Wednesday, 6th of February, 1996. 4:53 PM

HARRY POTTER

Some say that when you die you see your life flash before your eyes in a matter of seconds. That every little moment, every person and event that has had an impact on your life will be shrunk down and all that you are as a person will be summarized in a few measly seconds. I was pondering this odd little trinket of thought while staring up at the ceiling of the hallway. I could feel my life draining out of me; my magical energy slowly being sucked through the walls of my skin and splashed haplessly about, left to dissipate into the chilled stone floors of hall. My life wasn’t flashing before my eyes; I felt cheated. It was almost unfair that I would see my last while staring up at a ceiling.

People were talking to me. It was interesting to watch them move like a video in slow motion, their actions becoming almost predictable. I wanted to laugh while watching their mouths move comically. But my mouth didn’t seem to want to work with me in control.

The people around me… I thought I knew them, but their names and their memories began to fade. So, I wondered. Was this dying? Instead of seeing everything again like I was supposed to, was I actually losing them? The angry red-headed boy was slowly shouting at a blond boy who looked slightly stricken. The brown haired girl was crying and saying something to me over and over again. I finally smiled. I felt it cross my face. The others all paused, the unnatural slowness extending the pause into what felt like an hour. Their faces were distraught, angry, worried and lost. Then the world around me warped and everything seemed to grow.

The atmosphere grew blacker and blacker with every passing moment. The last thing that my fading consciousness registered was the appearance of a tall, sallow skinned man and a graying woman with a funny hat.

After that, there was nothing.

----------------------------

SEVERUS SNAPE

“Now really, Severus,” Minerva was saying. She had an inexplicable way of making her voice reflect scorn and amusement at the same time. It was an uncanny ability. We were currently walking through the second floor of Hogwarts heading for an impromptu staff meeting called by Dolores Umbridge.

“The brats were being extra disobedient, Minerva. A little character building in the form of cauldron scrubbing couldn’t hurt,” I replied, making my voice as smooth as possible.

We’d been arguing for the past half an hour over my decision to give detention to four first-year Gryffindors for having set off a string of pranks on a couple fourth-year Slytherins. The brat’s pranks had reminded me eerily of James Potter and his Marauders. I may have been a bit exuberant with my detention of one whole week of cauldron scrubbing including the weekend, but I would never admit that to Minerva. This term was turning out to be a bad one, what with Umbridge, and most of the staff was on edge all day long. A little short temperedness was an occupational hazard at this point.

If I had to endure another one of Umbridge’s games of Twenty Questions I was just about ready to give the Weasley twins a list a potent potions to use against the foul old witch.

“NO!”

The shout echoed down the hall quickly followed by the sounds of a scuffle and raised voices. Minerva and I exchanged a look. Hers was one of surprise; I only allowed a single eyebrow to rise.

“Harry! Say something!” a second voice I recognized as Hermione Granger’s lilted towards us down the hall. Neither Minerva nor I needed to confirm it with the other. We both rushed through the hallway towards the noises, our feet creating an echoing chorus that announced our presence in the narrow hallway outside Moaning Myrtle’s Bathroom. Myrtle herself was screeching almost incoherently about murder and death. She seemed almost happy about it too.

A group of Slytherins were off to the side watching five others in the center of the walkway, including Vincent Crabbe, Draco Malfoy and the Golden Trio themselves. Draco’s other appendage-like friend, Gregory Goyle, was nowhere to be seen.

Potter was lying on the ground with a wispy look on his face. He was smiling for some reason. Granger was asking him over and over again to say something; to answer her. Weasley was shouting obscenities into the faces of Vincent and Draco. Finally I saw and unconscious Gregory sprawled at Weasley’s feet with a broken nose spewing blood profusely all over the brickwork.

“Harry! Harry, no! Stay awake!” Granger’s voice broke through the other commotions. She was holding his cheeks as if it would somehow keep him tied to the conscious world.

Despite Granger’s attempts, Potter’s eyes slid closed. His face took on a peaceful look for a split second before the air began to crackle with wild magic. Magic was spilling out of Potter at an alarming rate.

“What’s happening?” Minerva directed towards the students, her voice betraying her worry. If the gravity of the situation wasn’t apparent, I would have remarked at how redundant she was sounding. It was quite obvious a fight had occurred and both Potter and Gregory were a little worse for wear. Potter a little more so if the rate of his magical depletion didn’t begin to curtail itself.

“Goyle cursed Harry!” Weasley spit out not letting his infuriated gaze waver from Draco’s face.

Albus appeared behind me and was pushing his way towards Potter. “Minerva, contact St. Mungo’s immediately! Have them send over as many Healers as they can spare! Severus, find Poppy, we need to get him some instant infusions of magic!”

I didn’t have time to ponder how Albus knew what to do with the boy before I was nearly running up the hall towards the Hospital Wing to carry out the Headmaster’s clipped orders.

----------------------------

Six St. Mungo’s healers, Poppy Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore crowded behind the thin white curtain shielding Potter’s unconscious body from the rest of the Hospital Wing. I was standing outside the curtain trying to listen to the quiet mutterings coming from the other side. Potter was not doing well. His body was draining of magic at an unhealthy rate. If it wasn’t curbed or cured, the boy would die.

