Lily sometimes wondered what would have happened if she had not attended her nephew's belated christening. If she had snubbed her sister's invitation, as Petunia had done to her so many times over the years, staying at home to tend to her husband and son. Petunia's eagerness for her son to be admitted to an exclusive Church of England primary school had called for an impromptu trip to St Barts parish church, where a wailing Dudley had cried for his television throughout the entire ceremony. Lily had been forced to attend the shambolic affair by her parents, leaving Harry at home with chicken pox- and James, his reluctant babysitter. It pained her that she could not remember her final words to her first husband- nor his to her. She often felt as if she had abandoned him, guilt rising like bile in her throat when she thought of how easily she came to accept Severus into her life, uprooting herself and Harry into the home of James' childhood enemy.

If she had stayed at home that fateful night she would have undoubtably died. Following, she supposed, that primordial instinct to protect her offspring- leaving Harry an orphan before the age of two, in the care of reckless Sirius or spiteful Petunia. It wasn't that Lily had a morbid preoccupation with death, she just sometimes wondered what James would think if he could see her now. If he would blame her. Would he accuse her of failing him when he needed her most? With these questions at the back of her mind she found herself time and time again craving the peace and quiet that Harry and Severus continually denied her.

She smiled fondly, remembering how Severus had swooped into Godric's Hollow, much like how James used to imitate his bat like movements. Severus had smuggled her and a sleeping Harry away from the sharp scratching of Rita Skeeter's quill and the violent hysterics of a grieving and bereft Sirius. Severus' love for her had not faltered despite her choosing James over him. No, Severus loved her with a fierce passion that Lily found difficult to comprehend. He had protected her and Harry without question, installing them in his heavily warded house in Spinner's End. Albus had offered him a teaching position at Hogwarts soon after, and he in turn extended the invitation to include Lily and her child, unearthing his Mother's old wedding ring and promising to love, honour and protect Lily for the rest of his days.

The teaching staff at Hogwarts doted on young Harry. From the moment he arrived at the school he had been burdened with a never-ending supply of of Uncles and Aunts, something that immediately irked Severus who hated nothing more than a spoiled child. Lily had been wrapped up in a web of self-absorbed grief, leaving the responsibility of caring for the child to Severus (the eternal bachelor). He tried at all times to view the boy as Lily's, to see nothing of James in him. A task that he almost always succeeded in, for Severus Snape was not a man who failed.

For the most part, Severus kept a tight rein on his stepson. He strove for perfection in his own life, and expected obediance, respect and decorum no matter how young the boy was. He'd been a presence in Harry's life for over five years- in comparison to James Potter's fifteen months- and yet the boy was willful, reckless and continually in and out of trouble. The boy may call him "Dad" (somewhat begrudingly he felt- if a seven year old could be begrudging...) but it often felt like the pair were embroiled in a constant battle of wills.

Harry was the type of child who had dirt under his finger nails however many times he was instructed to wash his hands. He was that child who fought tooth and nail against taking a bath and had a bad habit of seeking out mischief wherever he went. Aged seven, the boy was on his way to becoming a menace- a fact that Severus loudly proclaimed to be due to his parentage- running around planting dungbombs in Filch's filing cabinet, smiling toothily at Albus then proceeding to pull the feathers out of Fawkes golden plume: he was the epitome of a happy, healthy, (albeit unruly) little boy. He spent the mornings at a day school for magical children in a village north of Hogsmead. The afternoons, however, were another story.

Lily was now almost back to her former self, rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her heartbreak. She could look at her child, seeing the sacrifice of her deceased husband torn into his forehead, without tears brimming at her eyes. Unfortunately, she was now focused on resuming the research that she had embarked upon before the birth of Harry. She was recently apprenticed to Filius, assisting in the teaching of younger pupils in return for his advice and imput into her thesis on controversial charms, leaving Harry in the care of an elderly house elf from lunch to dinner time. Harry was something of an expert at evading his guardians, and Severus now found himself in a state of constant vigilance- utilising the deatheater skill of stealth in order to quash his stepson's mischief as quickly as possible- with Lily abdicating the discipline of the child to him. He was certain he would have a nervous breakdown before the age of thirty.

It had been a day much like any other. Harry had gone to school, Severus to class, and Lily to her study. They had lunched in the Great Hall, and then each gone their separate ways. Harry had feigned tiredness, and Lily had dismissed the house elf- throwing her studies aside to enjoy a moment to herself, soaking in a steaming hot bath. She woke up hours later to cold water and the almost slightly feminine shrieking of her beloved.

"Boy! Get out here this instant!"

Lily heard the a crashing noise from her son's room, reached for her wand and muttered a heating charm on the water, summoned a glass of wine, and began to play her favourite Celestina Warbeck song at a seriously loud volume.

Severus let the door to his apartment slam with an ominous thud that seemed to shake the entire room. Indeed, a sickeningly bright pink plate featuring ladies in Victorian formal dress (Petunia’s wedding present to the happy couple) slipped from its pride of place over the mantelpiece and shattered into a thousand rose coloured shards on the cold stone floor. His pursed lips twitched into an almost reluctant smile for a split-second, before his anger at that damn boy overcame his smug amusement at the destruction of what he deemed 'Petunia’s monstrosity'. Muttering a quick reparo (save Lily berate him over damage to her property), Severus strode across the living room in mere seconds. A quick alohomora opened the door to the Potter spawn’s room- for at times like these Harry was James’ son entirely. Harry, however, was nowhere to be seen.

“Harry?” Severus yelled. “Do not make me drag you out from under your bed! This isn’t a bloody game of hide and seek.” The boy’s choice of sanctuary left a lot to be desired- surely even he must realise that under the bed is the most obvious of hiding places. It was at times like these Severus thanked Merlin that Harry’s invisibility cloak was locked behind goblins in Gringotts.

The room was silent, save the blood pounding in Severus’ ears. He started to count from one to ten, using a calming technique Lily had shown him in one of the muggle parenting books she had purchased in abundance after the infamous burst blood-vessel incident. However, by the time he reached three he snorted at the preposterous muggle notion, bent over and grabbed the boy’s foot from under the bed attempting to forcibly remove him. Muttering to himself at the damage being done to his innocent back, Severus felt almost cheered at the thought of a thousand and one ways he could destroy Potter’s broomstick- ‘could’ being the operative word, for he knew that if he so much as harmed one twig on that blasted stick Lily would have him strung up by his thumbs before he could say 'quidditch'.

Slowly, after the ankle came a pair of legs, followed by a body and a head. Harry clung to the bedpost as if his life depended on it, his body almost squirming its way out of Severus’ grasp. The Potions Master smirked. His eyes glaring down the bridge of his hook-shaped nose, burning into the child’s petulant frown. Severus wondered where Lily was. She had normally imbibed him with a calming draught by now, lectured him over appropriate child-rearing methods or at least attempted to distract him with Potion Brewers’ Monthly. He never understood why he always had to be the pantomime villain. Why Lily insisted on leaving that duty to him, only to interfere and distract Severus in the process thus aiding the child from evading his punishment.

Severus shook himself out of his reverie. There were questions that needed to be answered. He supposed he might as well reason with the boy, rather threatening to use his vital organs as potions ingredients…

“Harry, could you let go of the bed please. I apologise for frightening you,” Severus tried, with as much sincerity as he could muster.

He loosened his grip on Harry, who in turn used the brief moment of Snape allowing his guard to slip to kick his stepFather squarely on the nose. Any thoughts towards reason quickly evaporated from the Potion Master’s mind. He took one hand off Harry, raised the boy’s legs off the ground with his other, and brought his free hand down on Harry’s backside with an almighty ‘thwack’ that echoed off the dungeon walls. Tears pricked at Harry’s eyes, and he let go- his hands rushing to protect his rear from further attack. Severus hoisted the boy out, depositing him on the bed like a sack of potatoes, taking a moment to run through one of those silly breathing exercises Lily was so insistent on- as she would only shout at him if he neglected to “take a time out” before continuing his ‘conversation’ with Harry.

Harry sat up, wide eyed, brimming with unshed tears and lips a quivering. Severus towered over him, ‘like a huge black bird,’ Harry often thought. He vanished the idea of Daddy chirping out of his head, as it threatened the maintenance of his ‘tractable child’ façade. ‘Think sad thoughts, think sad thoughts…’ Harry repeated like a mantra inside his head, ‘Think of dinner at the Dursley’s, having to scrub cauldrons… Daddy’s face when caught you trying to tie-dye Mrs Norris,' and so on. Harry sniffed meaningfully and rubbed the place on this behind where he was certain there was an almost perfect imprint of Severus’ hand.

Harry wanted Mummy to come and help him before Daddy got really mad and found out that he had broken his promise. He felt bad about that, Daddy had been almost nice about it last time- and here Harry was, two weeks later going out and stealing a wand again. Perhaps he shouldn’t have kicked him, particularly not the nose- he’d heard Mummy say that Daddy was teased about that particular orifice at school- Daddy might have just shouted at him and taken away his broomstick for a week but Harry had a sinking feeling he had got himself in rather hot water, and he prayed to Merlin that Daddy wasn’t as angry as the time he’d fed his cousin Dudley an acid pop.

“Stop that snivelling, or I’ll give you something to cry about,” Severus spat out his usual line. The child began to sniff louder, the unshed tears now running down his bright pink cheeks. Severus caught the child’s shaking chin firmly, and looked into the boy’s eyes, black and green orbs reflecting simultaneously.

“Whose wand did you steal?” he questioned in that silkily dangerous tone that had the Hufflepuffs crying before he had even began to deduct points.

“Don’t be mad Daddy! I’m sorry that the Slytherins got turned green. Wasn’t me! Wasn’t me, Daddy!” the boy garbled incoherently.

Harry pulled out all the stops, going for his well-honed ‘little boy lost’ routine that seemed to work on everybody apart from Severus and Argus Filch. Losing patience, Severus wordlessly legilimenised Harry whilst the child carried on proclaiming his innocence at the top of his voice.

Unfortunately- unfortunate for Harry- occlumency was not on the syllabus at Miss Marchwood’s Magical Academy and from Harry’s mind Severus extricated the imagine of his wife sleeping, her wand discarded on the bathroom floor when all of a sudden small hand reached out, and scooped it up. He saw his own private laboratory strewed with potion ingredients (such a violation!) as the boy worked haphazardly to make a colour-change serum. He glimpsed the Hogwarts’ kitchens- a vat of pumpkin juice destined for the Slytherin table- no house elf in sight, and finally Harry’s own gleeful laughter as he watched the Slytherin first years turn green before the entire school.

“Desist with these lies immediately,” Severus spat. He was torn between various notions- from concern over the fact that his wife was passed out in the bath at three in the afternoon, to extreme rage at the violation of his inner sanctum and the theft from his own private stores. He had to admit though, if the joke had not been on his own house, he would have been slightly proud at the boy’s potions aptitude. A colour-change serum was no easy task, and Harry was only eight- no seven- years old. The pride sparked off a new emotion- anger at the recklessness exhibited by the boy’s act of brewing a noxious potion unaided. If the wrong amount of lacewigs had been added he might have lost a limb in the ensuing explosion! The boy had no regard for his own safety. Severus shook his head, breaking eye contact with Harry and letting go of his chin.

Harry was starting to feel a bit scared. It had seemed like a good idea at the time. He’d imagined that Uncle Albus would be somewhat amused, probably letting him hide out in his office whilst Daddy drank the calming draught Mummy usually force-fed him after one of Harry’s misdeeds. It wasn’t fair how she left it to Daddy to reprimand him. He wasn’t even his real Father, as they both liked to remind each other at various intervals. Harry loved Severus fiercely, but he also loved to try the man’s nonexistent patience- just as Severus made it his lifelong ambition to stop Harry from ever having any fun.

It was unfair to say that Harry resented the dour man’s presence in their lives. Without Snape, Mummy might still be doing her impression of the Grey Lady, existing but not living, stuck in a grief palpable to one and all. Harry supposed his step-father’s devotion had managed to stop her from lying on the chaise-longue all day, sniffing those strange herbal things she took it upon herself to warn the seventh year students about. As Snape family mythology goes, Severus once came back from teaching a second year Hufflepuff/ Ravenclaw class to find Mummy completely ‘out of it’ (as Charlie likes to say) washing his naked two year old self in the kitchen sink- whilst a plump chicken rested in his cradle!

Meanwhile, a sense of foreboding had crept up on Lily. She heaved her tired form out of the bathtub, and quickly dried herself with a charm. She craved another glass of wine, but considering her predicament, it would be unwise. She dressed and exited the room, pausing outside her son’s room before taking a deep breath and opening the door.

“Mummy,” wailed Harry. “Daddy hit me and it was an accident and I didn’t do it and he’s mean and----”

“Harry, my love, why don’t you take a nice deep breath and begin again, slowly. I’m afraid I don’t understand gibberish, Pronglet.”

Lily shot Severus a filthy, who in turn was looking at Harry like he wanted to throttle him. She knew that she had asked him to take on the role of ‘Father’, back when they exchanged their vows- and by Father she meant that she wanted someone to be able to keep her precious and precocious son on the straight and narrow as she knew herself to be too easily swayed by his cheeky grin and mop of messy black hair. In short, she saw too much of James in him, and at times that brought back the guilt she had never been able to fully shake off over the circumstances of his death. Lily was not a meek and mild person. In fact, there were times when Harry acted so oblivious to James’ sacrifice, James’ mark of blood protection- that each time he came home baring the war-wounds of his latest daredevil stunt (what other child, at five years old, steals a student’s broom and manages to ride it into the whomping willow?) she felt like shaking some sense into him. So Lily was trusted with Harry’s welfare. She clothed him, fed him and loved him as a Mother loves her babe, whereas Severus was charged with making Harry learn right from wrong- a lesson, for both Harry and Severus, that was often learnt the hard way.

Lily’s eyes hardened as she examined Severus more closely. “Sev what on earth happened to your nose?” she exclaimed.

“Your son, that’s what happened. I don’t think I need to explain how he came into being- seeing as you were there at his conception.”

Harry giggled, unsure what conception meant, but the look on Mummy’s face made him think that it was one of those words that Daddy wasn’t supposed to say in front of him. Only this was a bad move as it brought Mummy’s attention back to him.

“Harry James Potter! What did I tell you about kicking? After you had detention for kicking Seamus last month!” Lily shrilled. Two pink spots began to appear on above her cheekbones.

Harry and Severus shot each other covert looks. Severus had neglected to tell Lily that he’d actually not punished the boy over that incident, seeing as sweet and innocent Seamus had provoked the attack by taunting Harry that his Stepfather was a 'mean, smelly vampire who everyone hated'. Severus had felt a rush of love for the child hearing how he defended him, whatever the double standard. Even though he’d heard Harry, himself, call him “mean”, “smelly” and “a big fat vampire” on more occasions that he’d like to remember. As Harry had told him at the time, “only family can say mean things, right Daddy?”

Harry and Severus both nodded. Severus made a move to change the subject.

“More importantly Lily, the boy has lied barefaced to me. He stole your wand whilst you were sleeping and then proceeded to break into my laboratory and make a highly complicated potion, a potion that he then slipped into the Slytherin pumpkin juice at dinnertime. Leaving me to tend to ten GREEN first years!” His voice now reaching an earsplitting volume.

“Oh… Well, Sev, you need to calm down before you do anything rash. Perhaps I could make you some of that tea you seems to drink so much of?” Lily made her first move towards deflecting the man’s anger.

“Tea? Tea? Lily, the boy’s got to learn that all actions have a consequence. I will not have you raise him to be spoiled, prancing around the place like some bloody Malfoy. It’s bad enough that if Narcissa gets her way Draco will be lording it me over as ‘king of the dungeons’ for seven years of hell. Besides, Lils, you have enough on your plate with the baby. Poppy warned you against the perils of allowing your temper to flare up---”

Before he had even finished that train of thought Lily’s eyes flashed darkly. She yanked Severus’ hand, propelling him out of Harry’s room and shut the door.

