yes I suppose that is one way of describing it.’

‘Damn evil monsters would be another,’ Alastor muttered.

‘In any case,’ Dumbledore interrupted, ‘they are working with a very powerful wizard who must have some use for a spell that will turn an older person back to an infant. I believe that Lucius was testing this spell on young Thomas.’

‘But does that mean … does that mean Tommy’s going to be like that for ever?’ Lee said aghast.

‘Lets hope not,’ Dumbledore smiled. ‘The magic is certainly powerful, but I still have a few “tricks” up my sleeve.’

Michael could believe it. The fire in the wizard’s eyes when he spoke about these Death Eaters told him that he would definitely not be a man to cross.

‘Tommy, Tommy,’ Thomas yelled, stopping crying for a moment. He pulled at a handful of Michael’s hair. All this talking was upsetting him. He was hungry and tired and wanted to run around a bit. He had just learned to walk. He bucked against Michael. ‘Down, down!!!’

‘I think a hot meal is also in order,’ Dumbledore said, ‘and perhaps a spot of exercise for young Thomas. Now if you don’t want to leave your brother with Nymphadora, then perhaps you could all go down together to the hospital wing. Madame Pomfrey will see you all have a warm bed for the night – I don’t think it wise to do any more till the morning. You are safe here in the castle for now.’

‘I suppose,’ Michael said as Lee yawned. He really did want to trust the people who seemed to have rescued them, and, being wise, he realised that he really had no other choice. Besides which the thought of real food and an actual bed and not wet stone floor to sleep on was too tempting. He put Tommy on his feet. ‘Come on then, you. I’m not lugging you about all day. Let’s see if you can put those chubby legs to good use.’

In response, Tommy kicked out at his brother and then raced off through the office towards the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore’s end of the spiral staircase. Michael and Lee followed him, led by Tonks.

Dumbledore beckoned Alastor towards him.

‘Make sure Nymphadora stays with the children, Alastor. And then would you please return to headquarters? If Severus has been unsuccessful then we need to be prepared.

‘No word then yet, is there?’ Alastor said.

Dumbledore pressed his fingertips together. ‘No.’

‘Well that doesn’t mean anything,’ Alastor said, slightly uncomfortable at the look of sadness on his old friend’s face. ‘You know Snape – he’s as slippery as a two-headed bog eel. If anyone can pull it off, he can.’

‘I have every faith in Severus,’ Dumbledore said. ‘However, I think that perhaps Lucius will not be one to forget easily what he will no doubt see as a serious defeat to his pride. There may be troubling times to come – and if the Order are divided …’ He trailed off, apparently finishing the sentence in his mind.

‘Divided?’ Alastor said. ‘I don’t understand.’

Dumbledore smiled. ‘Ignore me, I am perhaps becoming brooding in my old age. The Order will no doubt stand together as it has always done. Now there is work to be done.’

Alastor knew he was being dismissed. He also felt that Dumbledore wasn’t being strictly truthful. As he was preparing to apparate, this feeling was confounded as the elder wizard said calmly, ‘Watch out for Severus for me,’ before Alastor disappeared into the fire in a cloud of green smoke.

Later that evening there was another apparation – this time to Grimmauld Place. Snape had decided that it would not be wise to head straight from Spinners End to Hogwarts because he didn’t know exactly what Lucius’ true intentions were. Though he had made the unbreakable vow not to relate the nights’ events to the Dark Lord, Snape would not put it beyond him to try some other means to get his revenge. Though he did not relish the thought of hiding away in Grimmauld Place, he felt it the safest option for the time being. He did not want to put any of the staff or students at Hogwarts in unnecessary danger.

The other problem was of course Draco. Lucius had not yet seemed to put two and two together, or if he did he had hidden it well. There would most likely come a time, however, when he would perhaps question whether the children’s detection started with his own son, and what Draco had seen in his mind. Snape made up his mind to request that Dumbledore put as much magical protection around Draco as there was around Potter. He would also create his own wards to guard the Slytherin dormitories first thing in the morning.

Snape decided to make himself another fire-whiskey before he flooed Dumbledore for news about the children. He had got the taste for it now and he found that it was helping the slight shake that remained in his bones. As he drained the glass, however, the door to the kitchen clattered open behind him.

‘Well, well, well,’ Sirius said, ‘turning to drink now are we? What’s the matter, Snape, the meeting with your dearest friend not go to plan?’

Snape placed the glass down heavily on the counter and turned round. Sirius stood opposite him in a jet black dressing gown; his hair wild and his dark eyes flashing. His cheeks were flushed and there was an ever-so-slight slur to his tone. Snape realised that he had probably been after the fire-whiskey himself.

‘Answer me,’ Sirius said. ‘You’re not dead so you must have been successful – or unsuccessful depending on what view-point you take.’

‘I haven’t got time for this Black,’ Snape said curtly. ‘I have a report to make to Dumbledore. Some of us do have duties to attend to …’

‘What are you doing in my house then?’ Sirius said. ‘I don’t remember inviting you, nor do I remember offering you my fire-whiskey.’

‘This house is the Order’s headquarters now, Black. I don’t need your permission to be in it.’

Sirius took a step forward. ‘It’s still my house.’

‘Well of course I understand your need to feel like you’re contributing something,’ Snape said in a bored tone. ‘However, I think you’ll find that if you try and eject me from it then some of the more senior members of the Order won’t be impressed. You don’t want the Headmaster to think you’ve been disobedient again now do you? From what I’ve heard he’s quite at the end of his tether with you already.’

Snape sneered as he spoke, and Sirius started. His adversary had hit a nerve just as he had intended. Sirius was always on edge recently around the other Order members – even Remus. He was well aware that since his expedition to the park, the others had been keeping a close eye on him. They saw him as a rogue bludger on the Quidditch pitch. The problem was that the more they saw him like that, the worse he became. He had been snapping at everyone and anyone recently. His confinement to the house was making him regress to the Azkaban temperament that he had managed to shake off on the run with Buckbeak. He was beginning to need fire whiskey just to get through the day; it seemed to help him escape the claustrophobic feeling of the four walls for a few hours. But of course, even his drinking was making the others more wary and concerned. There was always people passing in and out of headquarters and he could never get any privacy.

He knew really that he should be pleased to see Snape - it meant that the mission had probably been successful and the children would have been rescued – but he couldn’t find it in himself. All it served to remind him of was his own redundancy. He felt that he was the one who should be fighting at the front line for the order like the last time Voldemort had waged war on the magical world. Instead it was his arch-enemy who was risking life and limb; the man who he suspected had been the cause of Lily and James’ death – though he had never had this confirmed by Dumbledore.

‘Speechless for a change, Black? My, my how things have changed. What has happened to that die-hard attitude you used to have?’ In his taunting, Snape unwittingly voiced Sirius’ thoughts. ‘You were the one who was going to conquer the Dark Lord – isn’t that what you used to say? It does seem like you’ve rather lost your nerve.’

Sirius hand clenched round his wand. It took every inch of his strength to prevent himself from throwing himself and several unpleasant curses at Snape. In fact the only reason he could prevent himself was because he knew that it was what the other man wanted. He wanted him to blot his copy-book once and for all with Dumbledore.

‘Go on,’ Black,’ Snape said, something inside him seemingly pushing him to go on. ‘Do it. Give me reason. I could finish you like I have finished others.’

Both men appeared shocked at these words. Snape wondered quite at what he was suggesting even as he felt himself mean what he said. He didn’t know whether it was his meeting with Lucius and the taking of the unbreakable vow that had caused it, but he felt something that he hadn’t felt in a long time – the pull of a dark sorcery teasing him closer. His head as clouded with hate and curses formed at his lips. Worse, he didn’t shrink from them. If anything he was filled with excitement – a feeling of power even.

‘What others Snape?’ Sirius said, his own wand now ready for action. ‘Innocent witches and wizards? Muggles?’ It was his turn to taunt as Snape looked uncertainly at him.

‘Look at you – you haven’t changed a bit. You are standing there talking about things that you have supposedly renounced and they excite you. You make me sick. Well go on then, do it – I dare you to do it. For I promise you this, I won’t go down without taking you with me. I owe Lily and James that much.’

Snape forced his wand back down to his side, his breath taken from him as though he had been winded at the mention of Potter’s parents. The sinister feelings left him as quickly as they had come. His breath was now shallow and he noticed the biting cold of the kitchen for the first time; the perspiration that had formed on his skin chilling him.

‘You pushed me too far, Black,’ he said at last.

Sirius pulled back his shoulders, now celebrating a victory. ‘I’ll be keeping my eye on you, Snivellus,’ he said. ‘You’ll trip yourself up again – and when you do I’ll expose you.’

Without another word, he turned on his heel and left. Wearily now, Snape picked up the fire-whiskey and poured himself another glass. Despite finishing the rest of the bottle, however, he could not again still the shake in his hand.

When Harry woke, he was surprised to find that it had been the screaming of a baby that had woke him up. Thomas actually wasn’t really a baby anymore – the spell ageing him sporadically as it had done Harry on several occasions. Madame Pomfrey had put Thomas’ age at twenty months the night before, which made him only just under a year younger than Harry. But he was smaller than Harry, had a bottle nestled under his arm and was in a cot so Harry immediately recognised him as a baby.

Harry had spent the night under Pomfrey’s care in the empty hospital wing, Snape being “away” somewhere and Hermione having to return to her dormitory after tea time. He hadn’t been very pleased about this turn of events. He liked his own bed, and liked the routine of bath-time and story-time with Nape. Pomfrey, however, had managed to keep him distracted enough with a game of exploding snap that he hadn’t really had time to think about it. Grown-up were very tricky sometimes.

Now though, he didn’t like it again. The screaming was getting on his nerves. Only silly babies cried, he thought - conveniently forgetting how he had bawled and carried on the day before when he had lost a game of snap. He sat up in his bed and peered into the cot.

‘Shut-up,’ he said sticking his fingers in his ears. ‘Shut-up, BE QUIET!’

Thomas glanced at the boy in the bed next to him for a second, but then, finding that it was another stranger, he began to cry again. He felt hopeless. For the first time in days his stomach felt full and he was clean and dry, but he was on his own – without Mikey and Lee-Lee – and he didn’t like it. He flipped over onto his stomach and beat his fists into the mattress, kicking the soft, warm blanket off. Where was he? First he had been in a dark, coldy place – now here. What had happened to his Mamma? He hadn’t seen her for ages. It was all so very unfair.

Harry held his hands firmly over his ears as the screaming got louder. After what seemed like ages, Pomfrey finally appeared.

‘Dear, dear,’ she said. ‘What’s all that fuss about?’ She bent down and hoisted Thomas up into her arms.

‘He’s bad!’ Harry said, sitting up.

‘No dear,’ Madame Pomfrey said. ‘He’s probably just hungry or missing his brothers.’ She jiggled the small child up and down, patting his back and whispering soothing words until he settled a bit. Harry pouted. He felt like it had been a long time since someone had shown him that much attention. Snape was always telling him that he was just “acting up” when he screamed.

‘There, there,’ she said, handing Thomas the bottle from his cot. ‘We’ll get you dressed and then you can go and see your brothers.’

‘Me?’ Harry said.

‘I’ll be back for you in a jiffy,’ Madame Pomfrey said.

‘Nape,’ Harry said.

‘Later, Harry, later.’

‘Where’s Nape gone?’

‘Don’t bother me with that now dear,’ she said. ‘Just you sit there quietly and look at one of your books until I get back to dress you, there’s a big boy.’ She pointed a wand at the bedside table. ‘Here’s a tumbler of milk and a few grapes to keep you going,’ she said as the food and drink instantly appeared.

Immediately Harry’s face lit up. If she was going then he could go on a little wander of his own. He got out of bed and stood coyly waiting for her to disappear. As Madame Pomfrey walked away, a grizzly Thomas settled on her hip, however, she turned round at the last minute, clapping her forehead with her free hand.

‘I almost forgot.’ She muttered a spell casting a child-proof bubble in a circle round Harry and his toys.

It was a new grown-up trick. Harry realised what it was immediately, because she had done it the day before when she’d been called away on an emergency to a Ravenclaw pillow fight that had turned nasty.