I pressed my lips together and stirred the potion in front of me carefully clockwise and counterclockwise at regular intervals. It would be inhumane of me to think the boy ill in this situation, and I knew that I would do my best to help Albus cure the wayward fifteen-year-old. I felt a little resentful, however, that Albus was making me do this. I was already trying to teach the uncooperative boy Occlumency, the Headmaster was being infuriating with his attempts at “bridge-building” and “student-teacher relations.”

Tapping the extra liquid off the ladle I turned off the heat and left the bubbling potion to cool. Gingerly, so as not to startle any of the occupants behind the curtain, I slipped in and stared over the wide hat of Poppy’s at the face of the Boy Hero. His skin was bone white and a sweaty sheen covered his entire body.

The boy looked ready to up and pass away at any moment.

“You’re sure?” Albus asked one of the healers.

“It appears to be an unfortunate side effect of this curse. We’ve managed to curtail the outflow of magic, but that’s it. His body can’t take the strain. Apparently it’s going to find the easiest way to compensate for it. We can’t be for sure until we do some more extensive testing,” the female healer said with a frown. “I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do but to let it happen.”

Albus nodded, his face sad. “Very well, thank you for coming, Gracie. I hope you recall what we talked about before?”

Gracie nodded. “None of our results will reach the ears of the press from us. You have my word.”

The healers packed up their things and left almost as quickly as they had come, leaving only the headmaster, Poppy and myself in the Hospital wing.

“Poppy, the potion is finished,” I told her when her attention was off Potter.

“Thank you, Severus. That’s all I need, for now. I’ll Floo-call you if I need anything more.” She turned away from my and began running a series of diagnostic spells over the boy.

“Very well.” I nodded goodbye to the headmaster and Poppy and didn’t hesitate a second longer to leave that particular wing of the castle. By the time I made it back to my quarters, it was late. Well after nine in the evening.

Even at that late of an hour, there was no rest. I ended up sitting in the living room grading a backlog of papers and getting myself back on track with next week’s assignments. I didn’t really let myself dwell on the events of the afternoon until Albus signaled that he was coming through the Floo.

He stepped out of a burst of spectacular green flame and onto the Spartan throw rug. “Evening, Severus.”

“Headmaster, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

“I’m afraid this is not a social call,” Albus sighed and sat himself down in his favorite chair in my living room. “Aurors are to be coming by in the next forty-eight hours to question Mr. Goyle. As his head of house you are required to be there in loco parentis.”

I nodded and summoned two cups of tea from the kitchen. “Any indication as to exactly when they will be by?”

“The Ministry is dragging its feet, unfortunately. Dolores Umbridge has gotten it into her head that this is some sort of orchestrated effort to return to the Ministry’s favor and is calling this a mere school boy scuffle.”

“You believe otherwise?”

“I cannot say for sure at this moment in time, that is something for another conversation.” He stood to go, not even touching his tea. “Poppy will be contacting you tomorrow morning about some needed potions for Mr. Potter. Goodnight, Severus.”

And he was gone in another flash of brilliant green flame.

Friday, 8th of February, 1996. 10:45 AM

SEVERUS SNAPE 

Two days had passed after Potter’s accident before I was given a chance to come back to the Hospital Wing. I had heard no news from neither the Headmaster nor Poppy about the boy’s wellbeing. But then again, I wasn’t asking. It was early on Friday afternoon, just before lunch, and I was on my way back there to quickly drop of a delivery for Poppy.

The spell used on Potter wasn’t fatal. He would live. All Goyle had known about the spell was that it was supposed to disable one’s opponent for a very long time. He had seen the spell in an old book of this father's. Not a Dark Arts book, surprisingly, knowing what I did about Goyle Senior’s so called “light reading” habits. Gregory had even provided the name of the book. Terri Torts’s Book of Disabling Spells. From what I knew, the spell magidissipatum was supposed to drain only three quarters of your opponent’s magic. Gregory had actually mispronounced the spell as magidisipatum which was actually closer to a cosmetic spell, of all things, which was supposed to regress one’s appearance to a younger state not the actual age. It was a simple glamour-rank spell gone wrong.

I shook my head in disgust. The boy was an idiot for trying to use a spell he knew nothing about and his father was an idiot for leaving a book about the house for his idiot son to read.

Growling out some choice obscenities under my breath, I entered the Hospital Wing. I helda small box full of newly brewed nutritional potions. Why Poppy needed them was beyond me, but I wasn’t one to ask why a duck squawked.

But, despite Poppy explicitly requesting the potions be delivered by 11 a.m., there were no signs of life in the Wing. The curtain drawn around the bed where Potter had been two days before was still closed and there was no movement from behind it. No doubt the boy was still resting from his encounter with the magic draining spell.

“Pomfrey?” I called out. I waited for a moment before walking over to the supply cupboard and placing the nutritional potions inside. She would find the potions immediately upon returning. The woman had an unnatural sense as to what was in or out of the cupboard.

I was just on my way towards the door when I heard the clink of a curtain being drawn and then quickly shut. I glanced back at Potter’s bed. The curtain hadn’t been closed all the way and the upper portion of his bed was exposed. Neither Potter’s head, nor his torso was there. Curious, I walked towards the bed; even though a fraction of my better judgment told me it was probably a bad idea.

I pushed aside the linen curtain and came face to face with Potter sitting cross-legged on the bed with some coloring books surrounding his legs. Only it wasn’t Potter. I couldn't help but stare at the little boy who had once been a fifteen year old snot-nosed student.

