In the end, Snape decided not to speak to Albus.

While he was quite certain that the Headmaster would want to know that The Boy Who Lived appeared to be showing the first symptoms of a severe mental illness, Snape wasn’t all that certain that it was wise to share the information just yet. He hadn’t even gotten formal custody of the boy yet, and once Harry was formally diagnosed with such a problem, whether its roots were Muggle or magical, the chances of that happening were miniscule. No, Harry would be whisked away into whatever program Albus felt had the best chance of curing the boy, and Snape wasn’t willing to risk Dumbledore’s judgment again. Better to wait until formal adoption proceedings were complete, and then he could quietly take Harry to be evaluated – perhaps somewhere abroad – before deciding what to do and whom to tell.

It just meant that he had to watch the boy even more closely, so as to be able to watch for worsening symptoms. He convinced Minerva to give the boy some extra transfiguration lessons, on the pretext that the boy showed exceptional promise. She had been skeptical, but agreed. He told Harry that these were in preparation for animagus lessons with Sirius once he was a little older, and the brat fell for it.

That meant that most of the time, Harry was within sight of either a faculty member or prefect, and Snape further hedged his bets by asking Hagrid to keep an eye on the boy as well. As he had expected, the half-giant was thrilled at the prospect of spending time with Harry, and Harry seemed inexplicably fond of the nitwit and his hypersalivating hound. Usually some of the other children accompanied Harry on his forays to Hagrid’s hut, but occasionally Harry went by himself, as it was then easier to slip the inedible rock cakes to Fang without Hagrid noticing.

Of course, while Hagrid would unquestionably give his life for Harry, his judgement often left something to be desired.

“Da! Guess where Hagrid’s taking me tomorrow!”

Snape frowned at the brat, who had just burst into his heretofore quiet quarters. “Good evening, Mr Potter.”

“Oh, sorry. Hi, Da. Did you have a nice day?”

“Ye –“

“Guess where Hagrid’s taking me tomorrow!”

“I assume you are trying to ask permission for Hagrid to take you somewhere tomorrow?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, Daaaaaaa!” he groaned. “Don’t make it so hard! You know you’ll say yes eventually.”

“I hold no such conviction, Mr Potter, and with every discourteous outburst, you reduce the chances of such an outcome still further,” Snape said forbiddingly.

Harry huffed and threw himself down on the couch opposite his father, not in the least dismayed. “Fine. Be that way. I just won’t tell you!”

“Harry Jame-“

“Okay, okay,” Harry gave in. “He’s gonna take me into the Forbidden Forest with him to look for baby unicorns! Isn’t that great?”

Snape frowned. “Into the Forbidden Forest? I hardly think that’s an appropriate outing for a first year. The dangers of the Forest - ”

“Oh, Da!” Harry threw up his arms in exasperation. “It’s not like I’m going by myself! I’ll be with Hagrid, an’ it’ll be broad daylight, an’ we’re looking for unicorns, not some Dark creature. Please say I can go, pleeeeeeeeeease?”

Over the next ten minutes, Snape found out just how grating the repetitive nagging of an eleven year old could be. “Oh, all right!” he finally exploded. “You can go, but if I hear that you didn’t do exactly what Hagrid told you, you will be on restriction for the rest of the year. Do you understand?”

Having won the day, Harry beamed with delight. “Yes, Da,” he replied obediently.

Dear Annals of Wizarding Science, Snape thought resentfully. I would like to propose an investigation into the debilitating power of childish whining on adult nervous systems. As someone who successfully withstood the Dark Lord’s punishments, including repeated bouts of Cruciatus, yet could not withstand a similar period of whinging by a pre-teen, I suggest that these whiny tones contain some peculiar blend of mental control and pain receptor stimulation. Please investigate and advise as to any protective methodologies, from the wearing of aluminium foil hats to bludgeoning oneself unconscious.

##

Harry thought the Forbidden Forest was one of the most exciting places he’d ever been, though seeing the size of some of the acromantula’s webs had made him a bit queasy. He resolved not to share that part of his adventure with Ron, lest the redhead wake the dorm up with his nightmares.

Still, trotting alongside Hagrid, it was easy to feel invulnerable. Not only was the giant amazingly knowledgeable about the Forest’s denizens, but he was on good terms with most of them.

“So, how’re you likin’ school, 'Arry?” Hagrid eventually asked, having finally run out of new things to show the boy.

“I love it!” Harry exclaimed, practically dancing by Hagrid’s elbow.

The half-giant sent him a fond look. “You doin’ okay in y’r classes then? Teachers not givin’ you too much grief? Makin’ friends an’ all that?”

Harry nodded vigorously. “I’ve got a whole bunch of friends, though Ron was my first,” he added conscientiously. “And I like all the teachers – well, I do now. I didn’t really like Professor Quirrel or Umbit- erm, Professor Umbridge, but they’re gone now an’ the Headmaster’s teaching DADA, an’ he makes it fun.” Harry chuckled. “He makes my da mad though, ‘cause he gives us lemon drops as well as points when we do something right, an’ my da doesn’t like me to have too many lollies but he can’t really yell at the Headmaster very well.” Harry grinned at Hagrid.