“Don’t you, “the baby” me Severus Snape. I’m perfectly able to be concerned for Harry without harming our unborn child! You forget that I have done this before.”

Snape shuddered. He knew that he had gone one step too far. The baby was a sore point between the couple. They had thought that they wouldn’t be able to have any more children. Severus was not a very paternal man by nature. Certainly, he felt a fierce emotion rise in his throat when he thought of Harry. The boy was not his, for Christ’s sake he was practically a James Potter clone, but years ago- out of devotion for Lily- he had begun to view him with affection and, eventually, love. Severus felt fear to begin with, fear for Lily and fear for his unborn child. A paranoid man by nature, for the first three months of the pregnancy he kept a meticulous watch on his wife. His second worry was more superficial. The Snape family genes were not the kindest of stock. He could not bear the thought of something belonging to Lily being afflicted with his Snape nose. Or his sallow complexion. He viewed Lily as entirely perfect, her porcelain skin, silky red hair- and those eyes, like emeralds cut and polished to perfection. Even now when she looked like she wanted to dice his spleen and feed it to Fang before his very eyes she was still as beautiful as she was when he first fell for her…

“I regret it if it seemed like I doubted your capability. Why don’t you go and see if Poppy has succeeded in turning my Snakes back to their usual pasty selves? I shall give Harry a choice, if it pleases you, that muggle idea- grinding did you say?”

Severus tried to say the word muggle without making it sounding distasteful. He knew Lily was awfully intolerant of his politic.

“Grounding, Sev, to be exact. Please remember to use the correct word when you are talking to Harry, I don’t want him that he is being used as a part for one your potions….” Lily trailed off, suddenly remembering that she needed to speak with Filius about Cadogan’s first principle, that faraway look back in her eyes as she began composing some highly convoluted piece of charm related theory in her head. She went back to Harry’s room, tousled his hair and gave him a quick kiss before telling him that he must ‘mind what Father tells him, because what he did was very naughty!’

Severus watched her- grimacing at her frivolous, carefree approach. He supposed that she had no idea how highly toxic a potion her son had brewed, otherwise she’d be screaming blue bloody murder at both him and Harry- because somehow, thanks to some unknown deity, everything was always just as much his fault as Harry’s. Lily kissed him goodbye, he noticed how she didn’t dare tousle his hair, indeed, she gave him a pointed look as if to say ‘use some shampoo next time!’

Severus walked over to Harry’s desk and pulled out the chair. He beckoned the child towards him, and tried not to smile as Harry walked as if he were to meet some horrible fate- snail steps and eyes cast downwards, his bottom lip pouting. Where was his infamous Griffindor courage? When Harry stood in front of him, Snape picked the little boy up and sat him on his lap.

“M’sowwie for kicking you,” Harry muttered under his breath, leaning his head back against Severus’ chest.

“And what is sorry?” prompted Severus expectantly.

“Knowing that what I did was wrong and I shan’t do it again,” finished Harry, all the time looking down at his shoes, unable to look Severus in the eyes.

“What did you do wrong, Harry?” he asked, putting one hand under the boy’s chin to pull his face towards his own.

“Kicked you.”

“Harry…” the impatient tone was beginning to creep back into Severus’ voice.

“Took Mummy’s wand and made a potion on my own. Not allowed to take a wand or go in your potion room thingy on my own. Oh… and I made the Slytherin’s green which was bad cause they’re your favourites,” Harry pouted.

“Harry, you have been told time and time that little boys do not play with other peoples wands. A wand is a very delicate instrument, belonging to whichever witch or wizard it chose. You have no idea what could have happened if your Mother’s wand had had an adverse reaction to you using it to do magic unsupervised. Furthermore, little boys are not permitted to make potions on their own! Not until they are fully-fledged Hogwarts students, brewing under MY supervision. You have stolen, acted foolishly and lied about your actions- you could not have asked to be in more trouble in any one day… Hold on, ignore that, I don’t want you to be getting any ideas about creating more mayhem in an even shorter space of time. Do you understand that I am going to have to punish you for this?”

Some of Severus’ words went over Harry’s head. He reminded himself that there were only a few years before it would become Minerva’s responsibility to berate Harry for whatever stupid stunt he pulled, and that thought made him feel slightly comforted- perhaps he wouldn’t be entirely grey-haired by 35. Then again, he was forgetting about the new baby. For all he knew, it could be as much of a terror as Harry. No doubt it would be, if the boy had his way. A new partner in crime, just what Severus needed. And Merlin help him if Harry ended up in Slytherin- just think of the points the house would lose!

Harry burrowed in Severus’ robes, almost enjoying his Father speaking to him in soft tones and allowing him to sit on his lap for this kind of interaction was usually only experience with Mummy. He didn’t want to be punished. He had thought that his parents’ argument may have sufficiently distracted Severus from finishing off what he started earlier, but luck just wasn’t on his side.

Severus slid Harry off his lap and positioned the boy before him so they would be eye to eye.

“Harry, you have a choice- you can either be confined to our rooms for the next two weeks, save school of course… No flying, no walking through the corridors at your leisure, all your meals served here and bed by 7. Or we can deal with your transgressions here and now and the slate shall be clean…”

Half an hour later Harry asleep in his bed, finally peaceful and comforted after this very tiring day- a thumb jammed in his mouth and his teddy tucked in the crook of his arm. Severus was sitting at the kitchen table reading the Daily Prophet, a smug smirk on his face as he waited for Lily. He pondered the merits of saying 'I told you so'….

Hogwarts sometimes felt like the best and worst place a boy could live. For example, Harry loved having freedom to roam the castle. The way the staircases moved, the ghosts that talked to you when you were bored (they had all the best gossip!) – each and every single day was fuelled with a new discovery. Then there were the house elves that plied him with sweets and chocolates- the best friends a boy could ask for! But Harry knew that there was a whole world outside the castle. A world that he was so often denied access to because of who he was- the Boy Who Lived. It was a title that no longer filled him with awe. He was used to it- it was as much a part of him as his flashing green eyes and lightning bolt scar. He could never escape that particular epitaph, never be ‘just Harry’ in his own right.

Living at Hogwarts compounded Harry’s sense of isolation. No other boys and girls his age would enter the castle until they reached eleven years old, and –in an unusual act of wisdom beyond his seven years- Harry wished that at times he could just fade into the background (he’d be able to get away with a lot more if that were the case). Every Hogwarts student knew his name- his story, as Mummy liked to put it- he’d caught everyone of them staring at his scar at some point, whispering in none so dulcet tones “Ooh look it’s Harry Potter- looks just like his Father did!” Some of the students weren’t so bad, like Charlie for instance. Charlie was his hero- even Severus had begrudgingly admitted that he was a ‘half decent fellow’. He’d taught Harry how to play Quidditch last summer, and when Harry was old enough he was going to be a seeker just like Charlie!

He wondered if he could tell Charlie about Marcus… Charlie was sixteen, after all, and sixteen’s practically ancient so he’d probably know the answer to just about anything. Daddy certainly seemed to, and he wasn’t even thirty! That guilty feeling crept back into Harry’s stomach, he had always been taught that it was better to own up and tell the truth rather than hope one’s problems would go away. He was scared of telling Mummy. He’d heard Daddy pacing up and down his study complaining to Uncle Albus that Mummy had enough on her plate with carrying the baby and that she didn’t need any more ‘stress’. Harry wasn’t quite sure what ‘stress’ was, exactly. It sounded like dress, and Mummy certainly had a lot of those… but somehow that didn’t seem like what he thought Daddy was talking about. Daddy wouldn’t understand either. He had been told, by Aunt Minerva that Daddy was the bravest man she knew (but not to tell him that!). Something about spy… spiders…? Harry shuddered, he hated spiders, and he guessed that Daddy must be brave then. Harry was supposed to be brave- he was a Potter, and a sort of Snape maybe, so he should be able to look after himself.

He’d had a bad day at school. His pride was still smarting after his reprimand the night before, then having to say sorry to those stupid slimy Snakes at breakfast… Mummy had insisted on holding his hand all the way into his classroom at the Academy, which made Seamus and Ernie laugh at him and call him a baby so he’d thrown his pumpkin juice over their drawings and Madam Buggle had made him stand in the corner. Everyone knew that Seamus could fake tears at the drop of a hat, only Madam Buggle had seemed a bit peeved when he’d said that to her. And now he was fighting back hot fat tears that threatened to leak from his eyes down his flushed cheeks, wiping furiously at them with his sleeve whilst the class’ attention was focus on a rambunctious game of magical chairs. He didn’t want to go back home, he knew that at some moment in the near future he’d be accosted by Marcus and his pals, and he didn’t want to be dared into doing anything else that would most likely wind him up in trouble again. It had been fun at first, when they’d asked him to put dungbombs in Filch’s cabinet. At least Filch was mean and nasty- even Daddy called the man abhorrent- but still, he liked cats and he’d never forget the pitiful mewing sound Mrs Norris had made when he’d dyed her fur. He felt so out of his depth now. Uncle Albus would be able to stop them in a second, but they’d be sure to tell on him. Then Mummy and Daddy would know the horrible truth, and they’d fight again over it- and what about the baby…

Maybe he could just run away. Like Peter Pan and his lost boys! Sure they had Captain Hook to deal with, but he couldn’t be much scarier than that Slytherin Prefect who always tried to push him into the lake or hit him with a bludger. He’d never be able to get out of the castle, though- especially with Mummy holding his hand from the dungeons all the way to the classroom! Harry kicked the wall, frustrated. It wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as Seamus’ shin, but it would suffice. For now. His cousin, Dudley, was always kicking things- people, dogs, doors- but he reckoned that Uncle Vernon had never so much as glared at Dudders, let alone smacked him. That guilty feeling was back again, he felt as sick as he did at his Aunt and Uncle’s house last year when Petunia had made a foul tasting onion soup and Daddy had given him that look that meant he had to at least eat some of it.

It wasn’t fair that Harry had to stay at Hogwarts all the time. Sure, now and then he got to go play at a friends house- mainly Neville’s because Daddy thought his Gran was an ‘admirable’ lady (seeing as she shouted all the time and ran her household with military precision)- but other than the trip to Little Whinging for Dudley’s birthday tea he was stuck inside the castle grounds. He wanted to go to that place that the Dursley’s went to last Christmas- that exotic place that sounded like a flower or something (and he should know flower names, the amount of times he’d had to listen to Mummy reading through her gardening book trying to pick a name for the baby). Florida, that was it. They went there for two weeks, and last summer they went to Spain and Vernon got burnt like a lobster which had made Daddy chuckle so hard! Maybe if Harry ran away he could join a travelling circus and get to visit all those mysterious places. He’d never been to the circus before, but he’d read stories about it and he was sure that he’d be a half decent juggler if given the chance.

All this thinking of the Dursleys made Harry wonder. They were going there for the annual celebration of all things Dudley that weekend. Maybe he’d be able to persuade Mummy and Daddy to let him and his cousin go the park on their own. He was pretty sure that Mummy had used that memory spell –obliviate? - on his Aunt and Uncle after that acid pop debacle. So they wouldn’t be too horrified at the idea of him alone with their precious baby (baby whale, more like). They could play a game of hide and seek, only Harry wouldn’t hide- he’d run, run away to London and live like a muggle… like that boy in the story Daddy read to him. Oliver Twist? It had been a bit of a sad story in parts, but Harry thought it sounded rather wonderfully exciting nevertheless. He’d only ever seen photos of London before, not even the type that move- just the ordinary muggle kind. There was some boy in his class who’s Daddy was a muggle and his Mummy a witch, and his parents were some word that began with a D. Deee…. The word escaped his memory, but it meant that Michael lived with his Mummy in Edinburgh mostly, but went to his Daddy’s flat in London for a few weeks every summer. He’d taken photos of these great big red buses, shiny black cars called taxis- and even a photo of this special gold crown thing that Mummy said belonged to the Queen of England! He wasn’t really sure who that was, but she must be important for Mummy to sound so impressed, and he didn’t like to seem ignorant (despite that when Daddy was mad he called him a dunderhead) so he acted like he knew what she meant.

Harry’s tears were but a distant memory. He didn’t even hear Madam Buggle call him back to his seat, and jumped like a scared cat when she poked him out of his thoughts to go and meet Mummy for home time. He’d act like a really good boy when he got home, even offer to scrub some of Daddy’s smelly old cauldrons! If it didn’t seem like such an adventure, and if he wasn’t so worried about the dares, he would be a very sorry little boy at the thought of leaving them. Perhaps it was for the best, anyways. Mummy was having a new baby; she’d have that to fuss over soon enough. And a part of Harry knew that the child would be Daddy’s baby in a way that he could never be. It didn’t matter that Uncle Albus said that Daddy was sometimes a bit too strict because he cared for Harry so much that he only wanted the best for him. Harry knew that Daddy wasn’t his real Daddy, wasn’t that what Marcus and Warrington always said? That Harry was a burden, and that he didn’t belong in the dungeons because he was a filthy half blood. His eyes wanted to fill up again; great salty tears unshed at those words that had hurt his feelings so much. They’d said that in order to get him to steal the unicorn horn from the safe, he’d felt so mad at Daddy that he’d done it without thinking, and Daddy had no idea that it was missing. Since then they’d had him do so many naughty things, saying that if he didn’t then they’d tell his father that they saw him throw the horn into the lake. One of the big boys had said the horn was so rare that even the Malfoys didn’t have one, and so, despite Harry’s limited experience in testing human reaction- he was pretty sure that he was better off disappeared rather than having Daddy find out what he’d done. Though what worried him was that Marcus would tell on him even if after he’d run away, so Daddy would know and Mummy might find out and be sad and….

Harry stopped his train of thought. He didn’t think Marcus would tell if he ran, because that would mean that Marcus would have to admit to making Harry do all those horribly mean pranks. Pranks that Harry had been punished for, hard! Not that Daddy would want to take points off his own house- but Uncle Albus might, and then Daddy would be even madder. Harry shook his mop of messy black hair. There was no point thinking about it any more. Come Saturday, he was going to embark on a fantastic adventure, and nobody was going to stop him. He just had to keep out of trouble until then- or else Mummy and Daddy might make him stay at home with Aunt Minerva… Oh the horrors!

Harry woke up with a start on Saturday morning. He could hear a lot of banging and clashing coming from the kitchen, it reminded him of those noise made when Aunt Petunia had hit him over the head with a frying pan after he gave Dudley an acid pop. That thought made him giggle to himself, Daddy had been so mad at her that he’d turned Uncle Vernon into a toad, but then Mummy had done that spell and made everything be forgot (until they got home!). He stopped giggling abruptly, as he looked up and saw his Father leaning on the wall against his Gryffindor’s Rule, Slytherin’s Drool poster that Charlie gave him.

Harry dived under the covers, cocooning himself in his own private fort- his promise to be a good boy once again tossed aside when it came to bath time. His father sighed and shook his head.

“There is absolutely no need for theatrics this early in the morning- there will be enough of a show this afternoon.”

With a wave of Severus’ wand the covers were pulled off the child, the bed made, the boy’s feet inside his ruby red slippers and his arms tangled up in a red and gold dressing gown. Severus exhaled deeply, that spell never fully worked with Potter, and he was sure that was somehow related to the boy’s wilful nature and constant need to do whatever it is that he is told not to.

He untangled Harry, and then took his hand to propel him out of the room, the recalcitrant child dragging his feet all the way all the way to the bathroom. Several splashes and promises to be fed to the Giant Squid later- a squeaky clean Harry and dampened Severus joined Lily in the kitchen. Lily looked up from her cooking to smile at her child. She’d barely been able to sleep more than a solid half an hour all night due to the baby having a game of quidditch inside her stomach, and today of all days just had to be ‘Lunch chez Dursleys’. A trip to Privet Drive was just the last things that she needed, especially after last year. One thing for sure- it was going to be a long day and it had barely started.