The little Potter smiled shyly up at me, no anger, fear, or resentment evident in his very large green eyes. “Hello!” he said brightly, “Are you a wizard too?” I only nodded, not really sure what to think about, much less say the child. He grinned at me, as if we were sharing a secret. “Me too. That’s was Mr. Dumbledore told me, anyway.”

By the size of him, and considering that Potter was always short for his age, he couldn’t have been more than 6 or 7 years old. “How did this happen?” I said it to myself more than to the boy, but he answered regardless.

“Mr. Dumbledore said it was a spell gone wrong, I’m supposed to be fifteen but I can’t remember being fifteen, I only just turned seven,” he said this in a way that made me think Potter didn’t really believe the Headmaster.

“You do not recall anything about your life here at Hogwarts?” I asked hesitantly.

The boy shook his head. “No, Mr. Dumbledore said my memories were suppressed.” His face twisted into something akin to a smelling something rotten. “I didn’t really understand his explanation though.”

I nodded and turned to go. This was getting a bit too unusual for my tastes.

I heard him say a cheerful “Bye!” before I swept through the Hospital Wing doors and stalked to the Great Hall for lunch.

The hall was a busy as usual. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Apparently, no news of the state of Potter had reached the extensive Hogwarts rumor mill. And if it hadn’t by now, it probably wouldn’t for some time. The headmaster had his ways of keeping things under wraps if he so desired. The castle listened to him.

However, I did overhear Trelawney say that she had seen in her crystal ball that the boy was suffering a great deal right now and would soon be released by the fates to rejoin his parents in the spirit world. I caught Minerva rolling her eyes behind her coffee cup, and then exchanging a secretive look with Albus.

So, Minerva knew about the boy. I pursed my lips and stared down at the soup and sandwiches being served for lunch. It was more amusing to find out how Albus could keep something secret when he wanted to; but more disturbing to find out that he was keeping Potter’s renewed childhood a secret. I had only found out on a stroke of chance.

Albus was keeping this under wraps. It was obvious that if such information was leaked the Ministry, or worse, the Dark Lord would try to take advantage of the situation. I took a sip of my coffee and began eating my lunch, not even taking the time to really taste it.

I spent the rest of the day lecturing, very much ready for the weekend when I could spend as much time as I wanted in my rooms and not be bothered to look into the blank faces of the students. Umbridge was making things supremely difficult as well, so avoiding the toad-like woman would be a welcome respite. I’d already had enough of her standing over my shoulders questioning every single aspect of my job as teacher.

I’d nearly made it all the way back to my private chambers when I remembered that it was the second Friday of the month. Every second Friday was the staff meeting. Snarling, I entered my rooms through the portrait of the Blind Wandmaker and set down my lecture notes on the desk in the sitting room.

One hour later I was in the Staff Room trying to ignore the inane chatter of Pomona Sprout and Sybil Trelawney next to me. Umbridge was in a corner of the room looking like she was a queen overseeing her subjects. Every now and then she would jot down a note on her clipboard and direct a sickening smile around the room. Luck be with anyone they caught her eye when she was looking their way. I kept my gaze centered towards the door that led into the headmaster’s office. He was being unusually slow tonight. The other staff had all trickled in after dinner and were participating in idle conversation or were sampling whatever treats were left for the staff by the house elves.

Finally fifteen after the hour the Albus and Minerva stepped into the room and conversation dropped off. The headmaster started off with the usual announcements, Filch’s updated contraband list, and a roster of particularly troublesome students to keep an eye on. “And lastly,” he said, “Mr. Harry Potter has taken ill and has been quarantined in the Hospital Wing for the time being. Any of his assignments are to be given to Minerva and she will pass them on to Mr. Potter. That is all, and have a good evening.”

The rest of the staff began leaving, conversation starting up again. “Severus, if you could, I would like a word with you in my office,” Albus said quietly. Umbridge was making her way in our direction.

“Hem hem, Dumbledore, what particular disease does Mr. Potter have? And why is he quarantined? Is it that bad?”

“Ah, Professor Umbridge, I’m afraid I have some pressing business to attend to at the moment, if you would like to make an appointment with me later next morning I would gladly answer all your questions.” He twinkled his eyes at her.

“Yes, yes, lets.” She smiled her toad smile again before turning on her heel and briskly flouncing out of the room. I only just managed to resist using a tripping jinx on her.

I followed the headmaster back into his office and stood in front of his desk.

“You’ve seen Mr. Potter, have you not?” The headmaster asked abruptly.

“Yes, just this afternoon.”

“He mentioned someone with your description coming by.”

“Albus, what’s happened?”

He frowned, the twinkles in his eyes smothered by worry, “The curse used by Mr. Goyle depleted his magic to a point where his body could not cope. In order for it to completely restore itself his body has inexplicably de-aged itself along with his memories.” He sighed and sank to his chair, making him look much older. “I’m afraid that we know of no way to return him to his original age. Some of the healers I’ve brought in believe it to be permanent, even though it is clear that his fifteen year old memories are intact, just suppressed. ”

“The healers found indications of this?”

“Yes, Mr. Potter’s test results show something akin to Occlusion surrounding a large part of his mind. Healer Yao believes that the Occlusion is some sort of mental defense mechanism induced by his magic during the deaging process to prevent his mind from overloading.”

“What would you have me do?”