‘No!’ Harry said, running up to the bubble that surrounded him. He punched at it with his hands, but the bubble gently pushed him back.

‘It’s just to keep you out of mischief till I get back,’ Pomfrey said. ‘I won’t be long.’

Alone, Harry sat crossed legged, a frown on his face and his arms folded in a sulk. He didn’t like the fact that there was this new baby that got dressed before he did and made lots of noise and probably wore a nappy in the day and at night and didn’t even have to use the stupid potty.

His mood didn’t get any better when, at breakfast, Pomfrey sat the baby on her knee to feed him, whilst Harry was given a spoon and a bowl of cereal and expected to just get on with it. Nor was he very amused when she set them both down to play and Tom kept pulling his hair and pushing him over.

‘He’s littler than you,’ Pomfrey chided when Harry pushed him back and he fell on his head and started to cry. ‘He doesn’t understand.’

Once she had settled Thomas back down by giving him a biscuit, she took Harry by the wrist and sat him in the corner. ‘Naughty boys don’t get to play,’ she said. ‘You can stay there for a few minutes and think about what you’ve done.’

Harry was very put out and stuck his bottom lip out as far as it would go. Thomas, on the other hand, found it hilarious. He had cheered up since he had been given toys to play with and he clapped and giggled at Harry.

‘Shut-up stupid!’ Harry said.

‘That’s not very nice, Harry,’ Pomfrey said. ‘I can’t think why Severus hasn’t been teaching you better manners. No biscuit for you.’

All in all, it was a very bad morning for Harry. It didn’t get any better when Hermy-onee came to pick him up instead of Nape. Poor Harry began to wonder if perhaps this new baby was going to replace him.

‘Say bye-bye to Harry,’ Pomfrey said to Thomas.

‘Bye-bye Hawwy,’ Thomas managed.

‘Humph!’ Harry said, turning away from the drooling baby in disgust.

As Hermione led Harry from the room he was beginning to wonder whether he was ever going to see the batman again.

Once the initial relief he felt at the rescue of the Pickles children had worn off, Severus Snape found himself irritated with the headmaster.

‘Are you suggesting that I play nursemaid to two infants?’ he demanded, his black eyes flashing and narrowing to slits.

Dumbledore met the anger with twinkling eyes and a mischievous smile.

‘Come now Severus, you have done very well with Harry.’

They were sitting across from each other in the Headmaster’s office. Dumbledore had had his full report from Snape about his encounter with Lucius and they had agreed a long-term plan for stepping up the protection around Draco Malfoy. Dumbledore had told Snape about Thomas’ current state, and explained that they had no alternative but to keep hold of the children for the time being. They could not risk having them returned to their mother with Thomas still as a baby; it would put the Pickles family in jeopardy, and it would also be difficult to explain to Maura Pickles.

‘What about the mother?’ Snape said, clutching for the best reason to not have to take on the young Pickle. ‘She must be informed that her children are safe. I don’t see how returning the children will put them in any danger. We could modify their memories and hers.’

Dumbledore peered over his half-moon spectacles.

‘What about the journalists who have followed the story in the muggle press - can we similarly modify their memories? No Severus, the Pickle children must not be returned until the Dark Lord’s plans are clear to us. Besides which, there would be nothing to stop Lucius ordering the Pickles dead – perhaps their entire family – to ensure their silence. The children have seen and heard too much. In addition, Lucius’ carelessness in allowing his prisoners to be liberated might be discovered by Voldemort, and this would break the vow you have made.’

‘You appear to have thought of everything,’ Snape said wearily. ‘Yet you forget that we are no nearer to discovering a cure for Potter, much less the Pickle.’

‘You underestimate yourself, Severus,’ Dumbledore said. He paused. ‘Did Lucius say anything that may be of help?’

‘Only that the use he had for the Pickle children was at an end. I believe that the curse he is working on for the Dark Lord is almost completed.’

‘Then we must act quickly.’

‘I assure you, headmaster that I am doing everything possible to …’

Dumbledore held up his hand to stop Snape.

‘It wasn’t a criticism. I realise that finding the answer to the curse will take as long as it will take. What I meant was that we will have to take extra measures of security, press our informers and, to borrow the words from Alastor, maintain constant vigilance. It may be impossible for us to stop Lucius and Voldemort carrying out their plan and so we have to prepare ourselves for a strike – whichever form the strike may take.’

Dumbledore turned to the watchful portrait of Phineas Black that hung behind him with the other previous headmasters of Hogwarts.

‘Phineas, please inform the Order that there will be an immediate meeting for those members not on duty.’

Phineas saluted the headmaster solemnly then disappeared.

Dumbledore turned back to Severus. ‘I am sure that Madame Pomfrey will keep Harry and Thomas until after the meeting. Lee and Michael have gone back to the Burrow with Molly Weasley. We thought it the safest place for them and she was most eager to oblige.’

Snape hesitated. He had not planned to tell Dumbledore about his exchange with Sirius, but he was still rattled by it and had no intention of returning to Grimmauld Place so soon after.

‘Is it necessary that I attend?’ he said. ‘I have told you everything I know about the Dark Lord’s current plans for the Death Eaters.’

Dumbledore sat back in his chair and eyed Snape evenly, pressing his fingertips together. With an astuteness that would have shocked Severus was he not so used to Dumbledore’s ability to read him, he then said, ‘I realise that the bargain that you have struck with Lucius was difficult for you, Severus. It has been many years since there has been any true complicity between the two of you.’ He paused for a second, and Snape thought his eyes seemed to lose their sparkle, before he asked, ‘Did you meet with Sirius on your return to Grimmauld Place?’

Snape nodded almost imperceptibly.

‘Do not dwell on it, Severus,’ Dumbledore said. ‘We all have our moments of weakness. There is always someone in our lives that tends to bring out the worst in us; it doesn’t make us bad people. It is strange that, more often than not, it is someone with a similar strength to us. Still it is worrying to me that there are two members of our Order who bear such ill-feeling towards each other. I believe that there will come a time when it will be regretted. You and Sirius, as I have said on many occasions are more alike than you know.’

‘Really headmaster …’ Snape said angrily.

‘As I said: More than you know,’ Dumbledore interrupted - the twinkle back in his eye. ‘Very well then, Severus, you may go and retrieve Harry and become acquainted with Thomas. It may do you well to gain some distance from the Order for the time being.’

Snape nodded and turned on his heel to leave.

The remarks about Sirius followed him for the rest of the day.

Harry was sitting in an enlarged play pen in the deserted hospital wing glaring at Thomas as he banged away with two wand-shaped sticks on a series of different mini-sized cauldrons arranged on a flat frame. Harry knew from experience that when they were hit in a certain way they made a nice musically sound – but Thomas was hitting them haphazardly with such force that it was just a big fat, horrible noise.

‘Stop!’ Harry screamed, hiding Cheep-Cheep under his star-patterned woolly jumper to protect the squawking bird's ears.

Thomas merely blew spit bubbles and kept banging. He was enjoying making moo-sic with the cauldron-thingamajig. He had on a bright green jumper with drool all down it and, Harry thought, with his oversized head and small chubby legs, he looked just like the demented goblin from his fairy tale book.

‘Tommy cwever!’ Tommy yelled over the din.

Harry didn’t think Tommy was very clever at all. Sighing, he got to his feet and walked over to Thomas. He then wrestled the sticks from his chubby fists.

‘No! No! No!’ Tommy said, struggling to keep a grip on his moo-sic wands. Unfortunately he was no match for Harry.

‘Ha ha!’ Harry said, stepping back. ‘No noise! Harry clever’

In response, to Harry’s disappointment, Tommy started to bawl at the top of his voice; making far more noise than he had been previously. He didn’t understand why this other boy was being so mean. He had actually been playing a special tune just for Hawwy – all about being friends.

‘Waaahhh.’

Harry covered his ears. With this new baby on the scene it didn’t seem like he was ever going to get any peace.

It was to this chaotic scene that Snape arrived, Madame Pomfrey at his heels.

‘Nape!’ Harry screamed, Tommy suddenly forgotten. He raced over to the end of the playpen and held his arms up. ‘Nape back fwor Potter?!’

Harry was overjoyed. He hadn’t seen his batman for ages. He’d almost thought that he’d forgotten all about him.

Snape raised an eyebrow as he looked from an inane Potter to a screaming Thomas. He wondered for the millionth time why he had ever allowed Dumbledore to talk him into it.

‘Come on, now, shush,’ Madame Pomfrey said, hoisting Thomas into her arms. ‘What’s all this fuss about?’

Thomas pointed to Harry. ‘Hawwy!’ he said.

Madame Pomfrey turned stern eyes upon Harry. ‘What have you been up to now, young man?’ she said. She turned to Severus. ‘Honestly, he’s been nothing but trouble. He’s been tormenting poor Thomas since he arrived.'

Harry scowled at Madame Pomfrey. ‘Tommy stoopid,’ he said.

‘Well really!’

‘That’s enough, Potter,’ Snape said. ‘And please detach yourself from my robes. I am not going anywhere.’

Harry sheepishly dropped the handful of robes he had grabbed onto. Snape opened the playpen.

‘Out. We are returning to my quarters.’

‘Yey!’ Harry squealed. He started jumping up and down, running round and round Snape. ‘I go home, I go home!’

‘Stop that at once,’ Snape snapped, ‘you are not a time-turner.’ Harry obediently stood quietly next to Snape – he wasn’t going to risk making him mad and not getting to go with him after all.

‘He needs feeding,’ Madame Pomfrey informed Snape, jiggling Thomas up and down as he bawled. ‘He’s tired too. I trust you can remember the routines you used with Harry when he was eighteen months?’

Snape pursed his lips but nodded. He had hoped that this stage of infantile behaviour was behind him. He remembered how difficult Potter had been for the few days that he had been that young.

‘He likes this,’ Madame Pomfrey added, taking a circular contraption with a rubber teat from her pocket. ‘It’s a muggle dummy.’ She placed it next to Thomas mouth and immediately he grabbed it, stopped crying and placed it in his mouth, sucking contentedly. Snape was amazed.

‘Clever, isn’t it?’ Madame Pomfrey smiled. ‘Molly Weasley brought it in. Apparently she used them a lot with the twins.’ She held out Thomas for Snape.

‘Ex-cooose me?’ Harry interrupted with horror, pulling on Snape’s robes urgently.

‘Yes Potter?’

‘Tommy not come,’ Harry said, shaking his head very firmly and pushing at Madame Pomfrey’s legs.

‘Yes Potter, Thomas is coming. Now kindly stop pushing.’

‘No!’ Harry said with horror. ‘Thomas NOT COME!’ He felt tears prickle in is eyes as his cheeks reddened. They couldn’t be serious. The stupid baby couldn’t possibly be coming back to his and Snape’s little house (well rooms).

‘I think he’s tired too,’ Madame Pomfrey said wryly.

‘No!’ Harry said, stamping his foot. ‘NOT TIRED. TOMMY NOT COME!!!’

‘Supper, then bed,’ Snape announced, choosing to ignore the screaming. ‘Now lets get going.’ He reached down. ‘Hold my hand.’

Harry, still carrying on, yelled, ‘No!’ and so Snape grabbed his wrist.

‘What a lot of fuss about nothing,’ he muttered, carrying Thomas and marching Harry from the room.

Back at Snape’s quarters, Harry was sulkily pushing his mince and dumplings round his plate, as Snape helped Thomas feed himself a blended version from the red plastic bowl and spoon that used to be Harry’s.

It wasn’t fair, Harry thought. Everyone had been fussing around Tommy since he had arrived. Even Hermy-oneee had cooed at him when she’d given him a bath – letting him splash around to his hearts content. She had laughed when he had tipped a cup of water all over Harry’s head, then scolded Harry for splashing him back.

“He’s younger than you, Harry,’ she had explained. ‘He doesn’t understand.’

Harry wasn’t sure about that – he seemed to understand plenty to Harry. In fact he had stuck his tongue out at Harry when Hermione had turned to get the shampoo.

‘Another mouthful please,’ Snape instructed Thomas. Obediently, Thomas, with a bit of guidance from Snape’s hand, pushed the food into his mouth.

‘Ta!’ he said smiling.