Lily, Severus and Harry flooed into the fireplace of a magical acquaintance whose house was only a few minutes walk from Privet Drive. Lily had insisted on Harry jamming a baseball cap over his head in order to mask the telltale scar, for it would just lead to Vernon making comments about how peculiar Harry looked and how superior Dudley was by comparison. It ought not to bother her, but that scar was Harry’s talisman and it did not do to be mocked by such a man.

The three of them appeared to be the epitome of any normal well-to-do muggle family: Snape in his dark ‘man about town’ business suit, Lily in a flowing green dress that matched her eyes perfectly, and little Harry clean and tidy and trotting along without complaint, grinning knowingly to himself. Lily halted abruptly outside number ten to run through her traditional Dursley faux pas checklist, safely out of nosy neighbour earshot and prying eyes peering through net curtains, she looked at Harry and began:

“Turn out your pockets, young man, I do not expect to have to call the healers in this time.” Ever the dutiful son, Harry’s pockets were empty (his sock was another matter). Lily continued to remind them what subjects to avoid before finishing her speech with a final “your wand, Severus?”

Severus grunted to himself, grimacing as he was forced to hand over the precious object. Harry smirked impishly at Daddy, flashing him a toothy smile that did little to abate Severus’ dark mood. His eyes flashed angrily, and Lily looked deeply into his face and frowned in the way that always tore at his sensibilities.

“Don’t you look at me like that Severus Snape. If I could trust either one of you to act your age and behave like proper wizards then we wouldn’t have to go through this rigmarole every time, would we?” said Lily, spitting out her own mouthful of vitriol. She turned on her heel, wrapped her arms around her stomach as if to protect the baby from the emotional turmoil of a Dursley visit, and strode off in the direction of number four. Father and son winced in succession at her harsh tone, snapping at her heels like two well-trained dogs up the driveway and towards the house.

Lily slammed her hand against the doorbell, and the first verse of ‘Jerusalem’ blared, loudly. Petunia soon appeared, ensconced in a frilly puce coloured apron, she glowered fleetingly before making signs at the three to enter her home as surreptitiously as possible.

“Shoes!” Petunia shrieked. Her eyes roving as if monitor for a mere modicum of dirt. She ushered them into the living room, Severus and Lily gingerly sat on lone vacant sofa whilst Harry stood awkwardly. Dudley was sprawled over the entire two-seater, and Petunia and Vernon were sitting in the armchairs. Severus reached forwards and tugged Harry’s arm, pulling him closer so that he could hoist him onto his lap. Harry squirmed, trying to get comfortable, until Severus’ reserves of patience were finally depleted and he whispered a nasty threat into the boy’s ear. Harry blushed, sat up straight, and then leaned his head back against his father’s chest and quieted down. Severus patted his hand, more to calm himself than Harry.

Conversation was never easy on these occasions. In fact, to say strained would be putting an almost too positive spin on the dialogue. Truth be told, not one of the six persons present had any desire to carry on the annual family farce. The ‘get together’ was founded by Petunia and Lily’s mother, after the birth of her first grandchild. The only word to describe the event was ‘sham’, and yet, out of respect for their mother’s memory on this one day a year both families were reunited to share a moment of misery. It had even been Iris Evans’ dying wish that the discord between her two children might one day be breached. Vernon refused to be seen in public with the Snapes, and under no circumstances would the Dursleys travel to Hogwarts with their deeply entrenched fear of magic, and so the venue was always Little Whinging. Petunia, however, was so embarrassed about having ‘those kind of people’ in her house that she drew all the curtains and refused to answer the door in case any of her ‘respectable’ friends and neighbours discovered her humiliating secret.

They ate a lunch of neon orange prawn cocktail that looked like something Severus would keep in a jar on one of the shelves in his office, gammon steaks with flaccid pieces of pineapple, and tinned peaches with slightly soured cream for afters. Dudley cried when he saw the desert, wanting the chocolate fudge cake he knew to be in the fridge and wondering why the quality of the food had been so utterly dire (Vernon insisted that Petunia buy only food past its use-by-date for such lowlife company) and so was shepherded away from the dinner table with the promise of a visit to Cadbury’s World the next day and free rein over the television. The conversation revolved mainly around Dudley’s latest achievements. Aged eight he had finally learned to recite the alphabet, and he was nearly halfway able to write it down- stopping at M because it confused him, apparently. He’d also managed to swim a width in the local swimming pool, all of fifteen feet! Petunia announced this tidbit with a tear in her eye at her son’s sporting prowess.

Lily’s pregnancy was ignored. She’d expected no less. She was sure that her heavily pregnant self both mortified and alarmed Petunia, who had once (in an act of extremely drunken sisterly bonding) admitted to Lily that the moment after she knew she was carrying Dudley, she had rushed to Marks and Spencers and upgraded her marital bed for two twins with matching frilly quilts and throw pillows.

It was days like these that always made Lily experience an overwhelming rush of affection for Severus. She watched him, sitting in the uncomfortable mock-Georgian chair- his eyes twitching and his hands folding the linen napkin into a thousand squares. He always finished all the food on his plate, and when Harry began to tire and start playing with his food- that deliberately mischievous look creeping back into his eyes- Snape was there, without hesitation, to give Harry his patented ‘Don’t mess with me’ glare- reserved for awkward social situations when Severus felt unable to simply drag the boy away from the table and pre-empt a public tantrum.

Severus was maintaining a conversation with Vernon about the plethora of reasons why Grunnings drills were superior to Black and Decker at the same time as closely observing Harry. That boy attracted trouble like a magnet did metal- and yet over the past few days Harry had been remarkable reticent. Quiet, even. No tears at bedtime, explosions when he was denied yet another chocolate frog, the boy was positively un-demonic, which in itself was most unusual. However, whilst Severus joked that the boy had the brains of a flobberworm, it was not exactly true. Harry had inherited Lily’s quick thinking. The amount of times that Harry had managed to run rings around his babysitters- Dumbledore was thought by many to be omniscient, the greatest wizard of his age, wasn’t he? Well, Severus’ boy had the man most royally under his thumb- ‘misplacing’ lemon drops all over his office so the man ended up going to visit Poppy to check that his faculties were still entirely there. One might doubt one’s sanity, too, if one was to find one’s favourite confectionary inside one’s chamber pot. Harry would have normally masterminded some sort of chaos by the main course, and here he was sitting with his hands neatly folded on his lap gazing up adoring whilst his Aunt critiqued his so-called stunted growth (anyone would seem petite compared to that ogre in the living room).

Severus had expected Harry to be slightly cold and aloof the morning after his spanking. Admittedly there had been a fair bit of fuss this occasion, it had irked him at the time but thenceforth slipped his mind completely. The boy always took his punishment stoically. However, by the time Severus’ hand had impacted with his backside he was kicking and screaming, carrying on that way until he was red in the face and Severus’ nerves so shattered by child’s hysterics on that he had stop and down a glass of firewhisky. Surely after the ten short spanks that Severus had delivered, the boy’s pride probably hurt more than his behind? Harry’s moping usually went on for a couple of days, which usually coincided with the amount of time Harry remained out of trouble (Severus was sure that one rainy day, the boy had sat down and written a book entitled Ways To Send Ones Parents To St Mungos Before Aged 30- it would certainly explain a few things). This time, however, they had been treated to one morning of petulance and sulking, and then the child had been remarkably… remarkably well tempered and, dare he say it, meek. The sky was going to fall, Dumbledore shave off his beard, why Voldemort was going to appear in Privet Drive wearing a bright pink tea-cosy on his head and waving a white flag of surrender. Either seven and a half was the new mellow forty, or something was up, and a certain someone’s hide was on the line if Severus’ suspicions were true.

Harry was waiting. He’d caught Dudley earlier, on the way back from the toilet, and promised the boy the bar of chocolate he had hidden under his cap when Mummy wasn’t looking. All Dudley had to do was ask his parents if he and Harry might go outside for some fresh air, then Dudley could scoff to his piggy heart’s content, and Harry would begin stage one of his elaborately genius plan (genius to a seven year old).

“Please may I leave the table, Aunt P’tunia?” Harry flashed her his trademark cheeky grin, the one that had the seventh year girls cooing in seconds.

Petunia, halfway through a diatribe on the correlation of working mothers to juvenile delinquent offspring she had formulated with the express purpose of making Lily feel particularly guilty, nodded her bony head and made a sort of strangulated noise in her throat to indicate the affirmative.

“Wicked!” said Harry, trying out the word he heard Charlie use a few days ago. He climbed off the chair- only to have Daddy reach out and tap his nose with a long, white finger.

“You will not use such vulgar language little boy.”

Harry scowled very briefly, and then slipped back into his mask of angelic deception- allowing it drop briefly in order for him to stick his tongue out behind Daddy’s back. He walked into the other room and prodded Dudley’s dozing form awake. He looked at the boy meaningfully, and patted his stomach- mouthing the word ‘chocolate’ for fear of Daddy’s supersonic hearing. Dudley drooled a little, sitting up straight so suddenly that his rolls of fat jolted up and down like a Mexican wave.

“Muuuuuuuuum. I’m going to the park, and he’s coming with me cause I’ll need someone to push me on the swings and carry my bike for me…” Dudley managed to mix a yell and whine together, perfectly. Harry kicked on his trainers and followed Dudley out the door, taking a moment to soak up his Mummy and Daddy’s faces and give them a little wave goodbye. Harry was happy that they hadn’t fussed for him to stay behind, knowing that the park was a mere 200 yards away, and anyways everything was safe round this muggle neighbourhood after all.

“Come on Freak-Face, get my bike seeing as you wanna go to the park. If I don’t get my present soon I’ll scream to my Mummy that you did said the M word and pretend to do freaky things and then your Dad will go mental at you for being naughty…” teased Dudley, utilising his limited vocabulary.

Harry sighed, picked the bike up off the curb and rolled it in the direction of the park, Dudley waddling beside him poking him with a big beefy finger the whole way. The last thing Harry remembered thinking was ‘this better be worth it’ and then everything was spinning out of control, as he was dragged off feet first leaving behind a stunned and chocolate craving Dudley who burst into tears at the injustice of it all.

Harry didn’t know much about muggles- despite his Mother being muggleborn, his only real educative experience of the non-wizarding world came from a yearly visit to his Aunt’s house. He knew enough, however, to know that what was happening to him was far from an everyday occurrence. He was dragged feet first, and then with a loud crack the world went black before his eyes…

Harry felt as though he had just come out of deep sleep. He had no idea how long he’d been on the floor. There was a sharp, throbbing pain in his left ankle. He squinted at the dimly lit room, seeing that his foot was jutting out at a strange angle. Harry very much wanted to cry, he screwed up his clammy face- concentrating with all his might on making himself disappear. Disapparate, he thought the word was. Nothing happened. ‘Typical’, Harry thought. He wondered why he could never make anything out of the ordinary happen when he wanted it to, and yet his accidental magic was always flaring up at home when he’d really rather it didn’t. Home… right now what Harry wanted more than anything in the world was to be back at Hogwarts, in the warmth and protection of his parents’ arms. He’d tell them everything, about the dares, the stealing –all of it- if he got out of this sinister, dark place alive. Harry tried again to harness his magic, but was left exhausted and disorientated.

“Hello? Hello? Please, please somebody help me!”

Harry whimpered in desperation, allowing one silent tear to trickle down his cheek. He fumbled, trying to move his hand to brush the tear away only finding the rope bindings too tight for him to move freely. He began to feel like he couldn’t breathe, that the walls were closing in on him.

“HELP!” He screamed as loud as his lungs would let him, banging his bound wrists on the wooden door.

The door was suddenly pushed open from the other side, and Harry found himself thrust backwards, landing awkwardly and with a clatter on the dirty floor.

“My, my. What is all of this about? Is our honoured guest not suitably pleased with his lodgings?”

The woman’s dark eyes flickered over Harry, and he felt that he was being weighed and found very much wanting. The startling woman licked her lips like a beast about to toy with its kill, and let out a terrible high-pitched laugh.

“Ickle baby Harry makes a lot of noise, doesn’t he?”

Her words dripped with disdain as her eyes gleamed manically whilst she watched Harry cowering with his back up against the wall.

A rotund man trembled besides her, staring only at the ground. The woman turned to him and prodded him with the tip of her wand so that he looked up and nervously peered at her face.

“Dear Wormy, how rude it is of you not to address your old friend. Really, one would think you were trying to hide, skulking around in the dark like that…” Her words trailed off, and she looked at the man quizzically through slanted eyes.

“Hide? N-n-not at all B-B-Bella,” stammered the man that Harry presumed was called Wormy. He wondered how he was supposed to be ‘old friends’ with him, it was rather difficult aged seven to have old friends you don’t recollect.

Harry manoeuvred himself into a sitting position and studied his assailants.

“Let me go! When my Daddy finds you, you’ll be in so much trouble. He’ll curse you dead, he will! You’ll be on the green listed in a second.” Harry stuck out his bottom lip in defiance.

The woman, Bella, let out that same horrible ringing laugh and reached a gloved hand out to caress Harry’s cheek. Her lips curled upwards in a smile that was absent of any real feeling and she began to talk:

“I was,” she purred, “under the impression that your pal Wormtail here already finished your Father off years ago. Why, Wormtail, was it not you who took our Lord to the Potters’ house?” She turned her black, soulless eyes on the man, and he flinched- his piggy eyes darting nervously around the room.

It was at that precise moment that it dawned on Harry who his captors were, an enormous ray of light illuminating his thoughts.

“You!” he spat, with the passion of fully-grown man. “You, I know who you are. Peter Pettigrew”

Harry tried to stand on his injured foot, but with his hands tied he could not steady himself and so he fell, off balance, in a heavy heap at Bella’s feet.

“You’re dead you are---” But before he could finish his sentence, Bella removed her glove and the same hand that had caressed him mere moments before swept down and silenced him with a stinging slap. The tears he’d been trying to keep at bay sprang into his haunting green eyes as blood rushed to his lip where Bella’s ring had ripped his flesh.

“You, you silly little boy, are in no position to make idle threats. Imagine… your poor Mother. How careless of her. To lose, at first her husband- and then her son. She really should keep better watch over her possessions. And now she’s married to that treacherous bastard, Snape- I don’t know how the woman can possibly live with herself…”

“My Daddy’s worth a million of you, Deatheaters, that’s what you are. Daddy told me you’re all evil scum, with no single backbone between the lot of you. You have to follow Lord Thingy rather than be brave enough to think for yourselves!” Harry screamed through his tears.

Bella bent down to be on eye level with the boy, and pulled his face close to her own. And in a poisonous, chilling whisper she spoke, “Your ‘Daddy’ obviously neglected to tell you the reason he knows deatheaters so well. Dear, sweet Harry- Your Daddy is one of us.”

“You…” Harry thought of the worst naughty word in his repertoire. “You lying b-b-bitch!” He shut his eyes and flinched, waiting to be struck again. Bella pushed the child roughly to the floor, and brandished her wand, the insane gleam back in her eyes again as she made the boy scream with a quick crucio.

“Bella… the plan…. We need the boy alive-“ stuttered Wormtail, his eye nervously on her wand…

Dudley didn’t mean to be unnecessarily cruel. It just happened. Perhaps, by an unknown force of nature- Dudley was destined to be an odious little boy. He lived by two very basic rules, he took what he wanted- and if he was prevented from doing so, he cried and ran to his parents and they got it for him. Simple. So when Dudley came bounding back into the house it was not an entirely unusual scenario.

