Harry's eyes widened in horror as he stared at his father.

"No way!" he said emphatically. "I'm not wearing that!"

Snape looked down at the outfit he was holding up for his son's perusal. He supposed he should have anticipated this reaction. "What's wrong with it?"

"It's... girly!" Harry exclaimed. "It's got frilly bits on it!"

Snape lowered the little black velvet suit and fingered the white lace collar. "This is a perfectly acceptable suit for a boy your age, Harry. In fact I thought it was very fine."

"But, daddy," Harry whined. "Why can't I just wear my jeans?"

Snape surveyed Harry's array of clothes with a turned up nose. The boy had plenty of robes and the fine cloak they'd purchased their first day together, but for casual wear he invariably chose the old baggy trousers and violently coloured shirt he'd been wearing the day his father fetched him from the muggles house. Snape couldn't understand it.

"Harry I've made allowances for you wearing those disgusting old garments for your rough and tumble play with Neville. But we are on holiday now and you will be mixing with other folk. Magical folk. I will not introduce you as my son while you are dressed as some raggedy... hedge warlock!"

Harry looked interested. "What's a warlock? Do they live in hedges? Daddy?"

Snape sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. After two days of travel and his lack of sleep the night before all he wanted to do was rest the afternoon away and have an early dinner. But he had promised Harry dragons and that meant mixing with those holiday makers gathered here to do the same thing.

"Harry," he began patiently. "It's very cold out there, do you understand? This suit isn't just smart enough to mix with other folk, it will also keep you warm. And you'll be wearing your cloak over it."

Harry set his jaw mutinously. "No!"

"Fine!" Snape tossed the suit back into the chest. "It seems a shame to have come all this way without seeing dragons. But if you don't want to dress to go out..."

"Daddy!" Harry wailed but Snape would not be budged. There were times he indulged the boy shamelessly, quite often driven by guilt if nothing else. But there were also times he would not give in. Harry must learn to do what he was told.

Snape could also be stubborn. In fact the child had probably inherited the trait from him, along with the black frown and out thrust chin. "The group is leaving in ten minutes, Harry."

"Bugger," Harry muttered, kicking the trunk with his stockinged foot.

"Harry Potter!" Snape said, scandalised. "Where did you hear such language?"

Harry's temper died quickly and he shuffled his feet, then bent to rub at his toe. "Um, I don't 'member," he confessed. Then he looked up, face woebegone. "I hurt my foot."

"Serves you right for indulging in bad temper," his father said hardly. "Really, Harry, I don't know. If I find out you heard that word from those Weasley hooligans..."

"I better get dressed," Harry said hurriedly, pulling the hated suit out of the chest and surveying it with a frown. "How do I put it on?"

Snape dropped the subject, experienced enough at fatherhood by this time to know that if he made too big a deal of it then from here on the word would become Harry's favourite.

And he'd thought Harry constantly saying 'pants' would drive him crazy.

The velvet suit involved buttoned cuffs around Harry's knees and a whole line of little silver buttons up the front. With his long white stockings and little black boots Snape thought Harry looked fine. He gently took narrow shoulders in his hands and turned the boy to the mirror.

"Now you look like a young wizard, Harry."

The boy surveyed himself doubtfully. "Why do young wizards have frilly collars?" he said grumpily. "And robes that look like dresses?"

Snape straightened and patted the boy's tousled head. "You must stop thinking like a muggle, Harry. They change the manner of their dress as often as they change their foolish minds. In the magical world we have more sense. Now put your cloak and hat on. It's time to go."

888

"Welcome, welcome!" the magically amplified voice boomed. There were a dozen or so holiday makers standing on the fret worked wooden landing and Snape surveyed them sourly. They were exactly what he had pictured and dreaded when booking their time at Dragon Inn. Bespectacled researchers in their ridiculous leather coats and supposedly fireproof tin hats. Dragon fanatics wearing shiny dragon skin coats and boots, annoyingly flapping wings magically attached to their backs.

And the inevitable harassed parents, herding broods of misbehaved children into line and attempting to stop them flinging themselves to their grisly deaths over the wooden balcony railing.

Snape proudly surveyed Harry standing quietly by his side, taking everything in. How well behaved his boy seemed compared to those hooligans! Snape vowed in future to be more patient with his son who was obviously a model of virtue next to most young wizards his age.