Harry rolled his eyes. Ron had taught him all about suck-ups the other day and Harry knew that that was what Thomas was being. He was acting like he actually liked the slimy gunk that the batman was feeding him. And he’d sat quietly, scribbling on a piece of parchment when Snape had been making it, while Harry had been told off for dancing round like a fairy. It was obvious to Harry that Tommy was trying to get Nape to like him better.

‘Potter stop playing with your food and eat it,’ Snape said. ‘You don’t see Thomas making a fuss do you?’

Tommy gave Harry a big grin. ‘Tommy good,’ he said.

‘Shut-up,’ Harry snapped.

After dinner, while Harry was using the potty, Tommy was giggling as Snape changed his nappy on the mat. Snape had charmed butterfly-shaped bubbles to fly over the young boy’s head to keep him distracted and his arms out of trouble, and Tommy was squealing as he tried to pop them.

Harry meanwhile was stuck with his potty picture-book which showed him all the things big boys did; boring stuff, like helping with the dishes and feeding or dressing themselves.

‘Nape,’ Harry called as the lion roared, ‘me done!’

‘Get into bed then,’ Snape said. Harry toddled over to him, pointing to himself.

‘Bed nappy,’ he said confused.

‘Snape popped Thomas’ pyjama suit shut. He was impressed as the toddler sat up and waited for instructions. Young Thomas was proving to be a much easier baby than Harry had been. He did everything that Snape told him to, and he was quiet and docile. Snape began to wonder if he’d been much too lenient with Potter.

Snape looked at Harry, distractedly. ‘Pull your pyjamas up,’ he said. He lifted Thomas into his crib and placed the “dummy” next to him, discreetly smuggling a warm bottle from his robes into the crib so that Harry wouldn’t see and start fussing.

Immediately, Thomas lay down and popped the teat of the dummy into his mouth, sucking silently. He was very sleepy and was glad it was bed time. As Mr Nape pulled the covers around him he sighed with content. After the horrible days spent cold, wet and hungry in that dark, slimy prison, any bit of comfort was welcome.

Satisfied that Thomas wasn’t going to present a problem, Snape turned to Harry.

I said, pull your pyjamas up. He reached down and yanked the elastic over the toddler’s tummy then took him by the hand and led him to bed.

‘But Nape,’ Harry protested, eager for his turn on the changing mat with the magic bubbles, ‘bed nappy.’

‘Not tonight. You have been dry for a few days now. Madame Pomfrey thinks you’re too big for a nappy. Now get into bed.’

Frustrated, Harry clambered under the covers. There was that stoo-pid phrase “too big” again.

‘Nappy!’ he squealed.

Snape crouched down to eye level. ‘I said no. Now I don’t want to hear anymore about it.’ He clicked his fingers and dimmed the lights. He had made up his mind to be far more firmer with Harry.

Harry could sense when he was beaten and after extracting a curt hug from Sanpe, he lay back, cradling Cheep-Cheep under his chin.

He glared at Thomas through the gloom. He seemed already to be asleep in Harry’s old crib and, Harry blinked …with BOBBA within easy reach!

It was the last straw. Snape’s quarters weren’t definitely not big enough for the both of them. As soon as Harry woke up he was going to figure out exactly what there was to do about it.

As Snape left the room, Harry sat up in bed. ‘Me get you!’ he hissed to Tommy.

Thomas opened one eye, tucking an arm round the warm bottle by his side and said sleepily, ‘Bee-Bees Hawwy.’

With a last exaggerated tut, Harry turned his back on Tommy and, muttering, settled down to sleep.

When Harry woke up he was pleased to see that it was still dark and Tommy was still asleep. As he sat up in bed, shivering slightly as the bedclothes fell away from him, he rolled his eyes in disgust at the gurgling and slurping noises Tommy was making as he sucked on his dummy; he conveniently forgot that he himself could still not get to sleep without fingers firmly in his own mouth.

Harry got up and crept across the room. He stood on tiptoes to look inside the bars of the crib and frowned at the half-empty bottle that was tucked under his arm.

‘No bobba!’ Harry said as he reached in and carefully pulled it out from under Tommy’s arm. He decided to take a quick slurp on it. ‘Yummy!’ he said gleefully as the still-warm liquid seeped into his belly. He tucked it under his pillow for later.

‘Time to say bye-bye,’ Harry then whispered in Tommy’s ear.

He had come up with a plan – one that would get rid of Tommy for good. It had come to him in the night in a dream; a strange dream that seemed to have taught Harry a lot of things, things that he hadn’t seemed to know before - although as he thought about it now he was not quite sure that he hadn’t known them all along. In any case it was brilliant and there was absolutely no way that the Batman could ever find out about it.

‘And Nape will like me best now,’ Harry added with another frown at the sleeping baby. ‘So there.’ He stuck his tongue out for good measure.

By the time Snape had awoken, slightly more refreshed than he had the previous day, Harry was fast asleep and Tommy was, quite simply, gone - only an imprint of a baby in the soft red blankets to suggest he had ever been there.

Snape’s eyebrow shot up on his forehead as he swiftly drew his wand to perform a ‘point me’ spell; the eyebrow disappeared into his hairline when this failed to locate him.

His eyes scanned the room automatically, but, he reasoned, if Thomas had been hiding in a cupboard, much like Potter had that first morning, the spell should have told him that.

‘Potter,’ Snape said, crouching down next to a sleeping Harry and shaking him, ‘Potter, wake-up now please.’

Harry snuggled deeper down under the covers. Snape’s chambers were always cold first thing in the morning and Harry liked to pretend he was a worm snuggling down into the mud. Unfortunately Nape didn’t seem to be in the mood for that game today.

‘I said, wake-up!’

Snape, agitated by Potter’s apparent tranquillity, pulled the covers from him. Harry sat up in bed at that, the first sign of a pout on his face.

‘I a worm,’ Harry protested. Snape ignored him.

‘Potter, this is very important. Where is Thomas?’

Harry peered over at the empty cot and pretended to think about it. ‘Tomee is gone,’ he said.

‘I realise that, Potter,’ Snape said through gritted teeth, ‘but where exactly has he gone to?’

Harry shrugged and then, rubbing his eyes and stretching said without a hint of curiosity, said, ‘I no know. Breakfast time Nape?’

He went to climb out of bed but Snape stopped him.

‘Potter,’ Snape said, putting his hand on Harry’s shoulder and his face close to his, ‘If you know where Thomas is then say now, I mean it, no games.’

Harry squirmed slightly. With Snape’s eyes boring into him he felt uncomfortable. ‘I no know,’ he said violently.

After that, Snape flew into action. To save time (and to Harry's delight) he hoisted Harry into his arms and carried him to his office to floo Dumbledore. Five minutes later, he, Professor McGonagall and Molly Weasley (who had been in the castle having Charlie vaccinated for wizard wheeze, which could be contracted by muggles if the circumstances were right) were in Snape’s quarters.

‘Really Severus, what have I told you about keeping an eye on young children,’ Molly said. ‘The poor little mite could be half way to the Forbidden Forest by now.’

‘I hardly think so,’ Snape said curtly. ‘He can barely walk let alone scale a fifty foot wall.’

Molly tutted and looked as though she was about to say something else when Dumbledore tactfully interrupted.

‘I don’t think any of us are suggesting that Thomas acted alone,’ he said.

‘You think he was taken?!’ McGonagall said, startled.

‘Impossible!’ Molly said; but she didn’t look as confident about it as she sounded.

‘Headmaster, as you are well aware, the wards around this chamber are as impenetrable as Hogwarts itself,’ Snape said, unable to keep the irritation out of his voice. ‘I can assure you that the boy cannot simply have been taken.’

‘Well it’s a shame those wards of you didn’t do as good a job of keeping him in!’ Molly shot.

‘Look, there must be a reasonable explanation for his disappearance,’ McGonagall said. ‘As Severus pointed out, no-one from the outside has ever breached Hogwarts. Let’s not start assuming things. The first thing we must do is search the grounds – it is possible that Tommy has wandered off into some nook or cranny that is invisible to the wands’ eye.’

‘Well that’s going to make him easy to find I must say!’ Molly said. ‘He could be frozen to death by then. Well I suppose we better get on with it. Ron and Ginny and the twins can help out and Hermione too. If we split up we can cover more ground. I’ll start on this floor.’

Molly was just about to leave when she felt a small tug on her robe. She spun round eagerly, and was only slightly disappointed when she realised that it was Harry’s fist and not Thomas’ that had the golden material tightly clenched within it.

‘Oh Harry, my little dustbunny,’ she said pinching his cheeks, ‘I almost forgot all about you, you were playing so quietly.’

‘Me good. I play bookies,’ Harry said. He had been sitting in the corner flicking through his Quidditch book for ages whilst the grown-ups were having boring talk. But now he had had enough of being neglected. Not only that, but he had an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach and he wanted Molly to distract him. ‘Read me.’

‘Oh I can’t now Harry, I’m sorry we’ve got to find little Thomas.’

Harry frowned and Molly took it for concern.

‘Don’t worry dear, we’ll soon have your little friend back for you.’ She turned to the others. ‘He seems quite upset doesn’t he? I’ve never known him to be so quiet. We better keep a close eye on him - they get very attached at that age. When I used to take Fred or George into a different room from each other they used to scream the place down.’

‘I hardly think so,’ Snape said. ‘Last night he threw a tantrum at the mere suggestion of Thomas coming back to my quarters.’

‘They’re very fickle at that age too,’ Molly said. ‘You have to make allowances.’

Dumbledore stroked his bear at the exchange but he passed no comment other than to say, ‘Severus if you would organise the search I think it would be helpful for Harry to be involved in it.’

‘But headmaster …’ Snape protested.

‘There will be no-one who can be spared to look after him in the meantime,’ Dumbledore said. He smiled down at Harry. ‘You would like to help us to find Thomas, wouldn’t you Harry?’

Harry looked up at the bearded man with the twinkling eyes. He wanted to shout NO, he would not be help looking for that stoo-pid baby, and please leave him and the Batman alone so they could play, but something stopped him and he nodded silently whilst fidgeting with the buttons on is pyjamas.

‘That’s the spirit,’ Dumbledore said. He turned to Professor McGonagall. ‘Perhaps with Miss Granger and Mr Weasley. They should take the staff chambers since Harry can not be seen by the student population.’

‘Of course Albus,’ McGonagall said. She took Harry’s hand. ‘Lets get you washed and dressed first young man, you don’t want to go and see you friends looking like something that just got thrown backwards out of a portkey.’

‘I want Nape,’ Harry said.

‘Severus is going to be far too busy looking for Thomas,’ McGonagall said with a stern look in Snape’s direction. It was clear that she was holding him firmly responsibly for Thomas’ disappearance.

Harry pouted. ‘Nape!’ he insisted. This wasn’t working out how he had wanted it to at all.

‘Put that lip away young man,’ McGonagall said. ‘And let’s go and get dressed.’

With that she marched Harry from the room.

‘How far can one baby have got?’ Ron muttered.

He, Hermione and Harry were looking for Thomas in the staff quarters. They were at present in a musty old cloister that had once been occupied by the Astronomy teacher – Professor Serpens - before Professor Sinistra. Ron thought it strange that it was located so deeply underground considering that the point of astronomy was supposed to be to look at stars, and there wasn’t so much as a window (not that you could have seen anything out of it even if there was). He couldn’t blame the new professor for relocating to the astronomy tower. These quarters had a funny smell that nipped at the nose, and there was dampness in the air as though they were in a chilly fog which seeped into the clothes and skin on contact.

‘I’m sure that he can’t have got in here,’ Ron said. ‘Look at it!’ He pointed to the dilapidated fireplace and the crumbling walls, ‘Who in their right minds would wander into here?’

When this still provoked no response from Hermione, Ron turned round to face her. He had hold of Harry’s hand and the toddler jerked on it sharply to try and move on.

Ron winced. ‘There’s no need to pull my arm out of the socket,’ he said to a scowling Harry, rubbing his shoulder, ‘I just want to see why Hermione is ignoring me.’

‘What?’ Hermione seemed to immediately jolt to attention, her dark eyebrows furrowing as she turned to look at Ron.