“Mum, Muuuuuuuum,” he yelled, panting in exhaustion at having run a full 100 metres, “they took him- these weirdoes with sticks- they took Potter.”

Lily sat back in her chair, her face slack and unmoving, eyes staring vacantly at the spot where she last saw her son expecting him to materialise so she could berate him for playing such a horrible trick. Severus reached into her handbag, located his wand, and then left the house- the door slamming loudly behind him.

Sure enough, he saw what he was looking for.

There, hanging in the sky as if to personally mock his deflection, was the dark mark in its full glory. He performed a counter curse, for the sake of any passing muggles’ sensibilities. He knew he had to get Lily out of Privet Drive, he had to get her and himself back to Hogwarts- back to Albus, who surely would know what to do- Albus Dumbledore, the man who defeated Grindelwald, would find his son.

Severus couldn’t think clearly, his head was a muddle of emotion he had not thought possible to feel all at once. He felt sick to his stomach, and that wasn’t just the effects of the dire meal he’d eaten. He went back inside and pushed Dudley away from his Mother’s apron strings. He looked into the boy’s eyes without bothering to ask for a description and located the memory he needed.

Severus saw Harry pushing the fat boy’s bike, and there- on the corner of Wisteria Walk- were two cloaked figures. A large round silhouette dressed in shabby black robes, and a tall thin presence that carried itself in such a way that Severus immediately knew its identity. One of them stunned Harry within a second of sighting him, sending the child crashing downwards onto the pavement. The large shapeless man grabbed Harry by his feet and pulled him over to the woman, before all three of them apparated out of Little Whinging to God knows where.

How on earth was Bellatrix out of Azkaban?

How had nobody thought to tell him or Lily?

Why had nobody warned them that on the one day a year his family ventured unarmed into the muggle world, a raving lunatic bitch had escaped from her prison cell?

A raving lunatic bitch with had a penchant for destroying anything and anyone who got in the way of her precious Dark Lord, no less. Hadn’t that been why she tortured Frank and Alice? Searching for a way back to her Master… Her Master- a man many simplistically believe to have been destroyed by Harry on that fateful Halloween night.

His Master, too- Severus supposed, unable to deny the consequences of the past.

Before Severus could pull himself together he was interrupted by an angry voice:

“Now look here, you always said you’d bring none of that… that freakish behaviour here. It won’t do having you all going around pointing your stupid sticks at us good, decent folk---”

Severus held up one hand. “Cease your idle chatter Dursley, can a simpleton like yourself not comprehend the gravity of the situation?” Severus spoke his next lines slowly, as if speaking to a very young child:

“Harry. Has. Been. Taken.”

He looked at his reactionless wife. She was not going to lose another loved one. Not on his watch. He could not bear to lose her as he knew he would if they could not recover Harry.

“Come quickly Lily we must get news of this to Albus- I daren’t risk sending a patronus here- we must hurry dear.” Severus spoke softly, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

“Take the boy, eh? Well I dunno why anyone would want to take a good for nothing little wretch like him- Petunia, don’t you agree?”

Lily’s face had drained of colour. She gave her sister a hard look, as if daring her to reply, and then she rose from the table- took her husband’s arm in hers, and with a crack they apparated to the house of Arabella Figg, an old friend of Dumbledore who let them use her floo.

Arabella was sitting in an armchair, a cat slumbering on her knee. She looked surprised to see the Snapes back again so soon and opened her mouth to question the pair.

“What---”

“They have Harry.”

Lily spoke the three words with a deadly finality, taking a handful of floo powder from the pot over the hearth and welcoming the green flames. Severus followed in her wake.

Harry was cold. His joints were sore. He thought that he had felt pain before, but what that scary lady did with her wand was like nothing he had known. It had felt like he was on fire. This was not like falling from a broom, or tumbling down the stairs. This was a burning, searing pain that made him unable to think- all he could do was just feel, feel the excruciating pain.

He shivered and looked around him. He was in a windowless room, the only light coming in from a small grate at the top of one wall. A grate far too small, and too high for him to use as an escape. The room was empty, not even a bowl of water or a morsel of food. Suddenly it all began to feel very real, this was not an adventure from one of his storybooks.

He wanted his Mother. If he could have any wish in the world it would be to see her face. For her to tell him that everything would be okay. He curled onto his side as best he could, shut his weary eyes, and hoped very much that when he next opened them he would be back in his bedroom- his Father looming over his bed, ready to explode in full Snape shouting mode over some minor infraction. And this world of pain would be but a distant memory.

Harry was shocked out of his sleep, the sounds of footsteps reverberating off the floor made him open his eyes in fear of being hexed again. The door opened to his cell and the light flooded in, blinding his eyes.

“Levicorpus” Wormtail spoke. Harry found himself raised in the air, floating behind the man as he walked into another equally squalid room. Harry opened his mouth to speak but found no words could come out, he had worn his throat out screaming with pain and for his parents.

“We have a task for you, little one. You will do exactly as I say.”

Harry, being as young as he was and not thinking of the consequences, shook his head in a characteristic unwise show of defiance.

He found himself falling to the ground with a thud, looked up at the crazed deatheater and began to writhe in pain for a second time since his capture.

Albus Dumbledore knew that many in the wizarding world believed him to be infallible. He was a revered, kindly grandfather to thousands- and in particular to one special little boy that he had known since birth. But right now he had no answers, he had no half finished riddles to appease people with. He had not known on Friday night that two prisoners had done the seemingly impossible and escaped from the impenetrable fortress that held the country’s lowlife at bay.

He knew Bellatrix Lestrange to be extremely skilled at dark magic, she had been his pupil after all. But Peter? Chubby, scared Peter Pettigrew- the man who had been so caught up in playing a game for those far more powerful that himself- Peter was barely capable of tying his own shoelace without snivelling. Dumbledore felt that it was his gravest error to ever have trusted that man. To have let James place his own protection in that wet, disgusting sell-out.

Dumbledore may not know where Harry was, but he had a good idea of why he had been taken. And he knew that reason would cause almost as much pain as the boy’s actual disappearance. The aurors were out, searching high and low to find him. Severus was paying visits to all his old ‘contacts’. But Dumbledore knew something was missing, it was there- staring him in the face, but this was a puzzle that even he could not solve.

“Oh Harry,” Bella cooed in a faux singsong voice. “Are you not enjoying our games?”

Harry had locked himself up in that quiet room inside his head. Everything was light and airy, the window looked over the Quidditch pitch at Hogwarts. There was soft, soothing music coming from somewhere- and all Harry had to do was close his eyes and try not to think and the pain was no more. He had no idea how long he had been in this strange, dark house. He’d pass out from pain and then some time later, they’d come back point their wands and enervate him, he’d say no and so the cycle repeated itself.

“Cat got your tongue, little one?”

Harry was happy where he was. He didn’t want to come back out. He could hear her mocking him, her laughter growing louder until it forced him to jolt back to reality.

“Doesn’t Snape tell you about us? His oldest, truest friends. My Harry, your father certainly has a lot of secrets. Let me see, Wormtail? Wormtail, remember that time when Snape killed a fat, old mudblood because she spilt blood on his robe? Or perhaps when we levitated that family of filthy halfbreeds over the Thames? What was the game we played? Wasn’t it seeing how high one could drop them into the water before their brains were splattered… We had a name for it, I’m sure.”

Bellatrix sighed, bored at the boy’s lack of reaction.

“Don’t you understand Harry- we make sport out of killing, and Severus Snape was one of us. And we want him back.” Bella traced the tracks left by Potter’s tears. She grabbed his ear and gave it a sharp tug, shaking the boys head from side to side and forcing his eyes open.

“Did Daddy not tell his precious little Harry about Azkaban? How he sold our souls to pave the way to his own freedom? Leaving his past behind to waste away in that hovel. He thought we’d die in there- and his past with us! Traitor! That man you have chosen to be your surrogate father played us, played us like a hand of cards. He gambled our lives for his own redemption. He chose to swap sides, and we were his bargaining chips. But he’ll lose in the end. Our master will rise again, and we will be rewarded above all others for destroying two of the greatest thorns in his side! We will be honoured, baby Harry- and here’s the irony- you are our tool now, ours to barter with…. Snape has no cards up his sleeve this time.”

Her face so close to his, he could see himself reflected in her black, frenzied eyes.

Her words were beyond his comprehension.

Harry knew love. He loved many things: His Mother, above all, Daddy, Uncle Albus, Honeydukes chocolate, playing Quidditch with Charlie and his friends, helping Hagrid take Fang for walks, flying his broom over the lake…

Harry knew hate- the seven year-old diluted version. He hated being called names. He hated when Mummy was sad, or when Daddy told him that he was disappointed in him. He hated having to eat his broccoli, or being told ‘this hurts me more than it does you’ when it so obviously didn’t.

In Harry’s mind, there existed only good- things that he loved, and bad- things that he hated. It was a world that neglected to include shades of grey, constructed out of purely childish emotion. Therefore, Harry could not understand what Bella was saying. His Daddy came down on the side of good (well, most of the time) so Harry found it impossible to believe that Severus had anything in common with that horrible woman and the cowardly man… because if Daddy were to have been friends with them, he would have to be bad… bad, bad, bad and that meant that Harry wouldn’t love him so.

“Malfoy knows nothing, Albus… How can it be that the man does not know when his own sister-in-law escapes from prison?”

Severus paced up and down the length of Dumbledore’s office. He looked at Albus, wanting to see a small sign of hope. Anything that could stop this feeling of utter terror and helplessness that had stayed with him every second since Harry’s abduction. It had been days, days spent searching every single place he could think of. Every spot he knew to have a connection to Bellatrix or Pettigrew. There was a team of 50 of Great Britain’s finest aurors on the case. Dumbledore, himself, had been searching through great tomes for some sort of spell that could be used to help locate Harry.

“Severus, wearing a hole in my carpet is not going to bring us any closer to finding Harry.” Dumbledore sighed, wearily.

Severus stopped his pacing and collapsed into the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk. He put his head in his hands and tried to bring back his mask of passivity. Dumbledore reached out and placed his hand on Severus’ arm, trying to think of something comforting to say that the other man would not deem as ‘mindless platitudes’.

He was broken from his thoughts by the sound of his floo alighting. He swivelled round, and drew in a sharp intake of breath as he saw the very woman they had been searching for.

“Oh look, how touching… Dumble-bore and his Sevvy.”

Severus was on his feet, wand drawn in a split second. Bellatrix laughed, “You cannot harm me, Snape. Not if you want to see that child alive. I suggest you both sit back down so we can have a little talk…”

“So this is where the great muggle lover works. My, I expected something a bit grander than just a few bits of silver and some old paintings…”

Dumbledore toyed with a lemon drop. He looked up at Bella with a calculated gaze.

“What brings you here Bellatrix?” he spoke calmly, holding the sweet between two gnarled fingers.

“It is not you who I seek, old man. Severus, dear friend, I propose a swap. If you come with me, I shall return the boy unharmed… well, perhaps further unharmed might be a better turn of phrase,” Bellatrix smiled knowingly and held out her hand from the fire.

Dumbledore studied the two Slytherins, lost in his own inner monologue for the briefest of pauses…

Here stood before him were those who had been considered Lord Voldemort’s chief lieutenants - the most trusted of all his band of followers. Sharing such a past, they were now ideologically polar opposite - yet both fuelled by such similar emotions: passion, fervour and desire, both channelling their dark pasts in order to create a future out of the chaos of their yester years.

Severus - his own loyal servant. A man who devoted his entire life to paying penance for his misspent youth- a debt he paid by expelling a burning and ferocious familial love, a passion for the protection of those he cherished, and a desire to repent his unforgotten sins.

Bellatrix LeStrange… another faithful subject, yet one he could never call his own for she spent her life in homage to her one true master, the so-called Dark Lord. Binding her passion and desire to his willingness, Bella would do anything for Tom Riddle, much as Severus would give Lily the world had she asked for it. Since the disappearance of Bellatrix’ master- her devotion had turned into an endless quest for his return, leading to the frenzied attack on a ministry official which enabled her to escape, with wand, and kidnap Harry.

***

The lemon drop felt hot in Dumbledore’s hand.

Dumbledore now had his plan in place- the question being how could he convey it silently to Severus.

“Here Severus, you shall be in need of a light refreshment at some point today. There’s no better palate cleanser than a lemon drop, I do believe. I find them the key to good digestion, don’t you know...” Dumbledore said in his usual irreverent way, a cryptic half-smile painted on his face, hoping Severus would pick up on his clue without need for an additional emphasis.

“Do I have your solemn vow as a witch that if I go with you, Harry will be not be harmed further?” Severus chose his words delicately.

“Leave your wand behind with the Mudblood Champion and in the name of our Lord, Severus, it is done.”

And with her final words Severus removed his wand and left it on Dumbledore’s desk. He pocketed Albus’ token, throwing a final look of disgust at the Deatheater, he reached out and roughly took her hand in his own before being engulfed in flames and spirited away from Hogwarts.

***

They tumbled out of the fireplace in a haze of dust and acrid smoke. Severus stood, stiffly, and tried to regain his sense of decorum. His eyes darted around the room in reconnaissance.

“What have you done with Harry? What do you want with me?” He spat venomously.

“You always were one to cut to the chase… always so ruthlessly efficient… I remember --”

“We don’t all play with our food LeStrange, now is not the time for nostalgia.” Severus interrupted, sharply.

Bellatrix flourished her wand, and conjured an old leather bound book.

“Luctor et emergo… ring a bell?” She purred.

Severus’ impassive mask faltered for a brief moment as he contemplated the ancient rite the woman was suggesting. He knew full well what she meant. Luctor et emergo was old magic. As far as the man knew it had not been evoked for centuries, seeing as it was illegal throughout the wizarding world- only studied by the darkest of magical beings.

His role suddenly became clear, and the guilt that had been kept at bay rose up inside him, gnawing at his chest. It was his fault that Harry had been kidnapped. For once the boy was not to be the target- he was just a decoy, a tool in Bellatrix’ delusional plan.

“I feel privileged that you would think of me. Perhaps knowledge of your brother-in-law’s deflection to the ministry was not available in Azkaban. I’m sure you must be a little behind on current affairs, as if you believe me to be the only deflector you are sorely mistaken. I must repeat my request, where is the boy?”

“I’m fully aware of Lucius’ shortcomings, Severus. There is no need to confuse them with your own. We both know the truth, you chose the winning side rather than fight with honour- selling our secrets for a chance to gain that Mudblood’s affection. I think I shall have a little fun first. Perhaps Master Harry might enjoy the spectacle… Wormtail, fetch the boy!” Bellatrix placed her book beside the fire and drew forth her wand, pondering over which hex to use first. As long as Snape remained alive, she would still be able to perform the sacrifice needed to resurrect her master, there was no need to deny her the satisfaction that she had been craving the past five years – after all, the night was yet young.

***

Harry was cold. His clothes were ripped and his glasses smashed during one of Bellatrix’ more exerting curses. He did not mind the hunger, or the endless shaking of his rattling joints. Harry felt he could endure it all, if only they might give him a glass of water. His throat was parched; his mouth so dry he felt like it would crack in two if he attempted to speak. These people were wicked through and through, so Harry knew it was pointless to try and appeal to better natures that they did not possess.

The door to his cell was pushed open and Harry felt himself rising in the air again as Wormtail came to collect him.

He was lowered to the ground gingerly. He could make out another shape in the room, a dark looming presence. Harry looked up at his Father and tried to speak, the only sound escaping his mouth were moans- he had not even enough strength to formulate entire words.

Severus looked at Harry with an inscrutable expression. It was as if he would not be in any more pain even if someone cut out his heart and proceeded to stamp on it in front of him. The boy was a pitiful sight, unnaturally pallid and sweating. His eyes swollen and his skin riddled with abrasions and bruises. He would need a healing potion before long.