"Please listen up, people, if you want to survive the afternoon with your limbs intact!" the guide called over the chatter of the group and slowly they quieted. "Thank you. Now this afternoon will be our short introductory tour, taking in the eastern range and scenic flight over the roosts along the Drachen Mountain. After that we'll return for a tour of our amazing museum and a quick perusal of our gift shop. If you haven't already signed up for tomorrows full day tour, people, I'd do so now."

"Are we flying on a broom again?" Harry asked his father as they followed the guide along the balcony. Then he stopped in amazement as the people around them began sitting down on a brilliantly patterned carpet at their feet.

"Our trip today will be by flying carpet," the guide explained, standing at the head of the rather threadbare rug and facing them. "Take your seats now, people, and don't worry about falling off." His brown face creased in a smile. "Plenty of charms in place to stop that happening."

"A flying carpet?" Harry said doubtfully. "How does a carpet fly?"

"How does a broom fly?" Snape said reasonably, taking a seat at the back and narrowly avoiding being slapped in the face by another tourist's fake wing as it folded. "It's just magic, Harry."

Still looking a trifle unsure Harry sat back in his father's lap, not even protesting as the straps flew into place and buckled him close. Around him families were doing the same with their own children as with a few muttered words from their guide the carpet lifted and hovered stiffly a few inches above the floor.

"Keep your hands and feet inside the carpet," the guide suggested. "We haven't lost a passenger in months, people, and I'd like to keep it that way! Off we go!"

"Months?" Snape muttered, but it was too late to change his mind, the carpet was up and away, leaving the old wooden inn perched on the side of the mountain behind.

"Weeee!" Harry exclaimed and around him children erupted into cheers as adults paled and closed their eyes.

Snape discovered something on that short journey. He really really hated flying carpets. At least when someone else was in control. He found he didn't like not knowing who had bespelled this carpet and when. He didn't like not knowing exactly what charms were cast on it to keep passengers from falling. And he really really didn't like the idea that all that was between them and that last long drop to the ground below was a half an inch of threadbare carpet.

On his own he could apparate to safety if anything went wrong, but with Harry in his arms...

Snape spent the short journey reciting every levitation and floating spell he knew, eyes firmly shut. In his lap Harry was exclaiming and pointing out snow covered mountains and interesting flocks of birds, but Snape was only counting seconds and trying to remember whether the word in the spell was amphithere or amphitheros.

Fortunately at this point they alighted on the top of a mountain and Snape at last felt the reassurance of firm ground beneath him again.

"Hurry, daddy," Harry urged, tugging at his straps, but Snape kept his arms around the boy and perched him on his hip as he unsteadily stood and stepped off the rug. He wasn't letting go of Harry until they were back at the inn. Or possibly until they were back in England.

Harry was too preoccupied to notice, the crowd had all moved to a wooden railing that perched on the side of the mountain, looking out at an astounding vista. Mountains surrounded them, some towering over them covered with snow, some mere crags beneath then, wreathed in mist. It was an awesome enough spectacle that Snape actually felt himself relaxing and taking a deep lung full of good clean air.

"You see before you," the guide said in practised tones. "The perfect terrain for viewing dragons. Careful observation will reveal signs all around you. For example..."

He pointed out holes in the cliff faces, barely visible in the mist. Patches of trees on nearby mountains that looked scorched and and burnt. Even narrow ways he claimed were tracks were dragons hunted their primary sources of food, mountain sheep and goats.

"Where are the dragons?" Harry whispered impatiently, leaning against his father's shoulder. "I can't see any!"

Several others in the crowd were also muttering but the guide was already grinning and peering into the distance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said proudly. "I present you with Draco Occidentalis Magnus. The common European dragon."

Snape tightened his hold as Harry's whole body stiffened in excitement. Approaching them at a leisurely scull was the mighty four legged dragon, the beating of its wings like snapping sails in the mountain's quiet air. Dark green with the classic arrowhead tail whipping behind it the dragon soared to a nearby peak where it alighted and perched majestically.

The guide was happily pointing out various features but Snape tuned out the drone about thick spines and fanged teeth. All his attention was focused on Harry as the boy stared with wide eyes, his skin flushed with excitement, his hands gripping his father like claws.

"A really and truly dragon," he was murmuring.

Snape patted his back, reflecting that this had been worth the truly horrible journey to get here.