‘I said, Why-are-you-ignoring-me?’ Ron pronounced each word carefully, as though he was talking to somebody of limited intelligence.

‘I wasn’t,’ Hermione said, slightly distractedly, ‘I was just thinking that I’ve been here before.’

‘You’ve been here before?’ Ron said dubiously, raising his eyebrow at the cobweb that had entangled itself in her bushy hair, ‘why would you want to do a thing like that? ALRIGHT HARRY,’ he yelled as there was another sharp tug on his arm, ‘we’ll go in a minute!’

‘Ron!’ Hermione chided, ‘there’s no need to shout!’

‘Well you have him then,’ Ron said, passing Harry’s hand to Hermione.

‘I no hold hands,’ Harry said, grabbing his sweaty palm away irritably. He was sick of this whole expedition. It was dark, cold and smelt funny and he was starting to get hungry, not to mention the fact that his legs were hurting.

‘Fine by me,’ Ron shot back.

Hermione sighed. ‘We won’t be too much longer,’ she said. ‘Here.’ She took out her wand and traced a line round Harry then brought her arm back a few feet. Immediately glowing green baby reins appeared. They were extremely long in length, which would allow Harry the freedom to move around, but were secure so that he could not escape. ‘Go and explore.’

Harry wrinkled up his face and tried to tug on the funny string but his hand fell through it. ‘Magic,’ he said solemnly.

‘That’s right,’ Hermione said. ‘Molly taught me it,’ she added to Ron – with quite a smug look he thought to himself.

‘What did you mean you’ve been here before?’ Ron said as Harry took off full pelt round the room.

‘What I said. It was the day of the Quidditch tournament. Look.’ She led Ron off to a side door and opened it. There was another dark and deserted corridor and in front of them was the portrait of St Filiwell that Hermione had seen Lucius enter; to the right there was the gargoyle that she had hidden behind.

‘Oh yeah,’ Ron said, ‘I remember now. You thought that he had been getting up to something.

‘The question is, what,’ Hermione said thoughtfully.

‘Lets go and see,’ Ron said. He charged up to the wall and banged on it, then rubbed his hang gingerly. ‘It doesn’t sound hollow.’

‘There’s no point,’ Hermione said. ‘Lucius had some kind of code I think.’

‘Code?’ Ron said blankly.

‘You know, some kind of spell to get in.’

‘Oh, why didn’t you just say so then.’ Ron didn't like it when hermione used muggle words, it made him feel stupid.

‘I told Professor McGonagall about it but when I asked her if they’d found anything she said that they hadn’t been able to find any secret entrance on this floor, though there were ones elsewhere that Lucius could have known about. Apparently the figures in the portraits change every few days to confuse intruders and she thought I must have got it mixed up with one of the other floors.’

‘Well …’ Ron said. ‘There definitely isn’t anything here, so maybe …’

‘I did not get confused!’ Hermione said indignantly. ‘I remember the smell.’ She shivered involuntarily, ‘and the cold. In fact I don’t know why I let Professor McGonagall talk me out of it.’

‘Oh, right, whatever you say, Hermione’ Ron said unconvincingly.

‘I think I might talk to Draco about it,’ she added, ignoring him. ‘He might know what his father was up to.’

At that a flushed Harry ran up to them with tears in his eyes. He had been running around some kind of tiny, nasty birdie-spiders and they had blown hurty fire in his face.

Hermione reached down and picked him up, concerned. ‘Are you okay Harry?’

‘Bad spiders!’ Harry said, his lip quivering. He nestled his head into Hermione.

Hermione pulled him back gently and looked him up and down. He was covered head to foot in dust.

‘Honestly, have you been up a chimney, Harry, you’re filthy!’

Harry ignored the reprimand. ‘Bad spiders,’ he insisted.

Hermione’s eyes eventually settled on the heavy fringe that had fallen over his face. She put her fingers up to it and noticed that the ends were singed.

‘Something’s burned him,’ she said to Ron. ‘Here, let me check something.’

She passed Harry to Ron, who held him awkwardly. He could never get used to the fact that his best friend was now a two-year old child.

‘Bad-spiders,’ Harry repeated to Ron.

‘I heard you the first time, mate. Don’t worry, I won’t be going anywhere near them. I think they’re bad too.’

Harry looked up curiously into Ron’s face. His face was all screwed up and he was shaking slightly.

‘Scaredy-bat!’ Harry squealed, laughing hysterically. ‘Ron a scaredy-bat!’

‘Oi, stop that!’ Ron said. ‘At least I’m not a little baby who can’t even walk properly or eat with a knife and fork.

Unfortunately the sarcasm seemed lost on Harry and he just giggled more, chanting scaredy-bat over and over again like it was the best joke in the world. Ron was just about crimson (and trying very hard to stop himself smacking his best friend on the behind) when Hermione reappeared.

‘Just like I thought,’ she said. ‘Midgie-dragons.’

‘Midgie whats?’ Ron said. ‘Here, you have the little brat.’

He passed Harry back to Hermione and she put the toddler on the floor.

Hermione rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t you ever listen to Professor Sprout,’ she said.

‘Not often. Why, what did I miss?’

‘Midgie-dragons are insects, Ronald.’

‘Well I gathered that much for myself.’

‘They are a very rare form of insect actually, and not something one usually sees in decent society. They usually flock around areas that contain dark magical artefacts.’

‘Eh?’

‘You know, like dragons guard treasure,’ Hermione explained. ‘Midgie-dragons will only go where they think that there is something valuable and usually wicked.’

‘What are they doing down here then?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione said. ‘Actually they seem to be dying out. Because they’re so small they breathe fire in unison. If there had been a lot of them then Harry really could have got a nasty burn, as it is …’

‘He didn’t.’

‘Exactly.’

Hermione thought for a few moments. ‘I suppose that it could have something to do with Lucius. Perhaps he removed something that they were guarding.’

‘They’re here though, not in the secret room that only you’ve seen.’

Hermione glared at Ron. ‘I’m not making this up.’

‘I’m not saying you’re actually making it up, you might just be a bit confused,’ Ron said. ‘Maybe the midgie-things just got muddled up too.’

Hermione was just about to make a cutting retort when Harry tugged on her sleeve. She looked down and saw that he was crossing his legs and jumping around.

‘What’s the matter, Harry,’ she said.

‘Me need wee-wee.’

‘Oh, okay.’ Hermione ignored Ron’s disgusted look. ‘Good boy, Harry. We better get you back upstairs then, hadn’t we?’

Back in Snape’s quarters, Hermione waited patiently for Harry to use the potty. When she heard the lion roar she helped him do his buttons up.

‘You’re a good boy Harry,’ she said brightly.

Harry beamed.

‘Is that so?’ said Snape.

Harry whizzed round, and his expression turned to terror as he saw that the Batman had somehow found Tommy.

‘Then perhaps he would like to explain this.’

‘Uh oh,’ Harry said.

Snape looked angrier than Hermione has ever seen him. His black eyes were slits and there was a flush on his pallid face. In his arms was a filthy, but seemingly contented, Thomas.

Before he could utter another word Harry had bolted as fast as his chubby little legs could carry him from the room. Snape handed a sleeping Thomas to Hermione without a word and stalked after the toddler, grabbing him easily and hoisting him under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

‘Me and you are going to have a little chat,’ he said, carrying him swiftly from the room.

‘What was all that about,’ Ron said, coming entering the room just as Harry began to wail.

‘I don’t know,’ Hermione said, ‘but I have the feeling that Harry is in a lot of trouble.

Snape took Harry through to the kitchen and sat him up on the counter top. The toddler was sobbing away, his hands covering his face, seemingly knowing that he had done something wrong, or - more likely Snape thought - scared of what his punishment would be.

Snape, however, had more pressing matters than reprimanding or punishing Harry. He produced a green silk handkerchief from the inside pocket of his robes and held it out.

‘Stop your blubbering,’ Snape commanded, ‘and blow your nose.’

He waited for a few seconds until the crying had subsided slightly and Harry peeped out from around his hands. Taking his chance, he held the hanky to Harry’s nose.

‘Blow.’

Obediently, Harry blew into the handkerchief, gripping it tightly in his fist. When he was finished he looked up at Snape expectantly.

‘Nape 'mack?’ he said.

‘We’ll see, shall we,’ Snape said. ‘What you did was despicable.’

Harry looked blankly back at him.

‘I mean, it was naughty,’ Snape said through gritted teeth. ‘Very naughty, and very dangerous. But what I want you to do now is tell me the truth.’

‘Harry bad,’ Harry said. ‘Harry sworry.’

‘Sorry that you were caught,’ Snape corrected, ‘not sorry for what you did. If you had felt the slightest remorse then you would have helped us find Thomas a lot sooner. In this case, Potter, sorry doesn’t make everything better.’

Harry began to snivel again. He couldn’t bring himself to look into the Batman’s eyes. His belly felt like it had jumpy-things in it. He knew that he had done something very, very bad which made him want to cry.

‘Don’t start again, Potter,’ Snape said irritably. He took his wand out of his robes. ‘What’s this?’

‘Magit stick,’ Harry said automatically. He was curious as to why Snape wasn’t shouting him. Unless he was going to turn him into a toad he thought with sudden horror – just like the witch in the book of fairy-stories that Hermione had given him.

‘No toad,’ Harry said closing his eyes and cowering, waiting for the spell to hit him.

Snape didn’t have the slightest idea what Harry was babbling about so he ignored it.

‘What does it do?’ Snape asked, showing Harry the wand again.

Harry opened his eyes. ‘Magit,’ he said.

‘Magic,’ Snape corrected. He pulled another wand out. This time it was Harry’s. Snape had been keeping it for Harry since he had been transformed. It had been no easy task as the wand had the tendency to shoot sparks or squeal whenever it caught sight of its master. Snape had almost got a very nasty burn one day, and after that he had put it back in the knapsack Harry had had with him the day Draco had cursed him into a baby. It had been hanging on a hook in sitting room ever since, protected by the wards that surrounded Snape’s chamber. Snape had had no reason to think that it would have been taken by anyone until he had found it under Harry’s pillow half-an-hour ago.

The wand seemed to quiver now and Harry, in spite of himself, beamed.

‘Show me,’ Snape said carefully, holding the wand out to the toddler.

Harry took the wand. Actually it seemed to take him – jumping into the outstretched hand and nestling into his fingers, just as it had done the night before. Harry suddenly forgot that he was in trouble and grinned.

‘Misst you,’ he said to the wand.

‘Come on then Potter, I’m waiting,’ Snape said. He was watching the young boy very carefully.

‘Silencio!’ Harry said.

Harry said the words with a slight lisp, but evidently it was clear enough because sparks flew out of the wand and Snape found himself unable to speak.

Harry giggled. It was just like the spell he had performed on Thomas to stop them finding him.

Snape pointed his own wand at his throat and immediately he could speak again. He studied Harry very carefully, looking for the stubborn green eyes that he knew so well – but they didn’t seem to be there. The toddler Harry was a mix of mischievousness, fear and adoration - the teenage Harry would have only had stubbornness and scorn. The fact that his magic ability had been restored, or at least partly restored, didn’t seem to have aged his mind.

‘What about the cloak, Potter,’ Snape said, ‘where did you get the cloak?’

Snape drew the glittering sheer material out of his pocket. It was almost impossible to see anything and it appeared as though the long, bony fingers were wrapped around nothingness, the fingertips invisible under the cloak’s blanket.

‘Cloaky!’ Harry said with delight and grabbed for it. Snape pulled it out of his reach.

‘I don’t think so, Potter,’ he said. ‘I think you’ve done quite enough damage for one day.

‘Tommee diss-pear,’ Harry said suddenly.

Harry had dreamt about the magit cloaky. He had dreamed that he was a big boy and had used the cloaky to hide from the batman in a room full of bookies. He had then had another dream that the cloaky was in the naps-spack that Nape kept on a hook in the living room with the magit stick. When he had gone to investigate he had found them both there and had suddenly known exactly what to do to get rid of Tommy.

He had unfastened the side of the cot like he had seen the Batman do, and then helped Tommy toddle into the broom cupboard. He had then given him some of the Bobba to help him sleep and wrapped him up in the cloaky so that he disappeared. When Harry had realised that he could still make baby noises he had used the magit stick to make him shut-up. It was the perfect plan … almost.