Hagrid let out a shout of laughter. “Oh, I can see that, all righ’. The Headmaster does drive Pr’fessor Snape half-mad sometimes.” He paused, giving Harry a worried look. “Now, ‘Arry, you’d tell me if you weren’t getting’ along with Pr’fessor Snape, right? Seein’ as how I was the one t’ sort of bring you back into the Wizarding world, I feel kinda like responsible for you. You are getting’ along okay, yeah?”

Harry nodded. “He’s great, Hagrid – honestly! He takes really good care of me. I mean, he won’t let anyone hurt me, and he got rid of anyone who tried – those older kids from Ravenclaw an’ Quirrel an’ the rat who betrayed my folks an’ then Umbitch an’ even that weird house elf Diddy – he made them all go away. An’ he made the Headmaster promise never to send me back to the Dursleys no matter what, an’ he got me the coolest prezzies for Christmas, an’ he’s just been the best da ever! Did you know he was even tryin’ to help me back when I was just a baby? He was! He was spying on Voldesnort so that he could help keep my mum and dad and me safe! And…”

Hagrid beamed as Harry happily babbled on about how wonderful Professor Snape was. From what he’d heard, th’ poor lad had had a horrible time of it among those Muggles, but if his shining face was any indication, that was all in the past. Then Fang barked, indicating that he’d caught sight of the unicorn herd, and the enormous man and the small boy hurried to catch up to the boarhound.

Behind them, floating amongst the twisted trees of the Forest, more substantial than a cloud but not by much, the shade of Lord Voldemort shook with rage.

It was bad enough that the whelp responsible for his current immaterial state was still among the living. It was mortifying to think that the little monster had helped to vanquish him a second time, weakening him so much that he could do nothing more than float above the unicorns, wracking his brains for a way to become corporeal enough to feed off them. But to hear how he had been betrayed by one of his own Death Eaters...! That was the crowning indignity, and one Voldemort swore he would see avenged.

That traitor Snape, not content to be a spy for Dumbledore, was now nursemaiding the very instrument of his sworn Lord’s destruction. There was no curse painful enough, no death hideous enough for a betrayal of this magnitude.

Of course, even if there had been, Voldemort himself was in no condition to cast any spells – it took all his power just to cling to this unsatisfying half-life. But he was far from helpless.

“Nagini, my pet,” he hissed. “Come to me, my lovely. I have a task for you…”

“Yes, master?” the large snake replied, obediently sliding out from its nest in a fallen tree. Magical snakes were not overly affected by the cold, but Nagini still preferred not to venture out in the snowy winter landscape if she could avoid it. The call of her master was powerful, however, and after Voldemort had been forced to leave Quirrel’s body, he had Summoned her.

Too weak even to leave the immediate vicinity of Hogwarts, he knew that he needed allies to help him, but in his weakened condition he dared not trust any but his most loyal followers. Unfortunately, Bellatrix Lestrange was still incarcerated in Azkaban – Voldemort was not pleased that her moronic cousin had managed to escape, but Bella, whom he had heretofore considered a most resourceful witch, remained a prisoner of the Dementors. Voldemort consoled himself with the thought that releasing his followers from Azkaban would be one of his first moves when he returned to power, and Bella was already so unhinged that it was unlikely the Dementors had managed to do much to her in the interim.

Peter Pettigrew, while never quite as…committed… as Bellatrix, had nevertheless been a reasonable second choice. He was too cowardly to try anything, even against a Dark Lord too weak even to manifest for a moment. But before Voldemort could manage to Summon the rat from the nearby castle, he had heard of Pettigrew’s death from the little Hogwarts brats who played along the edge of the Forest. He hadn’t known that Snape, that bastard, had been responsible for the wizard’s death, but now that it had been admitted, by Harry Potter no less, Voldemort burned even hotter with the need for revenge.

He couldn’t trust any of the Death Eaters still at large, like Lucius Malfoy. The only way Malfoy could have managed to remain a free man was to have renounced the Dark Lord and/or claimed to have been an unwilling puppet all along. While Voldemort might appreciate the man’s cunning in taking advantage of Dumbledore’s daft tendency to give everyone the benefit of the doubt, that didn’t mean he would trust Malfoy, given his current weakness. Lucius was obviously out for his own interests, and if he thought he could exploit the Dark Lord’s current situation to his own ends, he would. No, Lucius Malfoy was not someone to rely upon, at least not until Voldemort was in a position to Crucio him into loyalty.

Voldemort gnashed his incorporeal teeth as he thought that, not too long ago, he might have turned to Snape himself as one of his most trustworthy Death Eaters. Had that little idiot not walked right past him, mindlessly boasting of Snape's treachery, Voldemort might never have known the extent of his minion's perfidy. Well, now that he knew, he was going to do something about it.

He would have Snape killed, in a spectacularly brutal and painful fashion, leaving there no doubt in anyone’s mind who was responsible. That should put the fear back into those stupid sheep who were the Wizarding public, not to mention some of his less steadfast Death Eaters. With a few more horrific murders, even someone like Lucius Malfoy would think twice before emulating Snape’s turncoat behavior.

“Nagini, my strong and fearless one, I have an important task for you. Listen well as I tell you all about the castle Hogwarts, so that you may slip inside and dole out my justice to a filthy traitor…”