Harry was happy.

888

The museum might have seemed an anticlimax after the dragon sighting, but Harry was on a high, so excited he was stuttering as he chattered about all they had seen. The tour tomorrow promised many more species of dragon and a glimpse into a nesting cavern, and Snape was resigned to more torturous carpet flying.

"What does this say?" Harry asked curiously, stopping by a beautifully illustrated sign, comparing the height of an average wizard with various species of dragon.

"The somewhat perilous art of drogonmetricity," Snape read. "Or dragon measurement - has few living exponents." He stifled a snigger. "I'll bet."

They marveled at the Dr Flameaway heat tested dragon protection hats on display, along with the famous Draco Whistles responsible, it claimed, for the great dragon disasters of the middle ages. Finally it was dinner time and Snape could rest his aching bones and take a break from dragon chatter while Harry refueled himself.

"You remember that playground we saw?" Harry said, polishing off his apple pie.

Snape glanced outside. "It's getting late, Harry. Aren't you tired?"

"Uh uh," Harry denied. "Just five minutes, daddy? Please?"

"Don't wheedle, Harry," Snape ordered automatically. All the same, it might not be a bad idea to rid the boy of some of this excitement before bed time. Otherwise it would be a long hard struggle getting him to sleep. "Five minutes then. But mind! You're not to argue when I say it's time to come in."

"Yes, daddy," Harry said obediently.

"And remember to keep your hat on," Snape continued. "And don't tell anyone your name."

888

A playground was set out below the inn, already swarming with children. A gigantic dragon sculpture boasted a dozen children scrambling up its plated steps and disappearing behind out spread wings. A moment later the children appeared from the dragon's roaring mouth, sliding down the tongue of flame with a squeal.

A round-about revolved slowly, dragons and unicorns and various other creatures bobbing slowly up and down, enthusiastically spurred on by little witches and wizards on their backs. The dragons squirmed and the unicorns neighed and tossed their silvery heads.

"Oooh," Harry breathed.

Seeing some welcome seats nearby Snape gladly set his sights on it, but he caught Harry firmly between his hands before he could dart away and crouched in front of him, ostensibly straightening his cap and unfastening his cloak.

"Remember what I told you, Harry," he said quietly. "Keep your hat on. And no unnecessary chattering."

"Yes, daddy," Harry agreed eagerly, squirming to get free. Folding the cloak over his arm Snape straightened as the boy ran to the enclosed area, heading straight for the dragon.

The seats were half full and Snape chose a position where he could keep a firm eye on Harry without having to make conversation with anyone else. He had barely relaxed into place when Harry came running back over.

"Daddy!" he said breathlessly, skimming to a stop. "A girl asked me my name! Can I tell her?"

"Just your first name," Snape allowed. Harry already had a smudge down one cheek but before Snape could wipe it away Harry had turned on his heel and was gone, little legs pumping as he raced back to the playground. A small girl was waiting to climb the giant dragon and he joined her. Harry began waving his arms enthusiastically and Snape recognised his dragon description. He hoped Harry's new friend was prepared for a blow by blow account of the afternoon.

Discreetly he snapped a few more pictures for Harry's collection before stowing the camera back under Harry's cloak. The last thing he wanted was to appear as another of these brainless doting parents, snapping reel after reel of their deadly dull offspring to bore everyone they knew back home with their holiday snaps.

All the same he'd taken some rather good shots today already.

Harry and his new friend disappeared into the dragon's head and Snape relaxed back on the bench, again feeling the weary ache of his disturbed night. After a few hours of clinginess this morning Harry seemed back to normal again, buoyed by the long awaited sight of dragons.

Snape couldn't help but wonder about the coming night. Would it bring more nightmares?

"Boiled sveet?"

Snape stared cross eyed at the bag shoved into his face, then focused past it to the rather large woman grinning toothily at him.

"Excuse me?"

The woman pushed the paper bag back into her already over stuffed hand bag and sat down comfortably on a nearby bench.

"Or a sandvich?" she offered, rummaging back in the bag. "It's livervurst."

Equal parts bemused and revolted Snape shook his head, wondering what he had done to deserve these offers.

"That's my Lottie," she said, nodding over her head to the blond pigtailed girl now revolving slowly on the back of a unicorn as Harry clung to a dragon's back. "I saw her playing mit your boy so I thought I'd join you." She widened her blue eyes at him, plump pink cheeks creasing. "Is your vife mit you?"