Harry hadn’t bargained on Tommy’s wriggling half out of the blanket. It had been quite a shock for Molly Weasley to see a floating head in the cupboard when she went back to check in the places they had already looked once. In fact it had taken three stiff fire whiskeys to pull her round.

Snape had worked out almost at once what had happened. It had surprised him that Harry had been able to carry out such a complex plan in his current state and had felt grudgingly impressed, and even slightly jealous. It was the mark of a good wizard to be so in control of one’s magic at such an early age – Snape had never managed it. Still it could just be one of the effects of the curse he reasoned to himself.

Before Harry had returned, Snape had sat down with Dumbledore and Molly. They had pointed out to him what he had known all along really – that the boy had grown very attached to him and disliked having to compete for his attention. It was laughable. The teenage Harry could not stand to be in the same room as him, but the younger Harry it seemed could not bear to be apart.

Worse, was that Snape could feel himself returning the attachment. He still kept the little brat at arms length, but he felt a pang of something strange thinking about how much Harry seemed to care for him, and remembered how terrified he’d been when he had been in danger the day of the Quidditch Tournament.

Now, though, he felt uncomfortable again. He wondered exactly how much of Harry’s memory was returning and at what rate. The fact that he had remembered about his cloak and his wand and spells, even if he didn’t quite understand them, showed that the memories were there somewhere waiting to be unlocked. Snape didn’t like to admit it, but it unsettled him.

At present, however, he still had a toddler to deal with. Molly had suggested that Tommy should go back to the Burrow with her for a day or two to give Snape and Harry some time alone. Snape hadn’t been able to think of any reason to say no and so now he was stuck with him. Dumbledore had even got someone to cover his classes. ‘Perhaps some time in solitude is what you need to fit the pieces together,’ he had said. He, like Snape, had not forgotten that time was running out. Lucius and the Dark Lord’s plan, whatever it was, had to be close to completion. Harry regaining some of his memory might just be the break Snape needed to get to the bottom of it.

‘Wand please,’ Snape said, holding his hand out.

‘My magit,’ Harry said frowning.

‘You’re too young for magic,’ Snape said. ‘Wizards and witches are not permitted to perform magic without permission until they are a lot older.’

‘Big?’ Harry said.

‘Exactly, very big. So what you did was wrong. And,’ Snape took a deep breath, ‘so Thomas will not be staying with us for the time being.’

A grin began on Harry’s face. ‘Tommy bye-bye?’ he said.

‘For the moment, yes.’

Harry clapped his hands. ‘Me cwever!’

Snape lifted Harry up and put him on the floor in front of him and said sternly, ‘No you are not clever, Potter. And if you ever do anything like that again then you are going to be in deep, deep trouble, do you understand?’

‘Nape mack?’ Harry said.

‘That’s right. I don’t want you to touch a wand or this cloak ever again. It’s very dangerous.’ Snape made up his mind this time to lock them out of the way at the first opportunity – a baby Harry was bad enough, but a baby wizard would be a nightmare.

‘Now you can go and apologise to Thomas before he goes, and everyone else who’s been put out by your stupidity.’ With that, Snape took his charge’s hand firmly in his and led him to the floo.

‘Sworry,’ Harry said shyly to Dumbledore and then Molly. He was trying very hard to hide behind Snape’s legs and cloak but Snape kept detangling him and bringing him to the front.

They had already dropped in on Hermione and the Weasley’s – though, to Snape’s irritation, they had seemed to find it all one big joke, and Ron had even clapped Harry on the back – earning himself an instant detention. Only Hermione had taken it seriously, and she had scolded Harry until he began to snivel a bit again.

‘Okay Harry, I accept your apology,’ Molly said. ‘But if you ever, ever, do anything like that again then your bottom is going to get a nasty shock, do you understand me? I have a wooden spoon that I keep especially for naughty boys – well I had to with my Fred and George around you see.’

Molly winked at Dumbledore as she spoke but it seemed to do the trick as Harry nodded furiously, covering his rear end with his hands automatically and babbling about how good he would be from now on.

Molly smiled. ‘Well as long as that’s clear.’ She had used the threat with each of her own children and had never had to carry it through - at least not until the day Fred and George had managed to set fire to the garden shed.

She was cradling Thomas in her arms gently, jiggling him about, and he, for his part, was gurgling contentedly. She had given him a bath and bottle and was delighted that she was going to be putting him to bed in the crib she had used for her own children. It was nice to have youngsters around the place again, even if they were only borrowed for a while.

She lowered Tommy down to Harry’s height. ‘And what do you say to Thomas?’

‘Sworry Tommee,’ Harry said. Now that he knew the baby wasn’t a threat he was quite happy to be his friend. Tommy giggled and blew spit bubbles.

‘Hawwy!’ he squealed.

‘And what have you got to give to Thomas, Potter?’ Snape prompted. He had decided that as punishment for his actions Harry would have to give up his Quidditch book to the younger boy – at least until he was ready to be returned to his mother.

Harry took the book from Snape but hesitated. He loved his Quidditch book and wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of giving up – particularly to someone who was likely to drool all over it.

‘You like booky?’ Harry said dubiously. He was hoping that the baby would turn it down. Unfortunately for Harry, Thomas grabbed the book in his fist, squealing with delight.

‘Ta,’ he said to Harry, and, before Harry could stop him, draped a chubby arm round his neck and pulled him in for a kiss.

‘Yucky!’ Harry said. Tommy giggled even more.

‘That was very nice of you, Harry,’ Molly said, 'and very grown-up. Thomas will love reading it with me tonight and then when we come and visit we can bring it for you to have a turn too.’

Harry nodded rather sadly and then turned to Snape with a yawm. ‘I hungwy,’ he said.

Harry had also had a bath (where Snape seemed to have scrubbed him very hard) and was dressed in his pyjamas. Snape had told him that he was to have tea and then early bed.

‘Very well, Potter,’ Snape said, ‘Supper then bed. And remember what I said …’

‘No stowwyy,’ Harry said sadly.

‘That’s right.’

‘Too-morrow?’ Harry asked hopefully.

‘If you’re good, yes.’

‘Hawwy be good,’ Harry said.

‘We’ll see, shall we?’ Snape said.

Snape woke up to the sound of Harry screaming. Sighing he rose from bed and crossed his quarters to Harry’s bedroom. The boy was twisted in his blankets, and instead of his head being near the headboard where it should be, it was at the bottom and hidden under blankets. It was obvious that the child was panicking and so Severus stepped in to detangle him.

‘Come, Potter,’ he said, deftly pulling the red and gold duvet off the small head so Harry could breathe, ‘calm down.’

‘Darky,’ Harry whined. He sat up in bed. He had been very confused when he had woken up and opened his eyes only to be greeted by darkness and the feeling that he wasn’t where he should be. The more he had struggled against the blankets, though, and the more he had tried to find a light, the more he seemed to be pinned down. It was like a monster’s invisible arms were sucking him into a big black hole. He was very relieved, then, when Nape’s strong arms pulled him to the surface and he sat gulping the air for a few moments and appreciating the morning light that filtered in through the narrow windows high above them.

‘Safe,’ he said beaming

‘Of course you’re safe,’ Severus said irritably, ‘you’re in bed where you always are!’

‘Blanky monster,’ Harry said unconvinced. It never seemed to happen when Nape was about, but he was sure that the blankets came alive at night. He loved his big boy bed, but the sheets were a bit mean. They didn’t seem to like him very much and there had been more than once occasion where they had tried to drown him.

Now that Harry was up, Snape decided that it would be useless to try and make him sleep again. It was only six in the morning, but Snape was used to early rises – he wasn’t a good sleeper himself and never had been. He was of the opinion that sleep was expendable, and that once you were awake it was more than time for the day to begin.

‘Time to get dressed,’ he said.

Harry immediately jumped out of bed. He followed Snape over to the cupboards which held his clothes.

‘Pumpkin jumpy,’ he commanded.

Severus raised an eyebrow. Potter, when given the option, always wanted his pumpkin jumper. Still it was easier to give in than to argue and so he helped the toddler into his favourite item of clothing. Next Harry grabbed the small black cloak.

‘Big-boy robes,’ Harry said with a grin, pulling it round his shoulders. He liked it because it made him look and feel just like a mini version of the batman.

‘Very well,’ Snape said. He then helped him into a pair of clashing purple trousers that Harry insisted upon.

‘Hungwy,’ Harry complained once he was dressed.

‘Time for breakfast, then,’ Snape said.

He made Harry a plate of scrambled eggs and poured himself a large mug of tea, not being inclined to eat either if he could help it.

Harry took his place on a booster seat at the table without argument. He smiled at the empty space Tommy’s high-chair had once occupied. He was enjoying having the batman’s full attention – even if he was reading the Noose-paper. ‘Nape stay with Hawwy today?’ he asked between mouthfuls.

‘Eat don’t gobble!’ Snape chided automatically as the boy shovelled the food into his mouth, the majority of it missing and falling onto the table. He leafed through the Daily Prophet, noting with some satisfaction the presence of another story on the Madness Behind Harry Potter. They were still speculating on the confinement of the wizarding world’s most famous celebrity - with most of the speculation revolving around the sanity of the teenage Harry. Noting the way that Potter was now trying to spoon his scrambed eggs up his nose, Snape was inclined to think that they were no too far from the truth.

‘Nape stay with Hawwy,’ Harry pressed after a few moments, realising that the Batman had not answered him.

‘For today, yes,’ Snape said eventaully. Dumbledore had arranged for him to have cover from his lessons from Professor Grubbly-Plank so that the two of them could spend some time together.

‘Park?’ Harry asked.

Snape looked dubiously at his charge. He had been thinking they would have to go out somewhere. It would be no good trying to keep Potter in with him all day, they would both be drive to madness, and the small pale face did suggest that it was time for a bit of fresh air. Snape himself never ventured far into the outdoors, which was why his skin always held a pasty pallor. He liked nothing better than to be in the quiet dark of the dungeon brewing potions or reading a thick book of spells. Unfortunately, toddlers seemed to thrive in the fresh air. The advantage for Snape was that it tended to tire Harry out.

Snape, however, had another destination than the park in mind. As he had lain awake the night before a rare childhood memory had popped into his head quite unexpectedly. It was of him and his mother exploring rock pools at the seaside. Snape remembered the slithering moss and seaweed beneath his feet which he had made his mother slide off the rocks in a fit of giggles. He remembered and the cold sea air whipping his skin and the vaguely pleasant scent of salt and seaweed. His mother had turned over large stones in the shallow pools revealing scuttling crabs that he had put in his pocket to study later. She had also bought him a red plastic net to try and catch the schools of small fish which swam to and fro like an army of silver worms. Snape had been frustrated when they had slipped easily through the too-wide holes woven between nylon ropes, but his mother again had laughed. It was strange, Snape never remembered his mother to smile much at all. But this day, without the oppressive presence of his father she had seemed contented.

Later, on the promenade, they had eaten ice-cream until his stomach had hurt and browsed the shops on the high street where they had bought sticks of rock as thick as his arms and creatures made out of sea shells.

Snape was unsure why he had not remembered the day before.

‘We’re going to the seaside,’ he announced silkily.

Harry’s eyes lit up. He didn’t quite know what the seaside was but it sounded wonderful. He jumped down from his seat.

‘Now Nape,’ he said eagerly pulling at the sleek black robes.

‘No, not now, Potter. First you will finish your breakfast.’

‘Me finish,’ Harry said quickly dropping his spoon.

‘No you’re not. I want to see you eat at least three more spoonfuls. Then you are going to use the potty, and then, and only then, if you’re good we will go.’

Harry sighed and clambered back up on his chair. ‘Okay Nape,’ he said, as though it was the biggest trial in the world. He wanted to do as he was told in case the batman changed his mind, but he inside he pouted at the way grown-ups were always putting obstacles in the way of fun. If it was up to Harry things like eating and sitting on the potty would always come second to having fun. Still he had to play Snape along and so he picked up his spoon to finish his breakfast.

The second disappointment to Harry came just before they left Snape’s quarters. To the toddler’s dismay, Snape clicked his fingers and pushchair appeared.