“I need you to research the particular spell used on Harry. Plus, Harry is in need of some magic stabilizing potions. While his body is young enough to use what little magic he has, it’s unstable and could have some bad future effects if not taken care of now.” Albus, picked up an empty platinum hourglass on his desk and turned it over and over in his hands. “Severus, I’m worried that somehow Voldemort–” I couldn’t help the flinch, “–has his hand in this.”

“How so?” I sat down, realizing that for the first time in years that Albus hadn’t offered a lemon drop or tea for the first time in nearly a decade.

“Mr. Goyle was contacted by his father not two days before the incident. And I’ve heard from other sources that Voldemort has been in conferences with Goyle Senior for some days now.”

“I see.”

“Severus, if Voldemort–” I only flinched a little bit this time, “–asks you about this I want you to tell him the truth. Let him know that we are keeping it under wraps, and trying to find a cure.”

“Yes, sir.”

I spent the rest of the night pacing the stone hallways of Hogwarts wondering when the summons would come. The halls were blissfully empty, and I caught no student out of turn. But by five in the morning, pure exhaustion was the only thing that was able to drive me to my bed.

Saturday, 9th of February, 1996. 10:56 PM

SEVERUS SNAPE

As luck would have it, the summons came the next evening. While I stood as part of the Dark Lord’s circle of members I couldn’t help but feel some apprehension. If the Dark Lord was in fact part of Potter’s plight, then I, as his primary source from the inside of Hogwarts, would most likely be called on. Especially if he wanted to gloat over his victory.

It took a moment before I realized that the meeting had begun and I was still lost in my thoughts. I gradually occluded my mind and hid certain things behind a shield not even the Dark Lord could break.

“Severus! Step forward!” the Dark Lord hissed.

I took a step deeper into the circle. “Yes, my Lord?”

“Tell me, Severus, do you know of the state Harry Potter?”

“I do, my Lord.”

He grinned maliciously. “Speak.”

“Potter has been de-aged by a wayward spell of one Gregory Goyle three days ago. Dumbledore has decided to keep it under wraps, only a few of staff even know of Potter’s true condition. It’s being played off as an illness and he’s been quarantined in the Hospital Wing.” During my recount of the Potter brat, the others shuffled in their spots around the circle, I could feel amusement, apprehension and curiosity wafting off them. The Dark Lord, however, was not moving. His face began to contort, his already mangled features turning downright evil in comparison to his usual expressions.

“NO!” he roared out. “CRUCIO!” I flinched before realizing the curse was not aimed at me, but at another Death Eater. Goyle Senior.

“Your son has failed me, Goyle!” the Dark Lord spat out viciously. “De-aged?! What good is that? I need the boy able to FIGHT. What use is a little child who may not even be able to tell the difference between a wand and tree branch? Unacceptable! CRUCIO!”

The Dark Lord began pacing. “Return to your position, Snape!” I bowed low and did as he commanded. Behind the mask I was gritting my teeth. The Dark Lord’s fury was lashing out wildly. My senses of Legilimency was picking up on it all too well. I began Occluding even more, taking deep breaths and focusing on a random list of potions ingredients sorted by use.

Whatever the Dark Lord had planned to happen obviously didn’t happen. The curse used on Potter either hadn’t been the right one or had been botched beyond its original intention. Conflicts in intent and actual spell use had been known to cause some major problems in the past. But getting from a mere cosmetic spell to ending in a seven-year-old teenager with severe magical depletion was outright inconceivable.

The Dark Lord began snapping at the others, “You imbeciles may have failed, but take heart in the reality that you are saved only by the fact that this situation may proffer some fruit after all.”

He turned his wand around in his hands, as if considering which one of the Death Eaters deserved his “special treatment” next. His eyes came to rest on me.

“Severus,” he hissed. His displeased face morphed into a grotesque grin.

I stepped forward, mentally preparing myself for a crucio. It never came. Instead the Dark Lord came to stand a few feet away. Even through the mask I feel the chill of his gaze on my face. “My Lord?”

“I want you to get close to the boy. Gain his trust, now that he is a youngster, and then I want you to bring him to me.” The Dark Lord’s red eyes glinted in the moonlight. “Perhaps, this misfortune is in truth a new opportunity. Perhaps we can turn the boy to our ways. Can you manage this simple task, Snape?” His grin quickly turned to an intense snake-like glare.

“I can. And in the event that Dumbledore gets wind of this?”

“Don’t let it happen,” he snapped. “DISMISSED!”

I bowed and Apparated away along with the others of the Dark Lord’s inner circle.

I felt a little sick walking back to the castle from my Apparition point in Hogsmeade. Dumbledore had been right, no doubt that the Dark Lord knew of, if not orchestrated, this plot against Potter. But something had obviously gone wrong. He wasn’t happy with the results. I made my way up to the Hospital Wing. It was mandatory for me to go up there and check in with Poppy before retiring to my chambers. If I didn’t check in by morning they would assume something had gone wrong. However, upon entering the hospital the, the Matron was not waiting for me in her office, instead I saw a light coming from behind Potter’s curtain and heard the voice of Poppy. Potter’s little voice answered her back, but I couldn’t understand a thing they were saying.

The rest of the Wing was dark but for the moonlight streaming through the large mosaic window panes. And if it weren’t for the hushed voices of Poppy and the boy it would have seemed as if the entire room was abandoned. I almost decided to leave and report back later, but a choked off sob room behind the curtain and Poppy’s voice rushing to sooth stopped me. Instead I slinked over to the curtain and stood off to the side of just in case Poppy rushed out and barreled into me.