“Now that we are all gathered, I think it is time to start the evening’s entertainment, we shall show Harry what happens to half blood traitors.”

And with these final words Severus was thrown off his feet by the force of Bella’s first hex. As he shut his eyes he thought that the pain induced by the curse was mild relief from the pain of knowing that he had caused Harry to suffer such malice.

He would remain stoic, as he had always done when facing the Dark Lord’s wrath. There would be no tears, whimpers or screaming passing his lips. Severus knew that this was the only way to deny Bellatrix satisfaction. Bellatrix always loved the manifestation of pain in others, she loved watching her victims writhe in uncontrollable agony, and so by silently bearing her torture he would have the upper hand.

***

Harry wondered if this man really was his Daddy.

Why would his Daddy be silent, letting that cruel woman to curse him into oblivion?

The man certainly looked like Daddy. The same tightly pursed lips, bent nose and slick black hair. He had Daddy’s frown of concentration, the one he wore when he was making a particularly tricky potion- the one that warned Harry not to even think of distracting him. And yet, Harry wondered how the man he knew -the man who was quick to scold him over the slightest complaint- could be silently enduring such a brutal attack without even trying to fight back. It was with that thought that Harry finally understood why Aunt Minerva said Daddy was the bravest man she knew.

As quick as the onslaught had started, it was over.

***

Bella was furious.

Snape was not going to react, she was sure of it. She could not hex the boy for fear of breaking her vow. Perhaps later she could have Wormtail crucio him, at least then it would be Wormy’s head on the line rather than her own.

Bellatrix did not care for Wormtail; he was a snivelling waste of a man.

She remembered him from her days at Hogwarts, he was always palling around with her despicable cousin, that beast and Potter’s Father: a weakling needing protection from whoever deigned to offer it to him. Her master knew Wormtail for what he was, the stupid rat would have been dead at the last meeting had he not been made secret keeper for the Potters.

She had only chosen him to escape with her because of his little trick, transforming into a rat and stealing the keys to her cell so that she would be able to pounce when the ministry officials came to make their weekly inspection.

She supposed she could have left him behind, he probably deserved it - but two of her Lord’s faithful were needed to perform Luctor et emergo, and while Wormtail was as pathetic as they come – he had not betrayed his master. The calibre of those casting the spell would not alter the consequence. She had enough power for the two of them, by killing Snape and shedding a thimbleful of their own blood she would have the means to bring the Dark Lord back from whatever limbo he was stuck in.

He who struggles will emerge the victor… He who falls shall rise again.

No one knew the importance of these words like Bellatrix LeStrange.

With a wave of her wand an unconscious Severus Snape and a weeping Harry Potter were banished to the small cell, leaving Bella to prepare herself for the next stage of her plan.

***

Harry hadn’t wanted to cry. He should have been strong, but he had cracked.

There was blood trickling from the corner of Severus’ mouth from where he had been biting his tongue to prevent himself from screaming.

Harry didn’t know what to do. He was the child. Adults took care of him, not the other way round. He tried to think back to the last time he was hurt, what Mummy had done to make him feel better. He reached out a hand tentatively, and grasped Daddy’s big hand in his own, giving it a slight squeeze to let him know that he was there. He shakily moved a little closer, clinging to the hand, and at the same time bending forward to reach down and softly kiss Daddy’s forehead. He wiped the blood off Daddy’s face with his shirtsleeve, and lay down beside him- resting his little head on Daddy’s chest so that he could listen to the beating of the man’s heart.

The tears were back again. Running freely from Harry’s huge red eyes. He hiccupped and thrust his hand over his mouth so that he could choke back the sobs. He was supposed to be a big boy, he was going to be a big brother soon – not crying all over the place like some stupid little kid, and now he had made Daddy wake up when he should be resting. Rest was what sick people needed, after all.

***

Severus felt something wet on his skin, he felt a slight pressure on his chest and realised that Harry was clinging to him. Severus was not one for hugging, but if ever there was a time for one- he supposed this would be it. He reached out a hand and began to pat Harry’s back. He felt Harry stiffen, and then the weight was gone from his chest and he felt oddly bereft.

“M’sorry Daddy” Harry blurted out. His face flushing red with shame. “I didn’t mean to waked you up …”

It was all too much for Severus; he let out a hearty laugh as the irony of their situation hit him like a ton of bricks. Here he was trapped, without his wand –fearing for his and Harry’s lives- and the first thought to come into his head was to correct Harry’s grammar.

Harry sat up and drew his legs up to his chest and lay his head down on his knees so that Severus couldn’t see his face and know that Harry was crying like a little coward.

“It is I who am sorry, Harry. You have nothing to apologise for, little one.” Severus pulled himself into a sitting position and beckoned Harry over to him. Harry flew into his arms, burying his head in the folds of Severus’ robes. The older man encircled Harry with his arms, and the two lay clinging to each other before falling into a restless sleep.

***

To say that Lily was frantic would be something of an understatement. She was out of her mind with worry, fear and grief. Minerva had had to petrificus totalus her in order to prevent her from leaving Hogwarts to floo to Malfoy Manor to interrogate Narcissa.

Lily was going to kill Severus for putting himself in such reckless danger! To leave, without his wand, on the word of a highly dangerous lunatic Deatheater was an act beyond idiotic – and yet it made her love him more furiously than she ever had before. She had not known Severus to be a gambler, and now here he was, laying his own life down to win back Harry.

Lily felt the most scared that she had ever been in her life. Her heart was in her mouth; she was so helpless – so inadequately prepared to take hold of the situation. Seven months pregnant with a hugely swollen belly – Lily’s back was constantly aching and her ankles were ballooning by the second: rendering her utterly useless in the grand scheme of things. She could not join the aurors. She could not search the streets. She could not even concentrate on finding a spell that might guide them to Harry. Lily could barely walk one hundred yards without feeling the need to rest her tired legs, the legs she wore out with her constant nocturnal pacing.

Lily’s one miniscule moment of respite came from the knowledge that the baby, cocooned inside her, was protected from the misery and heartache of those around her.

Lily knew that Professor Dumbledore had ordered the house elves to keep a close watch on her. Dumbledore was an understanding man; he had certainly tried his hardest to comfort her when she was grieving for James. He’d not once judged her, even though he witnessed first hand the extent to which she allowed herself to get truly caught up in her sense of despondency, to such an extent that she was unaware of anyone or anything except herself and her grief. Whilst he was an understanding man, Lily knew that he was fearful that she might slip back into her old habits and it made her feel heartsick to think that wonderfully wise and gentle Dumbledore might believe her capable of intentionally harming Severus’ unborn child.

***

“Harry… Harry, wake up, I have to talk to you and I don’t know how much more time we have…” Severus whispered into the sleeping boy’s ear.

Harry opened his eyes and brought his hands up to rub the sleep away. Severus placed his own hand over Harry’s mouth, silencing the question on his lips.

“Don’t say a word, pretend that you are asleep. I don’t know if they are watching us. Listen to me very carefully; this is of the utmost importance. I’m going to slip something into your pocket, and when we are next taken out of the cell I want you to take it out and hold it in your fist. You mustn’t stop for anything, if you disobey me boy…” Severus removed his hold from Harry and looked at his face, Harry’s eyes were squeezed shut but he raised his chin up to make a slight nod in promise.

Severus felt inside his trouser pocket and found the small round sweet, he grasped it in his long fingers, hoping and praying that Albus Dumbledore was as talented a wizard as his reputation claimed, as he swiftly slipped the lemon drop into Harry’s pocket. Severus allowed himself to relax slightly; comforted by the thought that Harry would soon be on his way back to Lily.

***

Bella was prepared. She had transfigured several rocks into knives of various shapes and sizes, a pile of logs were stacked by fire, and she had even had time to practice her rope binding spell on Wormtail until she had perfected her technique.

She had sent Wormtail to wake their honoured guests. It was a shame that she had taken that vow not to harm the boy further, but the one consolation was that when the Dark Lord returned he would being able to deal with the boy as he saw fit. After all, there were plenty of Mudbloods for her to play with in the future. It was just that there was something so delectable about the child, even though she was under oath not to destroy him…

Wormtail entered the room, Snape and Harry limping behind him. Wormtail grabbed Harry and pulled him away from his Father, at the same time Bellatrix bound Severus’ hands behind his back and sank her knife into the soft flesh of his neck, not deep enough to sever an artery but deep enough to cause a river of red to spurt in an upwards arc and splatter the wall behind Severus.

Bellatrix began her dreadful chant:

You, rebel, look to taste the due

Most shallowly did you these arms commence,

Fondly brought here and foolishly sent hence.

Some guard these traitors to the block of death,

Treason’s true bed, and yielder up of breath.

***

Severus was going to face the death that he had resigned himself to long ago. He knew he had been living on borrowed time. He had chosen to ally himself with Dumbledore and his Order, and such a move had been to sign his own death warrant.

He wanted the truth to be known. He had not chosen what he thought as the winning side. He had heard news of Voldemort’s plan to attack the Potters, and had gone to Dumbledore on bended knee asking the man to use his power to protect Lily. The thought of Lily in danger had been the catalyst.

Severus did not know good, and he did not know bad. He knew that much of life was lived through a combination of the two. Emotions combined- one can be a good person at heart and commit a bad act. It was a lesson that he had always tried to impress upon Harry, he didn’t want the boy to think that life was made up solely of Deatheaters or Dumbledores. He wanted Harry to know that people make mistakes. He wanted Harry to know above all that realising that you have done wrong- being able to admit your own mistakes- is the sort of magic beyond anything taught with a wand.

Severus was not prepared for death, but he certainly was not prepared for what happened next…

***

Daddy had told Harry to grab the thing in his pocket as soon as they were out of the room. But as usual, Harry accidentally forget to do what his Daddy told him.

That Wormtail man was trying to hold him down, Harry was angry. A rage he had never known before was making him forget his broken ankle and aching body. He struggled, and managed to tear himself away from the rodent like man.

The anger was making his head spin. He wanted to make this man hurt. He wanted to make everything better. He didn’t want anyone else to get hurt because of him. He grabbed a rock and threw it at the back of Wormtail’s head. It hit on target with a loud crack and the fat man rolled forwards, falling on his side, one hand still clamped around his wand.

Harry crept forwards, afraid that the man might still be conscious. He breathed a sigh of relief at seeing the man out cold. He pocketed the wand, and flashed the man a cold, hard look.

“That’s for making my Mummy cry because you let the bad man into our house” Harry whispered.

He saw Bellatrix standing by the fire, her eyes glazed over as she chanted some strange old words to no one in particular. Harry saw his Father, pale and bleeding profusely from a wound on his neck.

Harry wasn’t supposed to play with wands. That was what started all this trouble in the first place. Hadn’t he been trying to run away because Daddy had caught him using Mummy’s wand to do a prank that Marcus Flint and Warrington had forced him to do? Didn’t that all seem so silly now? That Harry was afraid of Daddy finding out he stole something valuable and gave it to those Slytherin bullies, who had then blackmailed him into helping them play all sorts of tricks on those deemed beneath them. Harry couldn’t think of anything more pointless.

It was all so trivial. His fears over the new baby- well, maybe that wasn’t trivial- Harry still wasn’t sure were he whether he’d fit in, but in the grand scheme of things Harry felt that the only important thing in the world was to save himself and Daddy. He didn’t think Daddy would be too mad if he borrowed the wand of a baddy, it’s not like Daddy was in the position to shout anyway, Harry thought and almost smiled to himself.

The Deatheater woman was still chanting. Harry pointed the wand at her, he couldn’t say any words because he didn’t know any spells. He wasn’t supposed to mess around with magic. They didn’t teach that sort of stuff at his school.

He harnessed onto the rage that had helped him conquer Wormtail. This woman had put him in pain, she had told him all those cruel things about Daddy that couldn’t possibly be true. She had hurt Daddy. Harry felt something bubble up inside him. His arm started to move on its own, pointing towards Bellatrix. His fingers tingled, and Harry knew instantly that some sort of spell had fired from his wand.

Bellatrix was frozen, and then she flew backwards and banged her head on the wall, falling to the ground like a rag doll. Her terrible eyes bulging upwards.

Harry limped over to Severus’ side and undid the bindings with the knife Bellatrix had used to cut his neck. Severus’ face was slack and expressionless. He was deathly still. Harry couldn’t tell if he was breathing or not.

“Please Daddy, please open your eyes… I’ll good, I promise… If you could just wake up… I’ll never be bad again…” Harry sobbed, clinging to the man’s chest.

He felt in his pocket for a tissue to stem the blood from Severus’ neck. He found something hard and round and remembered the little sweet that Daddy had put in his pocket earlier, the thing that he was meant to have taken out as soon as they had left the cell.

Uh oh… He was a little bit late.

And with one hand grasping Daddy’s, the other making a tight sweaty fist around the lemon drop, Harry felt a peculiar sensation start to tug at his bellybutton…

“Hello Daddy,” Harry began, softly.

“Mummy thinks that you can hear us, even though Madam Pomfrey says you’re in a c-c-coma. She said that muggles do it, but I’m not really sure what a coma is - you look like you’re sleeping so I won’t talk too loudly ‘cause I know people get grumpy when you wake ‘em up before they’re ready. Dunno what I should say, though…

Oh yeah, Uncle Alby has been teaching your potions classes for the past two weeks, I think you’ve still got a few cauldrons left, though that Goyle girl in the fifth year melted three in one lesson! It’s been a week now, since we got back from that… that place. Auntie Minerva almost had a heart attack when we just appeared out of thin air in Uncle’s office. Her tea went flying; I think you would have laughed, Daddy. Mummy started crying, and she hugged me so hard I thought I was going to suffocate. I know she’ll be glad when you wake up. I heard her crying last night, and it made me sad. I miss you Daddy.

Uncle Albus says it’s not my fault. When we got back to Hogwarts, after you went to the infirmary, Mummy and Uncle Alby made me talk to them about what happened. Madam Pomfrey fixed up my foot, good as new. B-b-but I told them about the dare game, and that I was running away before- before… you know. I was too scared to tell you, Daddy. I was very bad, taking your unicorn horn. I know stealing is wrong, but they said that you didn’t want me and that you and Mummy would send me away…”

Harry sniffed, and moved a grubby shirtsleeve up to swipe at his eyes. It was certainly easier talking to Daddy like this. Harry hoped that Daddy could hear him, because maybe then he would know how sorry Harry was and take pity on him. Uncle Albus had said that Harry had learned ‘the folly’ of his actions, and had been punished enough.

“I asked Uncle Albus not to take points from them, I thought you would be mad if Slytherin lost points and missed out on the House Cup. Flint and Warrington have been dissecting toad spleens for you… 4 barrels full so far. Auntie Minerva is also making them help out the house elves. Charlie said that he saw them scrubbing the 3rd floor landing with toothbrushes. I thought you might find that funny. Filch thinks Christmas has come early.

Mummy couldn’t come to visit you today. She’s trying to sleep because the baby was kicking her last night and she was up for hours. Auntie Min did that spell that made her not able to move and forced her back into bed. Mummy will be so mad when she can move!

She was scary when I told her and Uncle Albus about wanting to run away. She’s even learned to scowl just like you. You would have been shocked, she transfigured Uncle’s quill into a wooden spoon and started to spank me… hard. It broke, though. She was really sad after, that she’d hit me ‘cause she doesn’t believe in it… Uncle Albus said that he knew ‘I would not do anything as foolish again’ and then his eyes started to do that twinkling thing that annoys you so…”

Harry absentmindedly started to play with the bedspread. He wasn’t used to talking and not having anyone reply. Mummy was sure that it would help Daddy, but Harry was sceptical. There was no way that Daddy would be looking so peaceful and serene if he were listening to Harry’s conversation. He leaned back against the bed and rested his heavy head under Severus’ chin.