‘In you get, Potter,’ he said.

Harry’s bottom lip began to tremble almost immediately.

‘Walky,’ he said edging slowly away from the contraption.

‘You can walk some of the time, but for now please get in so we can go.’

As Harry hesitated, Snape lost his patience and reached down and hoisted him into the pushchair, fastening the straps quickly before he could make a fuss. Harry wriggled and squirmed, but he decided to let himself be strapped in; after all if he didn’t Snape might decide not to take him.

‘Cheep-Cheep?’ he said in small voice.

Snape looked at him. Without a word, he picked the stuffed bird off the table and handed it to the toddler, who gave him a big gummy grin.

‘Thanks Napey.’

‘Humph!’

Before he apparated, Snape left a message for Dumbledore as to their whereabouts. He could well imagine the twinkle in the headmaster’s blue eye when he found out where he was taking the boy. Still, at least he now had only one toddler to deal with, and he felt that putting a bit of distance between him and Hogwarts might be beneficial. His always-alert brain told him that he was on the verge of a breakthrough and he had already made up his mind that he was going to drop in on the Burrow on the way back and examine the Pickle child again. There was something that he must have missed. He had the feeling that talking to the mother would help, but as yet Dumbledore had advised against him meeting with her.

Hermione was laid in bed, uncharacteristically late in rising for breakfast. She needed some thinking time and she could only do that without the presence of the other girls. There were too many distractions when they were in the room too – Parvati Patil’s grunting snoring, like she were a pig rolling around happily in a pit of mud, or Lavendar Brown’s strange sleeping giggles (she was even annoying in her sleep Hermione thought quite smugly). Now, though she was alone and she could really focus. She had been tossing and turning all night with only one thought in her head – Lucius Malfoy.

Hermione had not been able to forget the corridor that she and Ron had stumbled upon whilst searching Hogwarts for Tommy. After the day of the Quidditch match, she had more or less satisfied herself that Lucius had been using whatever secret passage he had uncovered to hide himself, but when she thought back over it something didn’t quite add up. In her minds eye she saw a slight bulk to his robes when he left and the satisfied flush to his face. Had he been performing magic? She didn’t think so. She remembered how he had made Draco light the lamps in the corridor of the dungeons. It was obvious that he did not want to use his own wand. Hermione knew that any magic he performed in Hogwarts – secret passage or not – would be traceable by the ministry should it ever be necessary to do so. What then had he been doing? Retrieving something? He had been a student at Hogwarts for seven years himself. Perhaps there was something that he had left that he wanted back? But even that didn’t make sense. He could have used Draco for such a menial task as that.

Then there were the midgie-dragons. She was convinced that they had been guarding something that Lucius removed. She cast her mind back over her years at Hogwarts. She tried to remember when Lucius had ever been to Hogwarts to watch Draco play Quidditch before. There had only been one occasion – and that had been the year that he had passed Tom Riddle’s diary on to Ginny. She remembered the look of scorn on his face that year when Draco had fallen from his broom. He didn’t seem to give two flicks of a wand about Draco. He had had an ulterior motive for coming to Hogwarts then, and she was certain that he had had an ulterior motive more recently as well.

If only she could get back in the room. She would go and speak to Draco, and then she would do whatever she could to find the secret passage – even if it meant trawling through every map, blueprint and history of Hogwarts that had ever been written.

Determined she threw the gold and red covers from her and set off for breakfast. She would guard the door all morning if she had to, but she was going to speak to Draco.

If it was at all in Snape’s nature to be anything but calm and collected, then he would be truly harassed. The sea-side was not at all how he had remembered it. For a start he had arrived on the Whitby Coast just in time for high tide, which meant that they could not walk along the beach and tire out a very excitable Harry - as had been Snape’s plan. It also meant he was forced up onto the promenade and amidst the so-far innumerable attractions that Potter begged and begged ever few steps to be allowed to try.

First they came across a string of amusement arcades. No sooner had Snape unbuckled the straps of the pushchair, than Harry had ran full throttle at the mechanical aeroplane that the other toddlers his age were queuing up to have a turn on.

‘Potter!’

As Snape turned, he raised his eyebrow. Harry was jumping up and down on the spot excitedly, a look of childish desperation in his eyes.

Snape rolled his eyes, but he reached into his pocket for a muggle fifty pence. He had to amuse Potter somehow, and he supposed that this might keep him quiet for a while.

He was wrong. Harry screamed and screamed from the moment the ride lifted him into the air. He might love his mini- broom, but a mechanical aeroplane seemed to be a step too far for the toddler. He screamed so much that several mothers appeared around Snape clucking like laying hens.

‘He’s scared poor mite,’ said one, stating the obvious.

‘Yeah,’ agreed the other, ‘Aww he must be a sensitive little soul, bless him.’

Snape’s eyebrows almost disappeared into his head on hearing this deducation. Harry, still screaming, reached his chubby arms out for the Batman.

‘Out, out!’ he wailed.

‘You best lift him out,’ the first mother said. ‘It’s got at least another few minutes to go.’

Snape, seeing that he had no choice, lifted the toddler brusquely out of the aeroplane. No sooner had he done so than Harry stopped bawling. He looked around the amusement arcade with wide eyes. There were pretty lights everywhere, and lots more fun rides for him to go on. He pointed to a red jumbo-jet that was almost identical to the wonderful plane he had just been on.

‘Nape, me, planey,’ he said, struggling to climb over the potions’ master’s shoulder and causing the women to laugh out loud at his fickleness.

Snape put him down on the ground. ‘Certainly not! Come on, we’re leaving.’

‘Want planey,’ Harry insisted, pointing again.

‘Tough.’

Before the toddler could throw the tantrum that seemed likely to follow, Snape ushered him over the road to the fish and chip shop that he had spotted earlier. At least that seemed like something that hadn’t changed from when he had been a boy.

Snape grimaced as he looked at Potter. They were sitting on the wall of the promenade looking out into the sea. Harry was gnawing on a chip with as much fervour as a hypogriff with a juicy bone. Unfortunately his favourite pumpkin jumper was covered in grease, not to mention the mushy peas that had given a light green covering to his hands and face, and even his hair.

‘More chippy,’ Harry said eagerly, holding out a chubby fist. He looked at the paper wrappings than Snape was balancing on his knee. The Batman didn’t seem to have even touched his. Wordlessly, Snape handed the toddler another chip. He didn’t have the stomach for them anyway after watching Potter eat his with all the decorum of a troll at a tea party.

‘Last one, then we better get you cleaned up,’ Snape said dubiously. He cast his eyes around for somewhere quiet to take the boy, but everywhere seemed littered with people with young children trying to make the most of the warm weather. ‘Come on, lets walk on a bit,’ he said when Harry had finished eating.

‘Walky,’ Harry said firmly.

‘Yes, alright Potter, you can walk, but hold my hand.’

They walked along the cobbled streets of the promenade towards a low bridge which joined two sides of the harbour together. Harry had been fascinated earlier to see it open up in the middle with a loud horn that made him jump to allow a large fishing ship through. Now though, he was not prepared to walk across it as Nape seemed to want to. He didn’t want to fall into the sea thankyou very much. He stood his ground as Snape tugged on his hand.

‘Come along Potter,’ Snape said.

‘Fall!’ Harry protested.

Snape realised the problem immediately. Sighing, he hoisted a wriggling Harry into his arms and lifted him so he could see out over the harbour into the sparkling waters of the open sea.

‘No ships, see?’ he said.

Harry shook his head obstinately, pointing at a big red ship docked just below them.

‘It’s not moving Potter,’ Snape said. ‘Really! Professor McGonagall told me you were intelligent. I shall have to correct her.’

Harry looked at him blankly and Snape sighed with exasperation.

‘Never mind.’ With that he carried Harry deftly across the bridge, negotiating the pushchair with his free hand. Harry did not protest anymore, simply resting his head on the Batman’s shoulder. He could not be scared when he was safe in the Batman’s arms.

As Snape suspected, the streets on the opposite side of the harbour were more deserted. There were many side streets leading off from the rear of craft shops and tea rooms, and he was able to find an empty one to clean Harry up with a flick of his wand. He then allowed Harry to tire himself out by peering into the windows of various muggle workshops, where they were blowing ducks out of molten glass, baking fudge in huge, cast-iron ovens, or spinning wool from the local sheep into jumpers and throws.

As they came to the end of the parade of shops, Snape noticed that they had reached the foot of the East Cliff which held Whitby Abbey. He had been to the Abbey before, though he did not care to remember the reason for it now, and he knew that there were exactly one hundred and ninety-nine steps to negotiate to reach the top. He looked down at a yawning Potter dubiously; however, something made him desire to see the Abbey in the sunshine instead of the dead of night, and so pointed to the wide stone steps.

‘We are going up there, Potter. Do you think you can manage to walk it?’ He failed to mention that the alternative would be to be carried, and not to be fastened once again into the pushchair, but Harry did not seem to register that it would be impossible to push him up the steps.

‘Me walk!’ he said indignantly, racing towards, what Harry was sure was a huge mountain.

With a slightly smug sneer, Snape folded the pushchair and followed. They had not quite reached the half-way point before Harry had slowed down almost to a complete stand-still, and was bright red in the face and heavily out of breath. He pointed to his legs with a whine.

‘No more, Nape,’ he said.

‘We’re not even half-way to the top,’ Snape said. He grasped the small hand. ‘Come on, the exercise will do you good.’

‘Rest, …’ Harry said feebly.

‘We’ll rest when we get to the top.’

So half holding, half pulling Harry’s arm, Snape and his young charge wound their way to the top.

When they reached the final step, Snape stood to one side of the steps and paused as Harry caught his breath. He scanned the familiar graveyard and church building with unreadable eyes. He glanced over the gravestones; many of their inscriptions had been eroded into nothingness from the salt and sandy wind that blasted relentlessly year upon year. He traced the lines of the cliff, connected to the graveyard by a thick grass verge and a wire fence poorly designed to stop desperate muggles dashing themselves onto the rocks below. There was a crooked path that ran the length and breadth of the summit, winding its way round the outside and eventually connecting to the small mining village at the other side of the Abbey.

Snape’s gaze eventually settled on the wreck of the original monastery. Snape knew that the building had passed into the hands of witches and wizards in 1057 following the Viking attack and destruction in 867. Few knew, however that it had remained habitable after the subsequent attack by the muggle King Henry in 1540. Most muggles were convinced that it was simply a ruin at the top of a cliff – a landmark for sailors returning to the North-Yorkshire shores. Many visited, paying a fee to the curators, and leaving extremely unimpressed by the wasted and dilapidated stone that they had been hoodwinked into paying to see.

Then again, Snape thought wryly, muggles could often see nothing very far beyond the end of their noses. In fact, the monastery had been sporadically, but very much habited till just over fifteen years previously.

Snape felt a small tugging on the pin-striped trousers he had changed into. He looked down to see a tetchy-looking Potter. He realised that his afternoon nap was probably well overdue.

‘We will go and sit over there,’ he said, pointing to a green bench positioned at the uppermost point of the cliff.

When Snape had settled Harry, to little protest, into his pushchair, he sat down on the bench, barely noticing the peeling paint and splinters that were in need of repair. The bench was forward of the graveyard and looked out onto the sea and sands and the landscape of the West cliffs of Whitby which lay above the promenade on the other side of the bridge. Snape ignored the faint lines of the bed and breakfasts and ant-like people milling about and stared instead into open water which twinkled like a sea of stars in the bright afternoon sun. He wasn’t exactly sure why he had chosen Whitby as their seaside destination. In the memory he recalled earlier, his mother had taken him to Bournemouth - hundreds of miles south of the point he sat now.

He allowed himself now, with the sunshine on his face, to remember the last time he had been to the top of the East cliff. It had been a black night then. The North Star had not even been visible through the thick grey storm clouds that eclipsed the night sky. In the distance, Snape remembered seen the warning light of a lighthouse desperately searching the seas for muggle sailors in danger.

Snape was early and had been first to arrive. He was closely followed by more of his mark, all eager to receive their instructions from Lucius.

‘Tonight,’ Lucius had said with a wicked glint in his pale eyes, when all the juniors had gathered, ‘the Dark Lord requires Severus to lead the strike.’