“It’s only a dream, Mr. Potter. It can’t hurt you,” Poppy’s soothing voice drifted through the cotton curtain.

“B—but it felt so real!”

“Some dreams can be like that, Harry. But, real or not, they are just in your head and they can’t hurt you once you awaken.”

“So that man isn’t real then?”

Poppy paused. “Which man?”

“The man who has red eyes. He had a snake. A big one!”

I nearly jumped where I stood. The boy was still having dreams about the Dark Lord. This younger Potter shouldn’t have any memories of him at all. He would have been too young to remember them, surly. They couldn’t have been memory induced nightmares. The boy must still be having visions.

I cleared my throat and stepped through the flap of the curtain. Potter was sitting up in the bed, almost exactly how he had been when I first saw him in this younger state, except he was wrapped in a blanket and there were no coloring books to be seen. Poppy was sitting on the edge of the bed with her back to the pillows and facing Potter.

They both looked up at my entrance, each clearly startled. Potter had a coating of tears on his cheeks, and Poppy looked weary.

“Ah, Severus. You’re back.” She performed a quick tempus and clucked her tongue at how late it was. “One a.m., Harry. It’s time you went back to sleep.”

Potter looked terrified at the idea.

She smiled reassuringly. “I’ll give you some Dreamless Sleep. You won’t dream again for the rest of the night.”

He nodded at her and gave me an odd look. I didn’t have time to decipher it before Poppy led me out.

“Are you well, Severus?” she asked. This was usually her first question after my return from meetings. She reached into the supply cupboard and took out a small bottle of Dreamless Sleep.

“I am.” The same could not be said for Mr. Goyle, regrettably. He had received the brunt of the Dark Lord’s fury this evening.

She nodded. “Good. I’m glad you came back all right.”

“Indeed.”

She sighed. “Well, you have my permission to return to your quarters, then.”

“Right.” I turned to go, but was stopped by Poppy’s whispering.

“Poor boy,” I heard her say under her breath as she measured out a small enough dose for Potter’s age.

“Is our Boy Hero having night terrors?” I let out in a sneer.

She gave me a stern look as she recapped the potion bottle and replaced it. “Really now, Severus,” She turned away from me and returned to the boy’s side. I heard him thank Poppy for the potion and gulp it down. I hated it when these older women said that to me.

Shaking my head, I left the Hospital Wing. In the morning, I would deal with Dumbledore. For now, I needed some much needed rest and time to prepare myself for the inevitable. The Dark Lord wanted me to get close to the boy, and the headmaster would no doubt want me to continue the boy’s lessons in Occlumency.

Generally, teaching youngsters was easier than teaching teens or adults, but it also required a degree of gentleness. Gentleness I wasn’t so sure I had the capability of possessing.

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Sunday, 10th of February, 1996. 9:04 AM

I knocked on the inner door to the headmaster’s office.

“Come in, Severus.”

I pushed open the door and entered. “Headmaster.”

“Good Morning, my boy. Tea? Lemon Drop?”

“No, thank you, Headmaster.” I took a seat in one of the single seat settees in front of Albus’s desk; the one outside of the intense glare of sunlight pouring through the windows in his office.

“What do you have to report?” Albus took a sip from his tea cup.

I described the events of last night, everything from the general atmosphere to the apparent anger of the Dark Lord’s about Goyle’s failure. The headmaster had his fingers steepled under his chin, his elbows resting on the edge of the desk. His eyebrows rose in surprise when I mentioned the Dark Lord ordering me to get close to Potter, but he said nothing of it.

“So, Voldemort–” I clenched my fist to keep myself from flinching, “–didn’t plan on this happening.” Albus mused out-loud and nodded, as if this was the answer he was looking for. “The question is,” he paused and looked at Fawks who was picking obsessively at some of his feathers, “what exactly was supposed to happen?”

I didn’t have an answer for him, but I did have a question of my own. “About Potter…”

“Ah, yes, it seems to me that you should take this opportunity to get to know Harry better, as well as continue his Occlumency training.” Of course you do. I quirked a lip. “You might as well, seeing as Voldemort has given you permission to get close to him.”

“Thrilling,” I said dryly.

“Now, now, Severus, he’s actually quite a pleasant child.”

I beg to differ, Headmaster.

“As you say, Albus.”

“Don’t fret, my boy. But in all seriousness, I would like Harry to have his Occlumency training back. There’s no telling what might happen to him now that his magic is severely depleted and his is in such a vulnerable state. Poppy will be leaving this afternoon for St. Mungo’s, I suggest you join Harry while she is away.”

“Very well, if you insist.”

“I do.”

With a nod and a goodbye, I retreated to the dungeons.

Sunday, 10th of February, 1996, 2:30 pm

SEVERUS SNAPE

“Poppy, I am only here to gauge the boy’s capabilities for Occlumency. Not play games,” I said to the matron sternly.

“Severus, I’ll be out at St. Mungo’s for a few hours, surely all that time won’t be used for practice? He is very young, now. Not to mention the spell is still having a draining effect on him.”

“Still?” I was surprised.

“It’s not as bas as it was at first, but he can’t over exert himself or he gets exhaustion sickness. It has already happened, when Albus gave Mr. Potter a play wand, of all things.”

“You must be joking.” I grimaced, this would complicate things.

“Of course not.”

“Very well. I won’t over exert him, but I will not play games with him.”