“I miss you Daddy. I thought you were d-d-dead. There was all that blood, and your eyes…”

Harry stopped talking abruptly as he choked back a sob. His tears rolled down his cheeks onto the white flesh of Severus’ chest.

“It’s not fair. I just want you to wake up. You can be as mad as you want, and shout and, and…. It’s not fair. Charlie and Bill went camping with their Dad last weekend. And you’ve just been asleep because you’re r-r-recovering. I know you probably wouldn’t like camping, what with it being so muggle… but maybe when you’re all better we could go and hunt for herbs or fungi or something. I wish you could hear me…”

Harry let out a deep sigh and closed his teary eyes.

***

“Just what gave you the impression that I disapproved of camping, young man?” Severus croaked, in a voice that that had obviously been silent for several days.

Harry sat bolt upright, a look of pure and utter surprise pasted on his face.

“Nice to see you too. Couldn’t you look a bit happier, eh boy? I’ve just had to listen to your inane chatter all morning, after all.” The light edge to Severus’ voice countered out the deadly serious look he flashed Harry.

The surprise vanished, replaced with a look of complete wonder and then a fleeting flush of embarrassment as he remembered all the silly things he had been babbling non-stop for the past hour.

Harry flung himself into his father’s arms, collapsing in a boneless heap before Severus pulled him into a tight embrace. The worry and fear Harry had been carrying around ever since his capture disappeared at last.

Harry finally felt like he was home. And it felt good.

***

Severus held on to Harry as if his life depended on it.

The two of them had endured an unimaginable ordeal, and somehow Harry had miraculously saved both their lives. It certainly gave Severus pause.

He breathed in deeply, great gulps of air bringing him back to the land of the living and he began to get his bearings. Severus wondered if it would be insensitive to ask Harry to go fetch some coffee and perhaps a spot of lunch? He had a sudden craving for toad in the hole. Well, the boy had been living with him for the past six years- surely he would be used to Severus’ abruptness by now.

“What did that woman give me, Draught of the Living Dead? Good grief, I feel like a mandrake plucked out of season.”

Severus grunted in irritation at the thought of having his own potions used against him, it always felt slightly treasonous- his lovingly concocted draught shoved down his throat at the first opportunity. Pomfrey was an interfering, old busybody, and he supposed Minerva probably encouraged her and as for Albus- the phrase monkey and organ grinder certainly sprang to mind. It was all most disconcerting. Poisoned by his own hand! The whole situation was rather like something out of a play by that muggle Shakespeare… ‘O true apothecary! Thy drugs are quick’, too bloody right, he wasn’t a Potion Master for nothing.

Severus felt sure that his body could have recovered sufficiently without all this fuss; there had been no need to scare Lily and Harry by drugging him up to his eyeballs in the name of ‘healing’. He prodded Harry with a bony finger. The boy giggled nervously and sat up to attention.

“I think you should inform your Mother that I am amenable to a visit, and send a house elf in my direction. I’m going to yell at- erm… I mean reason with Madam Pomfrey until she agrees to discharge me. I’ll see you in our rooms. Oh, yes- lest I not forget- you and I have an appointment in my office before bedtime.”

Harry’s face fell at the unintentional rebuke. Severus ruffled Harry’s hair and gave his cheek a soft tug to show that there was no ire behind his words.

“Off with you, you little scamp. I’m sure somewhere in this school there’s mischief for an imp like you to get involved in,” Severus said with a smirk.

***

Harry went back to the dungeons and relayed his Father’s message. He was skipping away from the kitchens when he heard a door open and someone grabbed his arm, pulling him into a disused classroom. His heart sank as he saw who it was.

“Well, well, well. It’s that little half-blood grass. No Dumbledore here to do your dirty work now, or Mudblood –I mean Mummy- she’s not here either,” Flint grinned maliciously and lifted Harry effortlessly off the ground by his shirt collar.

Harry found himself pinned against a wall. He tried to kick his legs, to knee the older boy in the groin and get him where it hurts. He shut his eyes as he saw Flint raise a fist and aim for his face.

Before Harry had even thought to shout for help, the door was slammed open. A red haired teenager burst into the room, his wand raised for action.

“Fernunculus,” said the boy lazily- pointing his wand at Flint, and grinning as he watched boils erupt in painful red lumps all over the bully’s ugly face.

Harry quickly sidestepped as a quick jelly legs jinx was cast, forcing Flint to quiver on the ground like a crab stuck on its back.

“Alright Harry?”

Harry beamed at his defender, “Charlie! You saved me!”

“Saved is a bit strong, mate. I helped you out of a bit of bother. I’m sure when you’re older you’ll do the same for me.” Charlie smiled easily, placing his hand on Harry’s back to steer him out of the classroom, looking back at Flint who was unable to stand because of the strength of Charlie’s hex.

“Colloportus,” muttered Charlie- sealing up the door to the classroom so that he wouldn’t be found.

“Serves him right, the stupid wan--- erm… the stupid idiot, I mean.” Charlie said, blushing almost as red as his hair, not wanting to expand Harry’s already ‘colourful’ vocabulary.

“Can you teach me how to make his face go all disgusting like that? I’d love to be able to do that. Oh wait, better not. I’m not allowed to use a wand…” Harry reached out for Charlie’s hand and began swinging their arms as they headed off in the direction of Harry’s quarters.

“I think he’s naturally that disgusting looking, Harry. Bill swears that the Flints have a bit of goblin in ‘em. And he’d know, after all, what with doing his summer work experience at Gringotts. Anyway, you little tyke- I know all about you and wands. Rumour has it that you saved yourself and old Snape from those deatheaters, pretty bloody incredible, that is. Don’t think our Ronnie would be able to save his teddy bear, let alone two actual humans… though the whole human thing is debatable with Snape…” Charlie mused.

“Hey!” snapped Harry. “He is, too, human. You said you wouldn’t be mean about Daddy.”

“Oh, right. I’m sorry mate. I just forget sometimes, you know how it is. When he’s taking thirty points off me for dropping my quill in the cauldron I don’t really think of him as a ‘family’ man.” Charlie sheepishly acknowledged his mistake.

“Yeah, he is a bit grouchy over stuff like that. One time he made me stand in the corner for an hour when I so much as breathed in the direction of a potion.”

“Well you do have a bit of record for messing around with his potions, don’t you? Don’t think that I’d forgot about the time you ‘accidentally’ put a firecracker in my cauldron? Snape gave me detention for a week, all those lines I had to write- just to save you from a hiding.” Charlie gave Harry a look that spoke volumes about the rum deal he felt had got from that particular stunt of Harry’s.

“Sorry Charlie. I promise not to do anything bad ever again,” Harry said solemnly, staring at the older boy with a purely angelic expression, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Charlie let out a bark like laugh and picked up Harry, throwing him over his shoulders into a piggyback.

“A reformed character, yeah? I believe you. Pigs are probably flying, Snape’s probably giving Gryffindor points… Come on then, let’s get you back to the dungeons, like the good boy that you are- bet you got homework or summin’ to be getting on with?” teased Charlie, who was –surprise, surprise- met by sulky silence.

***

Lily was lying down on the bed recently vacated by Severus, who had miraculously managed to half menace – half bribe Poppy into letting him move back to their apartment on the condition that he let her floo in every two hours to give him a quick once over. Lily rested her head on the pillow. It smelt of Severus: musky, like cloves or cardamom, a rich, masculine scent. She closed her eyes, breathing it in and allowing herself to relax in the knowledge that both her men were safe and sound, and that Severus was even back to his fastidious ways.

She had discussed with Severus, at length, her feelings over him flooing off after Bellatrix without consulting her. They had agreed to disagree, but Lily liked to believe that Severus would think of her (albeit, briefly) before stepping so easily into the dark night of danger again.

They had talked about Harry; Lily had embarrassedly admitted that she had done the very thing she always tried to argue Severus out of doing. He had refrained from saying ‘I told you so’ though Lily rather felt he added it silently to the conversation. He had managed to make her laugh at herself, at least, finding the idea of her absolute consternation at snapping the wooden spoon utterly hilarious and reassuring her that Harry was not, as she put it, ‘traumatised’.

Lily was handing the case over to Severus now. She knew there were many things that Harry had not told her, like how he managed to get Severus out of Bellatrix’ grasps, for one. Severus was going to give him a stern talking to about the dangers of ‘recklessly idiotic Gryffindor heroics’, but that was all- no further punishment seeing as he had been through such a tortuous experience, one that they both felt sure would stay with Harry longer than anything else he had lived through. Lily wondered if she should get Remus to come talk with Harry. The man had embarked on a career in wizardry counselling or something in that vein a couple of years ago. Remus had got a lot of ‘hands on’ experience caring for Sirius after James’ death, after all.

Lily’s brain was on overload. She stretched out and burrowed into the blanket. Giving into the sleep that she had been evading for days.

***

Severus was thankful that he was back in his own rooms. He had a tumbler of firewhisky, ‘Brewers International’, and he had even managed to take points from two sneaky Gryffindors he had caught skulking around the dungeons. Pomfrey wasn’t even checking up on him now, seeing as Lily had fallen asleep on one of the beds- immediately focusing all of Poppy’s attention on her and the baby. The witch wasn’t about to leave Lily on her own, her paranoid mind working overtime imagining a whole heap of scenarios where Lily was in dire need of medical attention and she was nowhere to be found. They might as well just move in the damn infirmary, the amount of time they all seemed to spend there.

Severus looked up from his potions journal. It was six thirty, time for Harry and himself to have their little discussion. He stood up and opened the connecting door to the sitting room. Harry was lying face down on the sofa, reading a book for school and listening to the radio. The perfect picture of an dutiful child. Severus beckoned to him, and Harry slid onto his feet and bounded into the other room.

Severus sat back down behind his desk, clearing away his papers and quill. He motioned for Harry to close the door and pointed at the vacant chair. He cleared his throat and decided to approach the subject head on.

“You’re not here to discuss Mr Flint and Mr Warrington, nor your decision to run away. I believe that has been dealt with already.”

Harry nodded his head remorsefully. His big green eyes looking woeful before Severus had even begun to get into ‘telling off’ mode.

“I trust you to have learned you lesson sufficiently. However, there is another matter we need to address.”

Severus paused for effect.

“I recollect giving you specific instruction to use that portkey as soon as you left that cell. I am beyond displeased to find out that you, a seven year old boy, decided to tackle two fully grown wizards RISKING YOUR LIFE in the most utterly FOOLHARDY STUNT I’ve heard of, even from you!” Severus’ voice had reached unchartered decibels, and he was slamming his hand down on the desk at regular intervals to keep Harry on his toes.

“You were told never to touch another persons’ wand, weren’t you?” Harry gulped, and nodded yes.

“Well, that shows that we all make mistakes. Even myself. Yes, you heard correctly, boy. If you had not taken that wand then you do not know if we would have been able to escape. However, that does not give you license to play with a wand at your own choosing- if I catch up to your usual escapades again then you will be one very sorry little boy. Is that clear?” Severus frowned, aiming for the Snape patented scowl number one, trying to make himself look as grave as his words made him sound.

Harry nodded again.

“Excuse me? I did not hear your response.”

“Yes Daddy, it’s clear,” Harry whispered. “What she said… about you being like her? It was all lies, wasn’t it?”

“You heard Bellatrix allude to my past, Harry. It’s best that you put it all from your mind for now. In a few years we can revisit this subject, but Harry you’ll just have to trust me on this. When you’re a big boy it will make sense. You must understand, Harry, I cannot think of anything worse than being like that woman. She is an abomination. You should pity her above all for she is not worth the effort of your hatred.”

“B-b-but she said you left them…” Harry faltered suddenly, looking down at his feet.

“Several years ago I gambled with fate- I was caught between two directions. I was a weak man but I chose to change my ways- to pay my dues- a decision I should have made years before. But it doesn’t matter, Harry. I won my game with fate. The bet is paid off, and I have the richest winnings a man could dream of. For I have you my child, and Mummy, and I won’t ever let anyone take you from us again.”

Severus’ throat caught as he allowed his emotions to run away with him. He moved his chair back from his desk to let Harry climb up and sit on his lap. The boy was really getting a bit too big for this, or maybe it was his knees that just weren’t as strong as they used to be.

Severus smiled as he thought of all the times he sniped at Lily for babying Harry or just downright spoiling him. Here he was patting the bloody boy’s head and letting him snuggle. Snuggle! The idea of Snape snuggling was absolutely preposterous, but Harry… well however insufferable he could be, however many lines he insisted on crossing- well, he was a good boy. He was Severus’ boy.

“Now, this camping idea? How would you feel about a weekend, perhaps? I do need to get some freshly picked Deadly Nightshade fairly soon….” Said Severus steering the conversation nicely back to reality.

***

And all of a sudden a disembodied head appeared in the fire.

“Auntie Minerva!” Harry exclaimed in surprise.

“Severus, come at once! It’s Lily, the baby’s on its way and she’s refusing to push until you arrive!”

Harry sat in Madam Pomfrey’s office, swinging his legs back and forth, as he waited for news of his Mother. It was past his bedtime, but somehow nobody had remembered – and Harry wasn’t about to remind them! His Uncle Albus had transfigured two hard plastic chairs into large, squishy armchairs – upholstered in a pattern of garish swirls of red and gold that had made Harry’s Father appear positively sickened, muttering something about ‘insufferable Gryffindors.’

As far as Harry knew, Severus was now sitting by Mummy’s bedside, looking very much like he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Harry wasn’t allowed out of the office. Daddy had mentioned something about ‘scarring him for life’ and ‘so-called bloody miracle of life…’ Severus had then threatened to eviscerate Harry if he put ‘so much as one toe out of line’ whilst he was minded by Uncle Albus, so Harry swallowed his pride and decided to sit on the armchair and play gobstones like a good little boy.

****

That had been five hours ago.

****

It was now one in the morning. The castle was shrouded in a blanket of slumber, even the ghosts seemed to be resting. Thankfully no students were in the infirmary, otherwise the sounds emitted by Assistant-Professor Evans would have had them weeping in their beds.

Lily didn’t remember it taking so long last time.

Twenty years old, in the prime of her life, she vaguely remembered popping into St Mungo’s and leaving a few hours later with a bouncing baby boy and dishevelled husband in hot pursuit.

Lily didn’t remember it being so painful.

Sure, she was young and agile back then – just out of Hogwarts, the world at her feet - but she wouldn’t exactly consider her current twenty eight years ‘past it.’

Lily didn’t remember having her wand snatched away from her by the nurse.

That was probably because she hadn’t attempted to curse James’ genitalia into fairy cakes. She supposed that had been a bit harsh, it wasn’t entirely Severus’ fault that she was in her current predicament: but the middle of an excruciating labour (with his child!) was not the appropriate time for her husband to remind her of this.

One thing was certain, Lily would be sending a howler to the Wizengamot. Weren’t they supposed to be living in a civilised and modern wizarding world? There were spells to wash clothes, heal wounds, and chop vegetables… There were potions that cured petrification, took away your dreams, forced you to tell the truth... How on earth had the ban on research into childbirth lasted all these years? Patriarchal toe rags, that’s what they were! Albus Dumbledore was going to get a piece of her mind. It was utterly archaic that there wasn’t a spell to make this easier, for Merlin’s sake, even muggles had developed a technique. What Lily wouldn’t give right now for an epidural…

****

“Uncle Alby?” Harry asked, slurping his hot chocolate loudly. “How did the baby get inside Mummy’s tummy?” Harry giggled behind his cup, knowing that his question was going to provoke some sort of amusing reaction from the usually serenely calm and controlled man.

Albus Dumbledore - Headmaster of Hogwarts, vanquisher of Grindelwald, acclaimed alchemist, Supreme Mugwump – was, for the first time in his life, truly stumped. He didn’t have any children of his own, but he had been teaching for many, many years. Never before had he been asked to explain the facts of life. Albus took a deep breath, counted from one to ten in English, Mermish and Gobbledegook, and began to speak.