What followed next would haunt Snape like so many deeds he had committed at the Dark Lord’s bidding to his dying days. They had mounted their brooms and wreaked havoc like avenging angels with Snape dishing out the majority of the orders. Snape knew that it pleased the Dark Lord to believe that he could command the elements, and that night it had been a magical storm that had capsized the Lady Love to desperate cries of the sailors as it was lost forever. Snape remembered with disturbing clarity his own heady feeling of power that evening. He felt like he had belonged to something magnificent. The practical aim of the strike had been to prevent other sailors from docking near the East cliff; it worked - the muggle fishing council convinced themselves that it was the submerged rock formations that made the area so treacherous. But the real purpose, as with many of the Dark Lords strikes, was more simple. It was a demonstration of power that he encouraged all his followers to engage in. It was what kept them dedicated and passionate about the cause.

Snape sighed. He wished that he had not revisited the East Cliff. He did not like remembering what he had felt when he had truly been part of the Death Eaters. It wasn’t really that it shamed him, it was that the feelings it conjured still attracted him. Snape had never been able to combat the pull he felt towards power and infamy. If he was going to reason it with himself, like a mind healer in St Mungos, he might have said that he was attracted by it because it was the opposite of what he had experienced throughout his young life. But it was not in Snape’s nature to pity or excuse himself. He had accepted what he was long ago, when the Dark Lord had sought out the Potters as a reaction to prophesy that Snape had communicated to him. What he was able to do was wage war on his feelings; submerge them to a space somewhere deep within himself which would not appear at the surface for months, or even years at a time. He had always been adept at occlumency and he used it to bury any feelings he had now about his past, the Dark Lord and Lily Potter.

‘Nape, wee wee.’

Potter’s sleepy voice bought him back to the present. He had woken up and was now looking around impatiently. Snape realised that he had been sat on the top of the cliff for nearly an hour.

‘Can’t you hang on?’ Snape demanded. There was not, as far as he was aware, any place that he could take Potter to go to the toilet, and there were too many dog walkers around to apparate back to Hogwarts.

Harry pouted and shook his head. He could feel an urgent pressing on his stomach and he knew that Snape had not been putting a nappy on him for several days. He didn’t want to make the Batman angry by wetting in his pushchair.

‘No Nape! Wee WEE!’ Harry shouted in desperation, much to the amusement of a lady walking two yapping Yorkshire terriers past them at the time. She paused in front Snape.

‘You better let him go in a bush,’ she observed, with a twinkling smile.

‘In a bush?’ Snape repeated.

He supposed that in the circumstances it was unavoidable.

Harry in the end found it a big adventure. He didn’t even mind when one of the lady’s Yorkshire terriers bounded up on him midway through. He collapsed into helpless giggles, and Snape had to be very quick to make sure that he didn’t get an impromptu soaking.

‘Me like the seaside,’ Harry said happily, as Snape helped him clamber down the hundred and ninety-nine steps.

‘Humph!’ Snape said. ‘Wait a minute,’ he said. ‘Your hat’s slipping.’

Harry stamped his foot impatiently, waiting for Snape to retie the hated bobble hat under his chin. He had given up trying to protest against wearing it. Last time, Nape had told him that he would smack if he ever took it off again.

Before he retied the woollen straps, Snape paused. His eyes fell to the familiar lightening scar on the small forehead which he always kept hidden in public behind the ridiculous bobble hat. He realised that he had spent a lot of time looking at the scar recently. Suddenly, something seemed to click into place. He realised that he needed to go back the Burrow immediately.

‘Come on Potter, we’re going to see Molly.’

Before Harry could protest, Snape had him at the bottom of the steps, fastened in his pushchair with Cheep-Cheep shoved under his arm – grown-ups were really very tricky!

Snape then found a secluded building and apparated with the toddler directly to the Weasleys home.

Molly was delighted to see Severus and Harry apparate into the fire-grate in a mess of soot and green sparks. Severus, however, was less than impressed. The layer of soot in the grate left dirty smudges on his clothes and caused the toddler to sneeze loudly and then burst into irritating fits of giggles. It seemed that the Weasleys were more than a little haphazard with the housework.

‘Sorry dear,’ Molly said, trying to dust Snape off, her cheeks pink, ‘I was just about to get round to that. Really Arthur,’ she snapped, spinning around ‘you did say that the grate was fit for apparation!’

Arthur shrugged sheepishly, trying to conceal the smudges on his own clothes that he had received on the way home from work, ‘I thought it was …’

‘Me mucky,’ Harry said looking himself up and down. The pumpkin on his jumper was looking decidedly fed up, and Cheep-Cheep was squawking at the black covering over her feathers. He looked up at the Batman and giggled. ‘Nape mucky too,’ he said before singing, ‘Nape bath, Nape bath,’ over and over again.

‘Do be quiet, Potter,’ Snape snapped irritably, ‘or it will be you to receive a bath.’ He removed his wand from his robes and cleaned the soot from himself with one flick. Harry fell silent. He knew the type of bath Snape gave when he was in a bad mood, and it rarely had bubbles in or duckies to play with.

‘What brings you to the Burrow?’ Molly said brightly. ‘Harry missing Tommy already was he? I told you children can be fickle. I wasn’t at all surprised when I got your message, was I Arthur? I believe you’ve been to the seaside today, how lovely? Won’t you come and sit down and have a cup of tea.’

Snape pursed his lips as he wondered, not for the first time, at the amount of different conversations Molly Weasley seemed able to initiate at once.

‘No thank-you,’ he said curtly. ‘I wish to see the children. All of the children.’

Molly glanced at Arthur, unable to conceal her surprise. ‘Of course, Severus. Arthur, will you go and fetch them please?’

‘Certainly dear. All the children, you say?’

‘Yes,’ Snape said.

‘Well Tommy is having his afternoon nap at the moment, but I’m sure he’ll be up soon,’ Molly said with a smile.

‘I wish to see all the children now,’ Snape repeated.

‘Well I don’t really like to wake him,’ Molly began. ‘He hasn’t been sleeping very well you know, poor mite, he keeps waking up and wondering where he is I should think …’ As Molly’s eyes fell on Severus, however, she noted his serious expression and seemed to change her mind. She went on, ever-so-slightly-huffily, ‘Very well, Arthur, fetch all the children for Severus.’

Arthur turned on his heel to climb the creaking pine staircase that led to the second floor of their home, ducking automatically to avoid the low slant above his head as experience had taught him.

In the silence that followed, Molly realised that Severus had never spent much time in the Burrow before. She wished she had thought to spruce it up a bit when she found out he would be dropping in. She wasn’t sure of the surroundings he was used to, but she had the feeling that it was something a little grander than the wooden country cottage with its mess of coloured bric-a-brac and, what Molly liked to refer to as homely jumble. The pots and pans were still unwashed from the lunch time broth and a game of wizard chess, that she had been teaching the boys to play, laid obliterated the middle of the living room floor. When it was filled with children her home was always the same. It was the way Molly liked it. She had thoroughly enjoyed having the Pickle children around, even though she was sensible enough to realise that it would not be forever. It was particularly nice now that her own children were either grown up, away at school, or, in Percy’s case, estranged from the family.

‘Er, won’t you sit down?’ she said to Severus at last, when the silence was on the verge of becoming uncomfortable. She gestured to the plumpest looking purple armchair. It was positioned under a bay window that looked out into the lush garden and the brightly coloured flowers that littered it haphazardly. The Weasleys usually fought tooth and nail to sit in it.

Snape inclined his head but did not move. ‘No thank you,’ he said.

Molly was nonplussed. In all the time she had known the potions master she could never remember him accepting the offer of a seat. It was as though he thoroughly expected to leave his surroundings suddenly at any moment; which, she thought to herself with a little shudder, was quite probable under the current circumstances. She knew as well as the other members of the order that as soon as the Dark Mark burned his arm he was expected to apparate away in an instant.

‘Mwolly!’

Molly looked down to see Harry tugging at the hem of her green flowered robes,

‘Hi,’ he said shyly.

Molly beamed at the distraction. She stooped down to raise Harry high into the air. ‘Sorry, young man, I nearly forgot about you didn’t I? Would you like a biscuit?’

‘Yes please,’ Harry said. It seemed ages since he had had his fish and chips.

Molly busied herself putting together a plate of ginger biscuits that the children had helped her to bake the day before. Before Harry had even had chance to polish off the first one, however, Arthur reappeared with Michael and Lee in tow and Tommy red-faced and wriggling in his arms. To Molly’s horror, the smudges of soot on her husbands clothes (nothing escaped Molly’s eyes) had been replaced by a thick covering of white powder covering him from head to robes.

‘Really Arthur!’ she chided. ‘What on earth have you been doing?! All I asked was for you to fetch the children, was that really such a difficult instruction to follow?’ She began to fuss round him, sucking the powder rapidly away from his clothes with her wand.

Harry laughed. ‘Snowman,’ he said, pointing at Arthur.

Arthur grinned. ‘I had to change Tommy first and he wasn’t overly pleased about it. I think he’s quite grouchy actually from being woken. He kicked a cloud of that muggle powder all over me. Quite curious stuff actually,’ he added, wiping some from his face with a finger and then holding it to his nose to sniff. ‘It dries the skin and it smells nice. These muggles certainly do have interesting ways of combating nappy rash - and so simple too.’

‘I’m sure Severus is not interested in your opinions on muggle baby powder,’ Molly said sternly. ‘Now come along boys, come and say hello to Professor Snape.’

Michael and Lee hung back. They eyed the greasy-haired professor with distrust. They knew that Snape had taken care of Tommy at first, but they had never met him first hand before. Before he had apprated to the Burrow, Snape had clothed himself in his uniform black robes. Michael couldn’t help thinking how much he reminded him of the first wizard they had come into contact with – Lucius. He knew Lee was thinking the same because he could hear his breathing quicken, and he stood protectively in front of his younger brother.

‘Michael, Lee,’ Molly chided, ‘I said say hello.’

‘No,’ Michael said. ‘I don’t trust him.’

Molly once again turned pink. ‘Well really!’ she said. ‘You could both show a little more respect. Professor Snape is one of the most valued teachers at Hogwarts. Haven’t we already had a talk about manners once today?’ she added sternly. It seemed that the Pickles, though they were kind and pleasant enough boys, were a little more street wise than Molly’s own brood had been at that age. Some of the language they used was certainly more colourful, and their boisterousness often made the twins seem as well behaved as Hermione. They were also fiercely loyal. When Molly had scolded Michael for breaking one of her favourite teapots, Lee had not left his side. What Michael did, Lee did, and she noted that Lee was now also looking at Snape with identical dislike. She was just about to open her mouth to protest again, when Severus beat her to it.

‘I see your meeting with Lucius has made you wary,’ he said smoothly. ‘You are perhaps wise.’ He edged slowly towards them. ‘However, as Molly said, I am a Professor at Hogwarts school, in the employment of Albus Dumbledore. You have met him I take it?’

Michael nodded reluctantly and Lee immediately followed suit. They had both been impressed by the white-haired wizard with his calming air and twinkling blue eyes.

‘Then perhaps you might believe his recommendation.’

‘Why are you wearing those robes then mister?’ Michael said. ‘They make you look like a Death Eater. I bet you even have that mark on your wrist like he had.’

Molly could not help but gasp slightly.

‘That’s quite enough, Michael,’ Arthur said evenly. ‘Professor Snape is a guest in our home and you will please treat him with respect.’ Both he and Molly were well aware that Snape did have the Dark Mark upon his wrist, but neither would be keen to see it again. It was too rude a reminder that Snape had once been a Death Eater.

Snape’s lips curled into a sneer. ‘Appearances can be deceptive, Mr Pickle. I think perhaps you have a lot to learn. Do you really believe that a set of robes and an emblem determine the wizard? If so then you are very childish indeed. Tell me, do all your criminals dress in hooped jerseys?’

Michael thought for a few moments. He felt Lee tug on his jumper.

‘If Dumbledore thinks he’s alright, maybe he is?’ his younger brother whispered.

After a few moments more silence, Michael conceded. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘But I’ll be keeping my eye on you.’