“Good enough, if he begins having trouble, or does somehow over exert, there are Core Replenishers in the end table by Mr. Potter’s bed. I’m sure you know how to use them?”

“Of course.” I sneered. What potions master didn’t know how to use Core Replenishers?

Poppy gave me a disgruntled look, and then turned her attention to Potter’s bed. “Harry?”

Potter popped his head out of the curtains. “Yeah?”

“Professor Snape here will be attempting to gauge your potential for a particular magical ability, he will also watch over you while I am away at St. Mungo’s. Do you understand?”

Potter nodded his head and stared at me shyly. “Will you be gone for very long?” His voice was almost petulant, but I could also hear a small undercurrent of worry.

Poppy must have heard the worry too and hastened to reassure the boy. “Don’t worry, Sweet, it will only be for a few hours. I’ll return before dinner. Besides, Professor Snape would not do anything to hurt you intentionally. I assure you.”

Potter nodded again then disappeared into the folds of the curtain.

Poppy motioned me off to the side and cast a quick Silencing Spell. “Severus, be gentle with him. He is not…” She trailed off and seemed to go through a process of choosing her words carefully. “Try not to get too angry with him.” The look she gave me promised much pain and suffering if I did not heed her words.

“I will do my best to not disappoint you, Madam.”

She continued watching me for a moment before giving a single nod and flicked her wand, ending the Silencing Spell. With a few more last minute instructions, Poppy gathered her things, and was gone in a fiery blossom of flame in the Floo.

I waited a moment after she left before heading towards Potter’s curtained off bed. I pushed aside the curtain on the side facing way from the door and sat on the edge of the bed next to Potter’s.

He watched me do this, not saying a word. When I sat, he looked at his hands and picked at his fingernails. His gaze flicked between this hands and my face multiple times before finally resting downwards.

“Mr. Potter.” He flinched, almost imperceptibly. The outgoing attitude that he had greeted me with the first time I had met him in this state was no where to be seen. It was a curious shift in his personality that I could not conceive of an answer to.

“Yes, sir?”

“As Madam Pomfrey has explained to you, I am here to see how well you can learn Occlumency as you are.”

Potter tilted his head to the side his eyes full of thinly veiled curiosity, “Occlu...mency?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and moved his gaze from my face to my hands as if I were about to try to teach him with them. I pulled out my wand, watching his eyes the whole time. His eyes followed the tip of the wand the whole way until it was resting on my knee. Curious.

Slowly, so as not to startle him, I raised the wand to have it point at one of his temples. “Lean forward, Mr. Potter, rest your temple on the tip of the wand.”

Potter looked momentarily stricken, but the look was gone in flash and he obeyed. He slid forward on the bed and let his legs dangle over the edge. Keeping his eyes to the ground, he positioned his head next to the wand.

“Look me in the eye Potter.”

Potter looked up at me, his face was pale.

Feeling slightly unnerved by how Potter was acting I cleared my throat and cast a quick, light Legilimens.

If the fifteen-year-old Potter was a storm of emotions and memories, his seven-year-old self was a hurricane of the same. If was hard to discern anything in his mind. Memories flashed by in a split second, emotions changed and shifted tumultuously. It was overwhelming. Knowing that the boy would have little energy for an extended stay in his mind, I quickly dug deep into his mind, seeking out the mental signatures left by his magical core on his mind. Finding it, I held onto it and swiftly left his mind.

The boy looked ready to collapse. His skin was clammy and he looked terrified. “Mr. Pot--” I didn’t have a chance to finish my sentence before the boy was off the bed and running to the other side of the hospital wing. I chased after him, my longer stride out running the small child rapidly. I caught his arm and spun him around to face me. Potter was violently trembling.

“I’m sorry. Sorry.” Potter began repeating again and again.

“Stop panicking, boy!” Unfortunately this didn’t console him in the least, his eyes went wider than I thought would be possible and he began trying to shake off my hand.

“Let go!” he cried. Suddenly Potter collapsed and hung limply by my grasp. He still trembled, not looking up at me. His body was tensing as if he expected a blow.

I was at a loss for words, but managed to bite out. “I will not hurt you, calm down.”

He looked at me with mistrust and wariness. I used what little surface Legilimency I dared to, and sensed feelings of hurt, betrayal and, most odd of all, defeat and resignation. This young version of Potter was confusing me even more now. He acted nothing like his older self, who was predictable and bait-able. This terrified, trembling creature now captured by only one of my hands defied anything I had ever expected of the boy. Even when he was a small eleven-year-old, he acted how I expected him to act.

I pulled him up to his feet and let go. Potter rubbed his arm and took a step away from me.

“If all the hysterics are over, Mr. Potter. How do you feel? Are you in need of a Core Replenisher?”

Potter looked startled. “My…my head hurts.” He absently rubbed his scar, and continued to stare at me with wide eyes that were beginning to look confused. I waited for him to elaborate, but, when nothing was forthcoming, I stepped away from him and retrieved a headache potion from Poppy’s stores. I handed him the vial and he eyed it suspiciously before flicking his gaze between it and the potion cupboard and then downing it in a couple gulps. Obviously, the boy thought I was going to poison him.

I took the empty vial from him and flicked my hand in the direction of him bed. “Return to your bed, Mr. Potter.”

I put the vial away, along with the other empty vials in a small container next to the potions cupboard. I was even less pleased with my position now than I had been earlier in this day. The boy was skittish. I would have much preferred an arrogant Potter to this skittish one. Perhaps that’s why Poppy had told me to be gentle. But still I didn’t understand how the boy could go from acting happy and outgoing to acting as if he would be afraid of his own shadow.