“Well Harry, when a man and woman love each other as your parents do, they may wish to make a child together. The man, err… ahh… err… The man has a seed, and puts his seed inside the woman. The seed grows, like Professor Sprout’s plants do in the greenhouse. Yes, yes. Your Mother’s tummy is rather like a greenhouse, protecting a seedling and encouraging it to flourish until it is ready to be planted elsewhere.” Dumbledore finished, abruptly, feeling rather self-satisfied at his non-explicit analogy. There was yet hope that Severus would not be lacing his morning cocoa with an untraceable poison.

Harry frowned, screwing up his face perplexedly, attempting to put on his patented ‘innocent boy’ look – the one that always got an extra Chocolate Frog out of Professor Flitwick.

“So Mummy’s got a flower inside her, Uncle?” Harry asked, wondering if he was slightly overdoing his routine.

“Err… Not quite, my boy. I wonder if you’re not a tad too young for metaphors… No, Harry. She has a little boy or girl inside her. I was just describing the whole biological process---”

Harry began giggling out loud, bring Dumbledore’s monologue to a halt.

“Harry?” Albus enquired, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

“You looked almost as funny as Daddy did, when I asked him!” Harry lost all resolve and fell off his chair in a fit of laughter.

“Why, you little…” Albus stopped, remembering Severus’ wrath when Hagrid had accidentally let slip the word ‘bugger’ in Harry’s presence (and hadn’t he decided to repeat it every other word until Minerva suggested a soapy mouth charm). “How many people have you asked that question, young man?”

“Mummy told me how babies are made when Seamus told me and Neville about the ‘S’ word… S’pose I asked Daddy, Aunt Minerva, erm Professor Flitwick, Madam Pince, oh but I wanted to ask Mr Filch only I forgot.” Harry admitted sheepishly.

Professor Dumbledore opened his mouth to admonish his young charge, when all of a sudden the door to the office flew open with a bang and a slightly crazed Severus Snape beckoned them to follow him.

****

According to Poppy’s watch, little Asphodel Iris Eileen Snape was born at precisely two in the morning, April 15th 1988. Poppy was unsure if she approved of such a name. Wasn’t it slightly macabre? Well, she supposed the pair had their reasons (though they seemed a bit preposterous to her). As a child Lily had had an obsession with Greek mythology and became quite taken with Hades and the Asphodel Meadows, to her family’s horror. Severus felt that it would be quite fitting to name after one of the more prized potion ingredients.

Poppy was too tired to further ponder the workings of Lily and Severus’ minds. They were both a little too ‘abstract’ for her, anyway. All Poppy wanted to do was herd all these well-wishers out of her domain, give Lily a drop of dreamless sleep, and get a few hours kip in her office. She sighed, issuing Albus with a withering look. He really should have known better than allowing Harry to stay up all night. The boy was now excitable and would be grumpy all tomorrow for his lack of sleep. Poppy knew from experience that this was a bad thing, a grumpy Harry made for a moody Professor Snape… so she might as well start restocking calming draughts in preparation for the hordes of emotionally distraught Hufflepuffs that she foresaw running out of their potion lessons.

****

Severus Tobias Snape had not expected to live past his twenty-first birthday. He had not expected to rekindle his relationship with Lily. He had not expected to get married. Above all, he had not expected to father a child.

Here he was, living and breathing. No longer chained by the mark of his old master, no longer bound in servitude. Severus was a free man – and that, he would remain.

Severus had cheated his own destiny.

His own Father (not that he deserved that title) had wasted away during his childhood years. Severus had but a few vague recollections of Tobias: the smell of whisky perpetually on his breath, his jaundiced skin, obscenely swollen belly and his heavy hand when aggravated. Tobias was a man quick to act, with a temper that flared violently without thought for the consequence. Perhaps that what was why Severus liked to be painstakingly careful in his actions – slowly extracting the necessary information and only then formulating a response – he would not become his Father. Tobias drank himself into an early grave, leaving behind his downtrodden wife and child to fend for themselves in the muggle world that he had forced them to live in. Perhaps that was why Severus was still slightly distrustful of non-magical beings. Tobias would not drink merely a glass or two of wine, or even a tumbler of scotch. As soon as Severus could walk Tobias had had his son navigating the seedy streets of East London to fetch bottles of Bell’s Finest on tick from the off-license. Perhaps that was why Severus never allowed himself to drink around Harry. Perhaps he was scared of who he might become. Even though he lived to be Tobias’ antithesis, Severus was most familiar with the expression ‘the apple does not fall far from the tree.’

Generations of Snape men had drunk themselves into oblivion and beyond. In Dublin, Cork and London one could find graves baring fake epitaphs of ‘loving husband’ or ‘beloved father’ pertaining to a male Snape in his early thirties who had died ‘unexpectedly.’

Severus had not cried at his Father’s funeral, but he had cried at the birth of his firstborn.

Asphodel Iris Eileen Snape.

A paragon. Utter perfection personified. This tiny, breathing ball of flesh belonged to him more completely than anyone ever had. She had his blood running in her veins. Holding her in his arms, watching her dark eyes trying to focus on his face, made him realise all the more that he was NOT his Father. Tobias would have been sprawled on the floor, in a drunken stupor, reeking of alcohol and totally uncaring or unaware of what was going on around him.

Asphodel closed her little eyes and yawned. Severus softly traced a finger down her cheek, feeling the softness of her touch.

Without glancing away from his daughter, Severus made a solemn vow to protect his two children with every ounce of his being. Harry and Asphodel: forever reminders that he had not become his Father.

****

Albus Dumbledore was trying to get a reluctant Harry Potter to put his pyjamas on and get into bed. He’d thought himself rather a good babysitter, at least, the child had never complained about being left in his company before…

Harry had started to whimper the moment Albus had taken his hand to lead him back to the apartment. He had clung to his Mother for quite some time after being introduced to his baby sister. Albus liked to think that he understood the boy’s awkwardness. Harry was feeling insecure, worried that he had been replaced. It was only natural. Now, if only could get the child into bed he could explain to Harry the immense capability of the heart to love. Why, he had an exquisite little speech planned out in his head that he was sure would improve Harry’s spirits…

“Shan’t.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“I shan’t go to bed. You can’t make me. I won’t.” Harry petulantly whined.

Albus was perplexed. Harry had always regarded him so fondly. He’d known the boy since birth! It was really too late for these shenanigans. It wasn’t as if what Harry was saying even had a ring a of truth about it – obviously, he was Albus Dumbledore ‘greatest wizard of his age.’ Therefore, he was quite capable of ‘making’ young Mr Potter do whatever he wanted.

“Harry, whatever is the matter?” Albus’ patience finally wore thin.

Harry stamped his foot on the stone floor and looked up into Professor Dumbledore’s concerned blue eyes. His anger began to seep away, and his sulky bravado with it. It wasn’t fair that Albus could look at him in that way, it made Harry feel guilty and sad in equal parts that he was the cause of such an expression on Uncle Albus’ face.

Harry screwed up his face and felt all his resolve begin to crumble. He was mortified, aged seven and three quarters, and here he was blubbering like a baby in front of the Headmaster. Harry swiped angrily at his tears with a sweaty hand. He kicked the floor again, letting out a gasp of pain as his foot impacted with a heavy crack against the solid stone surface.

Dumbledore bundled Harry on to his lap as his crying began in real earnest. He rocked the child back and forth in his arms, when Fawkes swooped onto his shoulder (albeit nervously, remembering Harry’s habit of pulling his tail) and began to sing a soft, beautiful melody that lulled Harry into a state of calm.

“Now, now little one. Why don’t you tell me what is bothering you?” Dumbledore asked, brushing Harry’s hair out of his puffy red eyes. The intensity of his gaze made Harry feel like he was being X-rayed, and he knew that this was one of those occasions where the only option would be to tell the complete and utter truth.

Harry sniffed, his pride now a little more sore than his foot, and sat up on Dumbledore’s lap. He tucked one hand under his chin and stared resolutely at Dumbledore’s pink and purple paisley socks.

“I was about your age when my brother, Aberforth, was born. Most disconcerting, I seem to recall feeling awfully anxious at the disruption to the status quo. Of course, I grew to love him dearly, even throughout all that goat business. But, I digress Harry. There is no need for you to be fearful of your parents’ affection waning… Absolutely none at all…” Dumbledore said, attempting to placate the child.

Harry had stopped listening after the word ‘goat,’ wondering what is was Dumbledore’s brother possibly could have done to earn the expression ‘goat business.’ Harry was not at all fond of goats. He’d developed a real fear since his school’s trip to Edinburgh Zoo last year when Seamus had pushed Harry into the goat pen, and Harry had found himself consequently head butted by an angry looking nanny goat. Therefore, Harry could understand if Aberforth had sent the odd hex or curse in a goat’s direction.

Harry’s musings were broken by the sound of the door opening. Dumbledore looked up in surprise at a weary Severus who was raising an eyebrow in his direction.

“Good evening Severus, Harry and I were just getting ready for bed. There was a spot of bother with his pyjamas but it’s nothing a little transfiguration can’t sort.” He flicked his wand and Harry’s scruffy robes were instantly replaced by snitch patterned nightclothes. Albus looked at Severus over Harry’s head, and mouthed the word ‘upset’ with a shake of his head.

“I see. Well Harry, do thank the Headmaster for his kind hospitality.” Severus drawled, hoisting Harry onto his hip and walking into the drawing room to show Albus out. Harry mumbled something incoherent. Dumbledore nodded his head politely like Harry had just delivered an incredibly wise speech, and with another pointed stare in Severus’ direction, the older wizard took his leave.

“What mischief have you been up to, then?” Severus said to Harry as he carried him back into his bedroom.

Harry flung his arms around his Father’s neck. Daddy had come back for him! He’d not been forgotten. And that was all that mattered.

“Well really,” said Severus with a gentle frown, “a simple ‘none’ would have sufficed.” He patted Harry’s back and leaned back against the headboard, resting his head on Harry’s mop of hair.

Harry let out a deep sigh, knowing that everything would be okay. He closed his eyes, relaxing his hold on Severus, falling into a deep and contented sleep.

****

Lily had been required to spend a further three days under the beady eyes of Poppy Pomfrey before she was permitted to return to the apartment. Her new charms theory had been put on hold, and she found herself up to her eyes in dirty nappies, baby vomit and overreacting husbands.

Asphodel was a somewhat fractious child. She would not sleep without absolute silence, she would not drink her milk unless it was at a categorically perfect temperature, and she would not sleep more than two hours at a time. She reminded Lily a great deal of Severus, if truth were told.

It was now late April, spring had most definitely come to Hogwarts that year, and brought with it afternoons of lazy sunshine. There was a gentle breeze from the continent that, along with the sun, made for ideal quidditch conditions. Harry was sprawled languidly on the sofa, watching his Mother attempt to change Dell’s nappy all the while trying to calm the baby’s ear-splitting screams. Harry was bored, he had been watching the students out flying by the lake. It looked like so much fun, there was no chance that Lily would let him go flying on his own – then again, she would be stuck in the dungeons all afternoon – so it wasn’t as if she need know.

Harry grinned, and decided to take advantage of his sister monopolising Mummy’s attention. Over the past few days he had discovered the perks of no longer being an only child – relative freedom. Yesterday afternoon Harry had hoodwinked Lily into allowing him to spend a few hours in the kitchens, and he had been able to scoff about six cream cakes before Aunt Minerva ruined his sugar rush, pulling him by his ear back to the apartment. The day before he had gone swimming with Charlie and Veronica, Mummy obviously was too preoccupied to keep her usual close eye on him. So, yes. Harry had come to realise that having a little sister was not the nightmare he had thought it would be.

“Mummy…” Harry faux whined. “I want to go for a waaaaalk. I have to collect some flowers for school or I’ll get in trouble for not doing my homework.”

Lily looked up from the baby and gave Harry a calculated look.

“A walk? And where exactly do you propose to go? If you’re even thinking about going hunting for unicorns again…” Her voice trailed off as she narrowed her eyes at Harry.

Harry smiled, flashing Lily a quick glimpse of his pearly white milk teeth. “I just want to walk down to Hagrid’s and back, Mummy,” he said sweetly.

“One hour. Mind, if you put one foot in the Forbidden Forest then you’ll be stuck inside until Christmas! And don’t you dare go in the lake---”

Lily stopped talking. On hearing her acceptance, Harry had whooped gleefully, and he was now sprinting into his bedroom to get his shoes and socks. A black haired shape whizzed past her, and she heard the door slam. Asphodel started to cry again, and Lily cursed Severus for having to teach…

****

For some bizarre reason, the Hogwarts’ broomshed was always left unlocked. After each and every one of Harry’s airborne escapades, Severus had stormed into Professor Dumbledore’s office, seething at this blatant lack of security. However, since Harry had been big enough to balance horizontally, there had been a whole variety of different brooms just waiting for him to test drive.

Today he had selected a shiny new Nimbus1500 that was just too tempting to resist. He hummed a little tune to himself as he mounted the broom, kicked off the grass, and set off soaring into the blue skies.

There was nothing quite like the feel of flying. Harry knew nothing that could surpass it. He had taken the floo with his parents a few times, but he didn’t like that. He always fell over and grazed his knees, or got soot all over himself, which peeved Daddy no end. They went on the Knight Bus to the Dursley’s house once, and the bus conductor had spilled hot chocolate all over Daddy’s shirt. So Harry chose brooms, and had been ‘borrowing’ them for the past three years – much to the chagrin of his parents.

He decided to be really daring and attempt a figure of eight over the lake. He’d seen Charlie do it a few times, it was certainly an impressive stunt. Harry accelerated, looping in the air a few times. He dived downwards, his stomach doing summersaults as he plummeted to earth, and he kicked forwards just inches from the surface of the lake. Instead of flying back up in the air Harry ricocheted off his broomstick, zooming of his own accord into two outstretched arms that roughly yanked him out of the sky and plonked him onto dry land.

Harry’s stomach had now progressed from summersaults to cartwheels and then to backflips. He tried to act nonchalant, but he knew that his shaking shoulders were a dead giveaway.

“Hullo Daddy.” Harry stuttered.

Severus was not having a good afternoon. In his attempt to teach the fifth year Gryffindor/Slytherin class the finer art of potion making, five cauldrons had exploded, three had melted, and currently fifteen members of the class were holed up in the infirmary while Madam Pomfrey tried to banish their unsightly outbreaks of boils. The one bright spot on the horizon had been finishing lessons an hour early, however, that bright spot quickly diminished into an eruption of fury as he saw Harry bloody Potter flying his damn broom unsupervised.

Severus ran as fast as he could, his robes flapping behind him, and reached the bank of the lake just in time to witness Harry tumbling fifty feet. He felt a stabbing pain in his chest and wasted precious seconds locating his wand before wielding a hurried non-verbal accio. Harry slid of his broom, and shot forwards into Severus’ arms. Without a word he put the boy onto the ground and began to walk back towards the dungeons with a grim look of determination fixed on his face, all the while keeping a firm grip on Harry’s wrist.

****

Harry was shaking. He knew that he was being silly. Daddy had explained countless times that even when someone was angry with him for disobeying – they loved him, nonetheless. Harry knew that Severus was beyond furious. He wasn’t saying anything, silence always being a sign of the man’s wrath. Severus’ lips were pursed together in an angry line, his black eyes glaring straight ahead, and his hold on Harry’s hand was rather firmer than usual.

Harry feared for his behind, remembering what Daddy had promised him would happen if he were to be caught flying on his own.

Ouch.

****

There was no way that Severus could deal with Harry right now. He knew better than to start yelling at Harry, for it would only make the boy frightened and that wasn’t the purpose of a telling off. The idea was that Harry learn from his mistakes by understanding – not just out of fear. Severus felt that a smidgeon of fear was healthy, but his own childhood had taught him the fine line between giving respect and cowering into submission.