If any of the students at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had spoken to the potions master in such a way they would have been on the receiving end of a most unpleasant detention; but, in this instance, Snape let the remark pass. He realised that the time the boys had spent in the company of Lucius had coloured their views and he could not really blame them.

He stepped forward and took Tommy from Arthur’s arms. The small boy stopped fussing at once and peered up at the potions master. He recognised the strong hold of the arms immediately. He had enjoyed himself with Nape and the funny little boy Hawwy. They had been very kind to him. He smiled up with a gummy grin, now punctuated by a couple of small teeth that had been very painful in their coming.

‘Napey,’ he said giggling.

Snape felt a tug on his robes, and didn’t need to look down to know it was Harry. As he did look down, however, he saw stubborn green eyes and sighed sharply. ‘Please detangle yourself from my robes Potter,’ he said.

Molly came to the rescue. She stooped down and picked Harry up. ‘Come on dear,’ she said. ‘Have another biscuit. Professor Snape won’t be long.’

Harry hesitated, but in the end, noting the look in the batman’s eyes, relented and allowed himself to be carried towards the plate of biscuits. He hoped with all his might that Tommy would not be coming with them to live again.

‘He has not aged,’ Snape said, more to himself than anyone else.

Michael stepped forward slightly. ‘Do you know how to change him back now, mister?’ he asked.

‘It’s not that simple, Mr Pickle,’ Snape said.

‘Why not?’ Michael demanded. ‘Just wave your wand at him or something.’

Snape ignored the childish remark and concentrated on the child who was sitting in his arms, wriggling slightly, searching the pale skin of his arms and legs with sharp eyes.

‘Down,’ Tommy said, pointing to Harry. His stomach felt rumbly and he wanted one of the biscuits that Harry was tucking in to.

‘He must be hungry, Severus,’ Molly said stepping forward. ‘He has only had a bottle this morning.’

Harry scowled immediately. It had been aged since he’d had his bobba.

‘This will not take long,’ Severus said. He beckoned Michael over. The young boy was dressed in a large sleeveless shirt that looked like it had belonged to an elder Weasley boy. It hung low over his neck and as he stepped forward it slipped down. What it revealed caused Snape’s breath to quicken ever-so-slightly in excitement. He pointed a finger to the port-wine stain on the boy’s upper chest.

‘A birth-mark, Mr Pickle?’

Michael pulled his shirt up self-consciously. ‘Yeah, so?’ he snapped.

‘Michael,’ Molly warned again.

‘Tell me, Mr Pickle, does Tommy have a similar mark?’

Michael shrugged. ‘Yeah, we all do. Ma calls it the Pickle curse.’ He saw something strange flash through the wizard’s eyes, and carried on slowly, ‘One of my younger brothers has his on his cheek. I’m always thumping some kid or other for teasing him about it.’

Snape heard Molly click her tongue, but he was not interested in the boy’s confessions. ‘Where is Tommy’s?’ he asked. Snape’s whole body was tense as he waited for the reply.

Lee spoke up. ‘It’s on his back,’ he said, ‘Like mine.’

‘Is it important?’ Arthur asked curiously.

‘It could be,’ Severus said. Very Important he added to himself. He stooped down and placed Tommy on the floor and began to undress him. Tommy, however, seemed to think it was a game. Every time Snape popped the small chubby arm out of the sweatshirt, Tommy giggled and put it back in. Sighing, Severus clicked his fingers, immediately leaving the toddler naked from the waist up. All at once, the elder occupants of the room seemed to step forward, surrounding Tommy in a circle.

‘There’s nothing there!’ Michael said. He looked round wildly at the potions professor. ‘Does that mean he’s not my brother then?’

Snape stood up. ‘On the contrary,’ he said. ‘It is as I expected. This is indeed your brother; however, the birth mark is no longer a feature of his body.’

Molly picked Tommy up and muttered a spell to reclothe him. He was giggling away again, obviously thinking this was the next part of the game.

‘But Harry’s scar remains,’ Arthur said thoughtfully.

‘Mr Malfoy cast the spell whilst it was still its infancy,' Snape said, but he only half-heard his own voice as his mind worked furiously. He had felt that an answer had been within a fingernail’s width since his eyes had fallen for the hundredth, hundredth time to Potter’s scar in Whitby. Now he felt that he had reached it.

Snape had wondered again and again why the curse had transformed the boy to a place in his life where he had just received one of the worst and most unusual scars the wizarding world had ever seen received, and he had always questioned the fact that the spell was simply a tool to transform the victim into a baby – the Dark Lord had far more powerful weapons he could use on his adversaries than that. But now it became clearer. In fact, there wasn’t really an intended victim at all. What was evident to Snape was that since it had been used on Potter, the spell had been improved and refined by Lucius to a point where it would now rid the receiver of anything that might have marred the body the first time they had lived their life – such as scars and birthmarks. Importantly, it also retained what had formed the elder mind. For example, Potter still had somewhere within the memories that had shaped his personality. Could there, then, be a more powerful way for the Dark Lord to return himself to full strength? Snape had seen first hand his twisted appearance – the slatted red eyes and the sunken nose that made him snake-like in countenance. Yes, the spell he had performed at the end of the Triwizard tournament had restored him to a living being, but even Severus could see that there was something that warped him – body and soul. This curse would be a way for the Dark Lord to reverse the effects the half-life he had previously lived had exerted upon him.

More. Snape had long suspected that the Dark Lord had spliced his soul into a Horcrux – maybe even more than one. This curse would restore the corporal part to a whole, and, Snape suspected, without marring the other parts of the soul contained elsewhere - separate fragments which had no relation to the body on which the curse would be cast. In fact if it did not do this then it would be less than useless to the Dark Lord.

The curse may also sever the connection between the Dark Lord and Potter, because it would be as though the killing curse had never resounded on the pair all those years ago. This would thus shatter the prophecy that had been the obsession of the Dark Lord for nearly fifteen years. In short, it would be everything that the Dark Lord had ever dreamed of. Snape had spoken truthfully to Lucius when he had told him that he sensed the Dark Lord tired of him and that he was on the verge of some triumph that would mean he would no longer need him. It now became clear that this was it; a curse that would make him more powerful and untouchable than the Order could ever imagine. The only thing that seemed to be missing was the way in which the curse would bring the reborn back to adulthood. There must be a quick antidote that the Dark Lord or Lucius had designed as Snape could not imagine that his old master would wish to remain as an infant for as long as Harry and Tommy had done.

‘But what does it mean, Severus?’ Molly said, bringing Snape back to the present. He sensed six pairs of eyes on him.

‘I need to get back to Hogwarts,’ Snape said at once. ‘Come along Potter.’ Harry immediately ran to his side and Snape reached down for the small hand. He wondered with sudden insight if it was the Dark Lord’s intention to also curse Potter with the spell - to make sure that the connection between them was indeed severed once and for all on both sides. It was possible – he seemed fixated with the notion that Potter be there to witness every step of his return to glory – perhaps because it had been the boy who had also been the only witness to his demise. Snape hope this was the case. If it was then it bought them all more time.

‘But Severus …’ Molly protested as he advanced to the grate.

Arthur put his hand on her arm. ‘We will know in good time, my dear. Let Severus get back to the castle, and Dumbledore.’

Molly did not say anything more. She kept the children back as the two figures apparated with speed to Hogwarts.

‘Look, how am I supposed to know what father was up to?’ Draco demanded irritably.

He and Hermione were walking in the grounds just beyond Hagrid’s hut and near to the lake. She had practically stalked him after breakfast until he finally he left Crabbe and Goyle to go and practice Quidditch and she had been able to catch him on his own. Draco privately thought she was taking a risk. He already made up his mind that should any Slytherin’s see them together, then he would have to curse her to prevent them growing suspicious. A silencio hex would probably be the best option, he thought grimly. At least then he could get some peace and quiet.

‘You saw him afterwards,’ Hermione reasoned.

‘How do you know that?’ Draco said, stopping and turning towards her with surprise. As far as he was aware, only Snape had been witness to the unpleasant exchange with his father.

‘I followed you,’ Hermione said, turning pink. ‘I wanted to see what Lucius was going to do.’

‘Always sticking your nose into things that don’t concern you, aren’t you Granger?’ Draco spat bitterly. ‘Well if you did see then you would know that father and me didn’t exactly exchange pleasantries.’

Hermione bit her lip, absentmindedly smoothing down her wild, bushy hair with the palm of her hand. She remembered the cold anger Lucius had turned upon his son as he struck him with the serpent headed cane. She knew that Draco would be less than pleased that she had been witness to it. She could not abandon the subject, however. It was not in her nature to let something lie if she really believed that it could help; she was convinced that getting to the bottom of Lucius’ purpose that day may be a step towards restoring Harry to his original teenage self.

‘Look Draco please,’ she pressed, ‘what happened after I left you?’

Draco ignored Hermione and carried on walking. His eyes automatically sought the vast blue lake, which today was littered with choppy white ripples formed by the gusts of wind blowing over the surface and the beginning of a fine, drizzly rain.

In truth, he did not care to recall what had happened next on the morning of the Quidditch match. It had been only minutes later when he had looked into his father’s mind and seen for the first time his cruelty laid bare through the plight of the Pickle children - thus setting into motion a chain of events that Sir Dapper, the oracle of the lake, had predicted would have far-reaching consequences. Try as he might, though, he could not shake the looks of terror and despair on the faces of the children. The middle child in particular haunted Draco the most. He had seemed almost resigned to their fate, with an acceptance that death was near; it seemed that he was simply waiting to see in what form it would occur.

Snape had informed him the day previously that the Pickle children had been rescued. Draco had been pleased. He knew what it as like to be on the receiving end of his father’s anger, and it would have been many times worse for the muggle children. He also knew that his father was, for the time being at least, safe from recriminations and, perhaps confusingly, this also pleased him.

It appeared that Lucius had not guessed that information leading to the rescue had come from Draco. But Draco was under no illusion that this would remain the case. It was only a matter of time before he was found out - he had never been able to successfully hide anything from his father for long.

‘Draco please,’ Hermione said. ‘I know that it was you that helped the Pickle children. If there is something else that you can help the order with then you must at least try …’

Draco whirled round on the slighter witch. ‘Must I?’ he demanded. ‘Who says I must? Maybe I’m helping father with whatever he had planned. Had you ever thought of that? That would be what your precious Potter would think.’

Hermione was horrified. ‘But – But I thought?’

‘You thought what?’ Draco raged, ‘that we were all friends now or something? That we could have cosy little chats by the lake? Or perhaps that I would help put my father away in Azkaban for the amusement of you and the other Gryfinndors?’

‘No- that’s not what I meant. I- I realise that it must be difficult for you.’

‘You don’t know ANYTHING,’ Draco yelled. ‘Just leave me alone Hermione.’

He then threw himself down on the grass by the lake, pulling his robes protectively around his thin shoulders. It all seemed so black and white for everyone else he thought with self-pity. Hermione was a mudblood, and that automatically told her what side she was meant to defend. Now it seemed that she expected him to forget how he had been brought up and go in league against his father? He wouldn’t do it!

‘Draco …’ Hermione sat down gently next to the Slytherin prefect. ‘I’m sorry. I’m won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to do. I know that you’ve already done more than enough for us, and I know that everyone is grateful for it.’

Draco said nothing. They sat in silence, side by side, drinking in the view of the lake. He thought over his childhood, and over the endless disappointment he had faced at the hands of his father. His remembered and felt again the constant tension he experienced at their manor - his mother going along with Lucius’ every wish simply to keep the peace. He remembered the fear in her pale eyes every time his father came home late from a meeting with an unexplainable spring in his step. He then thought of Severus Snape; the way his house master presented two faces to the world with such ease, that no one, perhaps not even Snape himself, knew exactly which one he truly believed in. Finally he sighed.

‘I don’t know what my father was carrying,’ he said. ‘I saw a flash of silver, no more.’

Hermione felt a crushing disappointment, her shoulders slumping. It seemed that whatever Lucius had been up to was destined to remain a mystery to her.

‘I suppose it was a bit of a long shot,’ she said sadly.

Draco thought carefully before speaking his next sentence.

‘But I know how to enter the chamber of St Filiwell.’