I sat back down on the bed next to Potter’s and watched him as he picked at the sheets, absently. While he amused himself with that, I let myself sink into my own thoughts. What little I’d managed to glean from the boy, his magical core was still heavily depleted. But what little was there, was enough to learn the art of Occlumency. Occlumency, once learned, required very little actual magic it was mostly discipline of the mind. That discipline used only snippets of magic to compress and hide what ever memories the Occlumens chose, effectively camouflaging portions of the mind.

“Sir?” Potter’s voice tore me out of my thoughts.

“What?”

Potter fidgeted, and twisted the sheets in his hands. He seemed to be fighting some inner turmoil.

“Speak Potter.”

He started and pulled the sheet up to his chin, like a shield. “Who were the men in the black robes?”

I felt my blood run cold. My skills as a spy and an Occlumens were the only things that kept my face from showing the shock that was coursing down my spine. “What did you say?” It came out sounding like a dangerous threat, which was probably why the boy paled to the complexion of a ghost.

“Sorry! Sorry!” He pulled the sheet over his head and curled into a small ball.

I reached over the gap between the beds and wrestled the sheet away from his face. We ended up staring at each other; Potter was gaping at me with scared eyes. I leaned over the bed and rested one of my hands next to his head staring down at him, hoping above all hope that surface Legilimency would some how reveal this growing mystery.

“Are you going to Cruchio me, too?”

“What?” I started down at the boy, disbelief shaking me to me core.

“The red-eyed man does it. You’re one of his, aren’t you?” the boy asked accusingly.

Sunday, 10th of February, 1996, 3:17 pm

SEVERUS SNAPE

I stared at the boy for a whole minute before I was able to shake away my disturbed thoughts and try to compose an appropriate response. Meanwhile the boy seemed to be trying to sink further and further into the bed. I stepped back and gave the child his space.

Pieces of the mystery that had been growing in the back for my mind finally started making sense. The boy’s visions. If he had truly seen the meeting with the Dark Lord last night, there was a chance he recognized me. It would also explain the skittishness.

“I’m not sure I know what you speak of, Mr. Potter.” I said lightly.

The boy’s eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. I wanted to curse at someone, maybe Albus for making me be responsible for this boy, if only for a few hours and maybe at Poppy too for having the gall to leave the boy with me.

“You had a dream, that’s all. Dreams are not real.”

Potter’s eyebrows quirked in doubt, but he loosened up and pushed himself into a seating position. He continued to watch me with wariness but there was no longer a constant undercurrent of fear evident in his eyes or body language.

“All that I can tell you, Mr. Potter, is that I will not hurt you, intentionally. Legilimency is a dangerous art. It can hurt.” Perhaps it would have been prudent to warn the boy beforehand that it might hurt.

“You could have warned me,” the boy muttered under his breath, the statement obviously not meant to be heard. I ignored it but found myself somewhat relieved to recognize some familiar belligerence in his attitude. I felt no need to explain myself to the child, so I did not elaborate anymore.

“Now, I have sufficiently gained and idea of where you stand.” I ran a finger across my lips in thought. “Do you know what meditation is, Mr. Potter?”

He eyed me for a moment more before nodding his head hesitantly. “My Uncle Vernon always said that’s what New Age weirdoes did when they couldn’t find a job.”

“Indeed.” That went a long way to explaining much of the boy’s approach towards things. “While you are more than welcome to believe what your Uncle tells you, meditation is the first step in learning Occlumency. If you do not learn this properly then those dreams of yours will continue. However, if you join us “jobless New Age weirdoes,” then they will stop and you won’t have your precious beauty sleep interrupted.”

The boy visibly cringed, but I wasn’t so sure as to what.

“I do believe that is enough for now.” I said gruffly. I was getting tired of playing these games with the boy.

Accio-ing a chair I sat in that instead of on the bed and pulled a Potions journal from inside my robes. I knew the boy was watching my every move, but I didn’t acknowledge him any further.

If I was going to have to spend my time down here babysitting the teen-turned-baby, then I would use my time how I pleased. If the boy ended up wanting to play, then that was his loss.

Eventually, however, I noticed him pull a teddy bear from the tangled mess of blankets. He began talking to the bear, almost inaudibly. If I hadn’t spent years training myself to listen to subtle sounds then I never would have realized he was speaking in Parseltongue to the toy.

It wasn’t so much that the boy was talking in Parseltongue that shocked me—it was the fact that he did it with such ease. Parseltongue is a magical ability. It requires from the speaker a small amount of magic in order for the speaker to cross-translate between the speaker’s primary language and the snake language.

Small magic, being taken from the boy by way of speaking to the stuffed bear should be wearing him out. I took out a piece of paper and a small quill and jotted down a few notes about what I was observing. The boy saw me writing and stopped talking. I finished my thoughts on paper and went back to the potions journal. I didn’t read the words, but instead I watched the boy from the corner of my eye. He fidgeted on the bed and looked at the window every few seconds.

“Can I go outside?” he asked quietly.

“No.” I said and finally looked at what I was reading.

The boy didn’t protest and didn’t say anything for the rest of the day until Poppy returned some hours later.