Completely unused to being approached by strangers Snape foolishly shook his head, only realising as the witch smiled and fluttered her eye lashes at him that he had made a mistake.

"Ve are alone too, Lottie and me," she sighed, tucking her bright woolen shawl around her shoulders as a cool breeze ruffled the trees around them. "Brr, these mountains nights are cool, yes?"

Seizing his chance Snape stood, clutching Harry's cloak and camera before him like a shield. "I should get my, er, son in before it gets too much colder," he said, trying to catch Harry's eye.

The witch stood too, collecting up her bags and parcels. "Vhat a good idea!" she agreed. "There's a nice varm fireplace inside, and the liebchen would like some hot cocoa, I'm sure." She took a step closer and smiled coquettishly, scarf slipping from her head to reveal hair as golden as her daughters plaited around her head. "And something stronger for the parents, yes?"

Snape was a man who felt himself well suited to any occasion that arose in life, but he sensed he was out of his depth now. He just wasn't used to this - people coming up out of the blue and being friendly and flirting and fluttering long blonde eyelashes at him...

"I'm Yetta, by the way," the witch said with another warm smile, taking a perilous step closer.

Snape opened his mouth but fortunately Harry chose that moment to come running up with his new friend by his side.

"Daddy!" he said indignantly. "Lottie says I have to play house with her and hold the baby! I don't want to hold the baby!"

"How sveet!" Yetta exclaimed as her daughter ran up and cuddled into her side. "And vhat a little cutie! Vhat's his name?"

Harry was leaning against him surveying the newcomer curiously and Snape breathed a sigh of relief. He felt as if he had just had a narrow escape, although at the moment he wasn't even sure he hadn't been misreading the whole situation. Things like this just didn't happen to him.

"Time to go, Harry," he said firmly, keeping his gaze on the boy's face as Harry automatically opened his mouth to object. It enabled him to raise an eyebrow and stop Harry's objections cold, but also kept from looking at the strange witch who'd seemed to think that just because he had a child she had some kind of excuse to make a connection with him.

"Yes, daddy," Harry said obediently.

"But vhat about our cocoa?" the witch was saying in disappointed tones.

"You didn't hold the baby, Harry," Lottie said peevishly. She produced a doll and thrust it forward and Harry backed away as if she was presenting him with a live snake.

"Perhaps tomorrow," Snape promised vaguely, turning Harry and heading for the hotel. Night was beginning to set in and parents and children were gathering their belongings and trooping up the cinder path.

"Girls are weird," Harry said from under his arm and Snape found himself nodding firm agreement with his nearly six year old son.

888

Before the holiday was over Snape revised his opinions somewhat. Everyone was weird when you were a parent. Having a child by your side seemed to make people think you would welcome any opinion that they had to offer. Suddenly you had joined some exclusive club with secret signals like eye rolls and shrugs when offspring misbehaved or began annoying everyone in ear shot.

Snape generally found that his trademark rudeness soon saw most people off.

Thankfully the blond witch Yetta took the hint and set her sights somewhat higher. By the time they settled onto the carpet for the next day's tour she was firmly attached to a wizard in a towering purple turban who looked like he didn't know what had hit him.

Tolerating the experience was made easier when it became clear that Harry had recovered from his fright of the first night. Excitement and activity occupied and wore him out and as expected his sunny personality reasserted itself pretty quickly.

All the same, three days of dragons and company later Snape was counting their last few hours before he and Harry could shake the dust of this mountain inn from their heels and climb back on board their broom for home.

Home!

To think he'd once hated Hogwarts! Now he could hardly wait for the peace and quiet of their cosy little quarters. He was looking forward to the last weeks of the holidays without any students around as well, to long quiet halls and empty dungeons.

"Lottie's going home tomorrow same as us," Harry said conversationally after their last night's dinner, as they sat in their room in front of a crackling fire sipping cocoa.

"Mmm," Snape said noncommittally.

"Girls sure like dolls and things, don't they daddy?"

"Merlin's a doll," Snape pointed out, nodding to the porcelain faced toy that sat next to them on the comfy couch and even had its own mug on its lap, although Snape refused to actually pour any actual cocoa into it.

"He's not a doll!" Harry said in outraged tones. "He's a, um..."