The last time Harry had tried to fly without an adult present Severus had made it very clear what the consequences would be if he attempted to do so again. Severus was tired and irritable, he’d give anything just to be able to go back to the rooms and put his feet up and have a glass or two of elf-made wine. Alas, no. He had to punish his son so that he would learn (the hard way) not to go out and do something as dangerous and foolish ever again, for Severus was not a man who believed in delaying punishment, particularly with younger children. Severus had once wondered if Harry had got in the way of an obliviate spell ‘gone wrong’ during the early years of his infancy. Harry’s brain was like a sieve, which was part and parcel of the problem.

****

Severus softly murmured the password to his office and crossed the threshold with an unhappy Harry James Potter in toe. He wordlessly summoned a stool and placed it the corner of the room. He deposited the child on the stool so that his nose was pressed right up against the wall.

“You will sit here until you are told to move. If I find you off the stool you will be spending the entire weekend at Mr Filch’s beck and call.” Severus spat in a menacing tone of voice.

Severus opened the door connecting his office to his bedchamber. He wearily sat down on his bed. He put his head in his hands and sighed. He really did not want to have to punish Harry, but he was left with no choice. He had told Harry what would happen in explicit terms, the boy was clearly choosing to be disobedient and if Severus did not nip this behaviour in the bud, the child would perhaps go on to do all sorts of other recklessly dangerous things.

The fates were not on his side. Why could he not be raising a future Hufflepuff? A nice meek and mild-mannered child, one who would not constantly get himself into scrapes and who would take a bath willingly, without flooding the entire dungeon. Snape snorted, his little mischievous Gryffindor could run rings around any such child… Some of those Hufflepuffs had the intelligence of a flobberworm. Still, Severus supposed, they were moderately more tolerable than the know-it-all Ravenclaws who always tried to find a way to catch him out.

Severus sat still for a few minutes, listening to the sounds of Lily and Asphodel next door. Lily was singing a muggle nursery rhyme in her painfully off-key voice; it made him smile just to think of Asphodel’s little pink cheeks and her tiny tuff of red hair. She was the perfect mix of him and Lily. It made tangible the fact that he had missed out on these precious first months with Harry. He’d not seen the boy’s first steps, heard his first word… He had all these moments to come with Dell, but he would never be able to experience them with Harry. He felt sick to his stomach as he fell back to reality with a thud, he may not be able to go back in time – but he would jolly well make sure there were myriad moments still to come in his little boy’s life, moments that did not involve flying accidents before his tenth birthday.

Severus bent down and looked under the bed. He located the slipper and put it in a pocket of his robe. Bracing himself for what he was about to do, he took a deep breath, and opened the door back to his office.

****

Harry was sitting on the stool, proving that he could at least follow some instructions. He was feeling annoyed that he had been caught, but above all, he was wishing he had remembered what his Daddy had said he would do if he ever caught Harry flying a broom on his own again. If only he had remembered that before he decided to embark on his adventure! Daddy always kept his promises, and this was the worst kind…

It wasn’t fair. Harry was sure that other little boys didn’t have to spend all their time worrying about consequences. It was Daddy’s favourite word. He was forever saying ‘You have to think of the consequences of your actions.’

Blah blah blah was all Harry thought to that. Sure, if it was a matter of life and death, but really – just a little trip on his broom? It wasn’t like he was hurting anybody. Well, he supposed he could have fallen… And he was flying over the lake… Oh, and nobody knew he was on his own... But still, that was only him – he wouldn’t have hurt anybody else. Harry wondered if that would be an acceptable argument to use to weasel his way out of a spanking…

****

Severus marched back into his office and sat on his desk chair. He saw that Harry was following his order, for once, and called the boy over to him.

“Come.” He said, and his voice brokered no argument.

Harry slowly slid of his stool and walked over to Severus’ side. He knew what was coming next and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Just to clarify, do you remember what I said would happen if you were to take a broom out on your own?” he asked.

Harry looked at his feet. He remembered, but the fact was that the words were not to his liking, and would not roll easily off any child’s tongue.

“You’d sp---- sp---- spank me.” Harry muttered, hoping that Severus would deem this humiliation enough and leave his behind well alone.

“Well, I am glad we got that cleared up.” Severus said in a decidedly casual tone of voice.

He pushed his chair back from the desk and reached out to pull Harry so that he was facing him. His hands moved to Harry’s trousers so that he could unfasten them. Harry made to push his Daddy away, but only received a light slap to his hand for his troubles.

Trousers and pants removed, Severus easily pulled the child over his lap and positioned him so that the target of his ire was easily accessible. He raised his hand in the air and brought it down with a tremendous smack. He planned to make an impression, both with his hand and the stern lecture he was going to deliver.

Harry tried to reach back to protect his poor, defenceless bottom but it was no use. Severus easily caught the little hand and pinned it to his back in a loose grip.

Smack, smack went the man’s other hand, and Harry found it hard not to kick his legs in frustration. Severus began his traditional lecture.

“You” smack “were told,” smack “not to fly” smack “on your own” smack, smack.

“I’m sowwie….” Harry sobbed, hoping his sincere voice would soften Severus’ steely resolve, but knowing deep down that Daddy never stopped before he was good and ready. Severus paused, and then became doggedly determined to carry on.

“Sorry isn’t good enough,” came his reply, as he brought his hand down again.

Harry thought that his bottom would surely ignite and set his Daddy’s hand on fire, which Daddy would justly deserve for hitting so hard. Every time he was spanked it felt worse than the time before. Daddy had a hand of steel, or so it felt like. Harry was sure he charmed it to be so.

“Little boys” thwack “should obey” thwack “their Mummy or Daddy” thwack “at all times” thwack, thwack.

Severus abruptly stopped spanking, and Harry felt surely that God or Merlin or Albus Dumbledore must have heard his fervent prayer. However, his relief was short lived.

Severus decided to deliver the rest of his lecture before alternating to the much-loathed slipper. He wanted Harry to be able to listen to what he had to say very clearly as he did not want to be in this situation again.

“You could have been killed Harry James Potter! Flying with out an adult present is utterly irresponsible, and YOU know better. If you were to fall midair what would have happened? You could have caused yourself an irreparable injury, just for the sake of a few minutes on a bloody broomstick. Had you not even thought to ask myself, or Pomona? Someone would have had the time to watch you, and we would have applied the appropriate safety parameters to your broom!

Do you not think, boy?

DO YOU NOT REALISE HOW TREASURED YOU ARE TO US? HOW DISTRAUGHT YOUR MOTHER AND I WOULD BE IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO YOU?”

Severus let his anger ebb away and took a few calming breathes. He could hear Harry’s whimpering and it all but broke his heart. He could not stop now, he had to keep his promise or else Harry would find something equally dangerous to do just to test the boundaries. He knew his son… If ever there was truly a blend of Slytherin and Gryffindor then it would be Harry, not that he would tell the child who had already picked up on ‘house politics’ and construed that Gryffindor was the ‘only’ place to be.

Severus took the slipper out of his pocket and steadied himself.

He smacked the slipper down on Harry’s pink bottom, delivering a total of seven spanks before he felt that Harry was suitably reprimanded. Harry’s legs were flailing, and his hands were firmly clenched around the folds of Severus’ long robes. His shoulders shaking with sobs and he cried out at each impact of the slipper.

Severus banished the slipper away and gave Harry’s behind one last almighty slap with his hand before flicking his wand to return Harry’s clothing to its rightful place. He let go of Harry’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze, and began to pat the boy’s back, rubbing soothing circles to settle down his sobs and make sure Harry knew that he was still very much Severus’ beloved son.

****

Harry thought that he was on fire. Surely it wasn’t possible for a flimsy little slipper to sting so much? Harry hated slippers. Especially that slipper… He was sure that he had thrown it in the lake after Daddy had walloped him from here ‘til kingdom come for giving Dudley an acid pop. As soon as Harry felt back to his old self he was going to comb the apartment and destroy whatever slippers he found. Even his own! He felt quite sure that he would never be able to sit comfortably again, and swore that he would never make his Daddy mad ever again.

It made Harry feel miserable that he had upset his Daddy. He was pretty sure that it made Daddy sad to spank him, and he knew that Mummy would give Daddy an earful when she found out. Harry had to admit that he’d rather take Daddy’s punishment than Mummy’s. She always made him stay in his room and ‘think about his actions’ without any toys to play with. She forced him go to bed at a ridiculously early time, or gave him extra schoolwork to do and refused to let him have chocolate ALL week. He could barely stand it.

Harry quietened his sobs and tried to hoist himself off Severus’ lap. He stood up and put his hands behind his back to surreptitiously rub some of the sting out of his bottom.

****

Severus took Harry’s hand and led him back to the footstool in the corner. He picked Harry up, and sat him down firmly – again with his nose in the corner. He would have Harry sitting there for seven minutes - one for each year of his age - so that the boy could collect his thoughts and digest what had just taken place.

Severus always delivered his punishments in precisely the same order. He thought a routine was necessary for both himself and Harry, as it was something so wholly lacking from his own childhood. Tobias Snape had been an unpredictable man, with a volatile temper and the propensity to strike out without rhyme or reason. Tobias had not been one to think about consequences, thus Severus had not thought much of them either – leading him into make a mistake of an absolutely enormous magnitude during his last year as a student at Hogwarts.

James Potter had also been a somewhat impulsive man. It did not do well to speak ill of the dead, but James had proven himself, time and time again, to be the sort of man who rushed head first into a situation without thinking of the outcome. James wasn’t here anymore, and Severus was the only father figure Harry had truly known, therefore he was determined that history would not repeat itself. Harry was being raised by Severus’ ‘all actions have consequences’ mantra, and right now because of his rule-breaking Harry had a sore bottom and sitting on a hard, wooden stool for seven minutes served as a painful reminder that the boy would surely heed next time he even so much as thought of a broomstick.

Severus had been head of Slytherin House for close to six years, and in the capacity ‘loco in parentis’ he had had to discipline several of his ‘snakes’ (as they called themselves) in the very same fashion as Harry – spanking, corner, discussion.

For Harry, however, discussion always involved copious amounts of affectionate head patting, and other various forms of mollycoddling, all interspersed between Severus’ gentle scolding and Harry’s mournful apologies. Once Harry’s seven minutes corner-time was up, the child would gingerly hop back on his Daddy’s knee and no doubt start snuggling up against Severus’ chest. There they would stay until Harry indubitably make a cheeky remark, proof to father and son that his punishment was behind him and he was back to his happy-go-lucky self again.

****

Harry hated the stupid corner. He wondered if he could rub his behind quickly without Daddy seeing. He felt like a little kid, a five year old or something, being stuck in a timeout. He could hear the clock ticking and it felt like it was moving extra slowly, just to make Harry as uncomfortable as possible.

He squirmed and tried to shift his weight so that the pressure was on the tops of his (thankfully unpunished) thighs. He felt a hand on his shoulder and looked up into Daddy’s distinctly neutral face. Severus bent down so that he was on eye-level with the child, and Harry slid off the stool and leaned into his father’s forgiving embrace. Severus enveloped Harry in the folds of his cloak and carried him over to his desk chair. He sat down and positioned Harry so that they would be able to maintain eye contact for the rest of their conversation.

Severus gently patted Harry’s back.

“There, there. It’s all over Harry.” He said, mildly. Harry looked up at his Daddy with green eyes that were glistening with unshed tears. His lower lip quivered as he opened his mouth to speak.

“I’m sorry Daddy that I…” Harry’s throat caught in a sob that played on Severus’ heartstrings, “dis--- dis---obeyed you.”

“I’ll never do something you tell me not to again…” Harry finished, shakily – all the while looking at Severus with an utterly pathetic expression.

Severus leaned forwards and grazed a kiss to the top of Harry’s forehead. He knew through years of experience (as well as stocks of infinite wisdom, he liked to think) that this would not be the last time Harry found himself in this position – though it was touching that Harry could make such a sincere, heartfelt pledge.

He looked at the child with a searching gaze.

“I do not expressly forbid you from doing something just for my own amusement, Harry. You have to understand that.” He said, with a definite emphasis on the word ‘amusement.’

“I wanted to do a new trick that Charlie showed me…” Harry whispered into Severus’ chest, thinking that he should have stayed at home with Mummy, it would have been a lot less painful to say the least.

“Well, when you are a student and have been taught proper flying techniques you may undertake as many ‘tricks’ as you so wish. However, Mr Potter,” Severus said with a poke to Harry’s stomach, “you most certainly are not a student for another three years.”

Harry scowled at that reminder, and huffed out sigh of resignation. Severus raised an eyebrow and gave Harry a pointed look that clearly said ‘don’t even think about it.’

“I cannot impress upon you just how important it is that you do not take risks with your own life.” Severus reproached the little boy.

Harry moved a hand back to shield his rear in case Severus decided to demonstrate his meaning of the word ‘impress’ any further. Harry was quite positive that Daddy had firmly ‘impressed’ how important it was not to risk his life; in fact, Daddy had probably left his impression in the form of a handprint, so Harry thought that Daddy need not worry himself that he had not done his job properly.

Harry nodded his head solemnly and was rewarded with a pat to the head. Severus’ hand moved and rested on the back of Harry’s neck.

“You and I had a narrow escape with LeStrange and Pettigrew, surely you remember how utterly devastated Mummy was when we were hurt?” Severus said gravely, and Harry burrowed inside his robe so that Daddy wouldn’t see his face flush with shame.

A few minutes passed and both father and son sat in silence taking stock of the situation.

****

There was a knock at the door.

Severus extricated Harry from where he was clinging on his chest and pushed him forward so that he was sitting face forward in his lap, and tried to smooth down his messy black hair.

“Enter.” He called.

“Ahh, Severus – oh and Harry, what a pleasant surprise!”

Severus shot Albus Dumbledore a considered glance, knowing full well that the man was near omniscient so Harry’s presence in the office was no real surprise at all.

“Quite. To what do we owe the ‘pleasure’ of your company, Headmaster?” Severus frostily replied.

“Well, quite frankly I felt like a bit of a promenade, and before I knew it I found myself perusing your fine collection of pickled molluscs.” Albus cheerfully answered the dour man.

“Fascinating.” Severus smirked.

“I suppose I did have an idea to run past you… It seems that Hagrid is in need of some help with a new project. We thought that you might like to volunteer young Harry, here. What with your teaching schedule and Lily tending to our new Miss Snape – I had gathered the impression that Harry might be in need of something to occupy his attention…” Dumbledore said with a knowing wink in Harry’s direction.

Harry sat up straight, alternating between looking at the Headmaster and his father. It would be Christmas come early if he got to hang around with Hagrid and look after all the forest animals. He might even get to see a baby unicorn again!

Severus was not fooled easily, he drawled, “And you just so happened to think of this?” scrutinising the Headmaster.

Dumbledore smiled and withdrew a chocolate frog from his pocket, which he then handed to Harry under Severus’ frowning eyes.

“It was just a thought, Severus. Old men like myself fill our heads with such an array of ideas. It just seemed like something you might approve of, Harry getting some exercise and plenty of fresh air… rather than lazing around on his ‘behind’ all day…” Albus trailed off, smiling serenely at the now blushing Harry Potter and darkly scowling Severus Snape. He took a lemon drop from his pocket, put it in his mouth and left the office as quickly as he came.

“Bloody interfering old coot…” Severus muttered, looking up in sudden surprise as Harry reached out and smacked his Daddy’s leg.

Harry pasted a mock-serious frown on his face, “Respect your elders, Daddy! Don’t be so naughty!” Harry then slipped off his father’s lap and made for the door before Severus had time to retaliate with a tickling hex.

“Brat.” He mumbled fondly, with a smile on his face.