Sunday, 10th of February, 1996, 7:12 pm

“Headmaster, I cannot teach the boy--”

“Severus, are you backing out?” Dumbledore looked over his glasses at me. His eyes did not twinkle and for some reason the age around his eyes stood out ever more.

“No, Headmaster. I can teach him basic meditations and similar mental trainings, but beyond that, if I proceed any further I will potentially become a danger. The Dark Lord still has access to Potter’s mind.”

“Yes, Poppy mentioned a vision he had.”

“It’s not only that. Soon the Dark Lord may come to learn of and use this connection. He could manipulate the boy. If I proceed with true tutor style then I will have to meet mind-to-mind with the boy and open up more than I am comfortable with.” I didn’t like admitting such things, even to one as trusted as the Headmaster, but I had a bad feeling about this and the boy’s mind link with Voldemort.

“Understandable, Severus. But I trust your ability to keep certain things deeply hidden.”

“You do not understand the Dark Lord’s abilities, Headmaster. While I may be able to keep our secrets while I am at the gatherings, I doubt I will be able to put as much effort into my barriers while I am also trying to lead the mind of a child. Such multitasking is almost unheard of. Even the best masters of Occlumency must drop their barriers while teaching their protégés.”

The headmaster crisscrossed his fingers and looked into one of the glass baubles on his desk. Pink mist swirled within and the headmaster seemed to read something in them.

“Give me some time, Severus. I must look into something. In the mean time, continue teaching the boy as you can. I will find you an answer to this.” He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eye. Something was bothering him.

“Headmaster--”

“You are dismissed, Professor Snape. I will see you at breakfast tomorrow.” Dumbledore stood and retreated to his quarters. I stood as well but stayed alone in his suddenly constricting office for a few minutes to consider the things I needed to accomplish.

The headmaster had little need of me at this moment. His only demand, was one of the hardest yet, but for once was one of the few times that I wasn’t tasked with multiple items. Teach the boy Occlumency.

The Dark Lord wanted me to get close to the boy to secure his allegiance to Voldemort.

I had no potions in the work for either of my masters.

I had read most of the pertinent information from my new journals, everything else was unimportant to my line of work.

I had used last night to grade all the papers for the students.

Other than teaching Potter I had nothing to do at the moment that truly needed my attention. Oh, sure there were always potions to be made and always orders to fill; always more assignments to create and always more books to read. But right now none of that seemed important. Even though I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was terribly wrong with this whole situation, I felt that teaching the boy was becoming more important.

Briefly, I wondered if the headmaster had something to do with this odd feeling of urgency. But I brushed that thought away as soon as it entered my mind. He was too busy at the moment dealing with Umbridge to be manipulative in his grandfatherly way.

I found myself walking the halls towards the hospital wing and let myself sit next to the sleeping boy. A few of the overnight healers in the Wing were working on other things so I was left alone. I touched the scar on Potter’s forehead and let myself fall into a trance. Deeper and deeper into the trance I fell until I felt a glimmer of a connection to Potter’s childlike mind.

His mind was drifting slowly towards the deepest of sleeps where in which everyone dreams. The first glimpses of a dream I saw were only of vague images shifting in the dark. Voices that had no coherency lilted out, meaning from any of it escaping me.

“Harry…” The first voice I heard wasn’t one I thought I would ever hear again. Lily’s voice. I instinctively pushed for the source of that voice and broke through the fog of Potter’s dream. But what I found myself in wasn’t a dream, but a memory. The shapes, sounds and smell were still fuzzy but I could at least decipher them.

Lily stood in the middle of a nursery gently rocking me. No, not me. Harry Potter. She smiled down at us and gently kissed our forehead.

“Lily?” Another phantom. James Potter. He walked into the nursery and looked down at the child in Lily’s arm. “What’s wrong?”

“Can’t you feel it James?” Lily looked up at Potter and smiled sadly. “He’s getting closer.”

“Yeah,” Potter touched the back of Lily’s neck and looked out the window where only darkness glowed. “Lily, Sirius and Peter… they have a plan…”

The dream swirled and mutated until I found myself not in Lily’s arms but in Potter’s. He was nodding off but held the child close. I could see the ceiling of a sitting room around us.

The dream swirled again and this time I was standing in a caged off crib looking out at three adults standing in the middle of the nursery.

“See, James, they’d never expect it!” Sirius Black grinned. “We’ll dupe them all!”

Peter Pettigrew chuckled, “Yeah, dupe…”

Potter crossed his arms. “Okay… let’s do it.”

Swirling, swimming the world shifted, but this time, I felt emotions. Sadness, fear. Young Potter.

The world took shape. I was still in the nursery, but it was blackened. The walls were charred and I could smell death, fire was licking at the walls, threatening to take everything. I looked down and saw Lily on the ground her face contorted in death. The door to the nursery burst open and Black opened the door. His face was pale and became even more pale upon seeing Lily on the floor. “No. No. No. No. No. No. No. NO. ” He started sobbing incoherently and fell to the ground in front of Lily. “NO!”

I heard the body of young Potter start to cry and Black looked up. “Oh, Harry.” He pulled the child out of the crib and held him close. “I’ll kill him. I’ll kill him! I promise you Harry, I’ll kill that bastard Peter. I’ll avenge your parents.”

The dream abruptly ended and I was thrown back out into reality. I opened my eyes and saw the eyes of a seven-year-old brimming with tears. Quietly, he cried and I sat in silence, thinking of Lily. He fell asleep an hour later and I left without ever having said a word.