"Figurine?" Snape supplied helpfully.

"Yeah," Harry agreed gratefully. "Like Batman and stuff."

"If you say so." Snape sipped his brew. "You seemed to enjoy her company in the playground today."

Harry shrugged and rolled his eyes long sufferingly. "She was okay once I nursed her stupid doll," he huffed. "She tried to kiss me," he confided and Snape's eyebrows rose of their own accord. Then he blinked.

"Kiss you?" he managed.

"She said I was the daddy and she was the mummy and then she tried to kiss me." Harry drained his cocoa and licked his lips. "Girls are boring," he pronounced.

"Perhaps one day you'll change your mind," his father murmured, hoping that day would be in the far distant future.

Harry shook his head emphatically. "Uh uh. When can I see how the photos come out?"

"I told you, Harry. We'll develop them when we get home."

Harry leaned against his father's arm and looked thoughtful. "It'll be nice to be home, won't it, daddy?"

Snape glanced down at the little tousled head resting against him. "Have you enjoyed the holiday, Harry?" he couldn't help but ask, memories of their first night away from home still haunting him.

But Harry's smile was sunny as he looked up and beamed. "The best!" he exclaimed. "I saw all those dragons and I have the flute for Neville and Mr Lupin and Professor Dumbledore will love the dragon lollies!"

Relieved at the candid answer Snape inclined his head. "How could they not?"

"And soon it will be my birthday," Harry reminded his father. "And Neville's too." The boy fiddled with the spoon and empty mug on his lap. "Daddy?"

Recognising Harry's thoughtful tone Snape shot him a curious glance.

"Yes?"

"When Lottie asked me my name..."

Snape reached out a gentle hand and stilled Harry's fussing fingers.

"Yes, Harry?"

"She wanted to know my whole name," Harry confessed softly. His worried frown tugged at Snape's guilt strings. What had he been thinking, burdening Harry with the responsibility of keeping his identity secret? The lad didn't even understand why it was necessary.

He laid his mug on the table by the couch and sat Harry's empty mug beside it. "It's all right, Harry," he said quietly, now wrapping a comforting arm about the boy's shoulders. "It's all right if you told her your name."

Harry bit his lip. "I didn't," he mumbled and Snape frowned.

"You didn't?"

"I told her my name was Harry Snape," the boy confessed, then looked up at his father with wide distressed eyes.

Snape was nonplussed. Harry hadn't mentioned the subject of their names since their one and only discussion about it months before.

"Sorry, daddy," Harry was saying miserably and Snape realised he had to set the boy's mind at rest.

"It's still all right, Harry," he said as firmly as he could. And when Harry just gazed at him he squeezed a narrow shoulder and nodded. "Really, it's all right."

"You're not mad?"

"No, I'm not mad." Snape studied the child's relieved expression warily. "Harry, I thought we discussed this? Does it bother you that we have different names?"

"Uh uh." Harry shook his head, his slanted green eyes unguarded and sincere.

Relieved himself at the candid honesty in those startling eyes Snape breathed a small sigh. "Then why did you tell your little friend your name was Harry Snape?"

Harry shrugged. "You said not to tell anyone I was Harry Potter and I thought..." The boy broke off. "Well," he continued more slowly. "I thought I could be Harry Snape too. Like a disguise."

"A disguise," Snape repeated.

"Just when we're on holidays and stuff." Harry studied him wide eyed. "Can I have more cocoa?"

"No, Harry, it's nearly your bed time."

"I'm not sleepy," Harry insisted.

"The quicker we go to bed the quicker we'll be flying home tomorrow," Snape reminded him. Harry shrugged and cuddled closer again and Snape let the subject drop, staring into the flickering flames of the fire.

So was that all it had been, a child's fancy? Or was there more to it than that? Did their different names really bother Harry?

This was something that would need a lot more thought.

888

It was midnight at Hogwarts and Harry was fast asleep back in his own bed when Snape carried the small box to the table and sat down. With a quiet word he lit the lamp and then he laid everything out, his plan clear in his mind. He worked for half an hour, carefully pasting and writing and then finally he closed the book and surveyed the front cover.

Picking up the pen he wrote with his best hand.

Harry's First Holiday.

Then shaking his head over his own foolish sentimentality he transfigured the album so it looked like a text book and slipped it into his bookshelf.