A day before Christmas Eve, Harry laced up his skates and ventured out upon the pond without Severus.  The little boy knew quite well he should not be there without his father, but he wished to practice making figure eights in private, without being observed, for a time. So he woke up early, slipping out of the house while Severus was still asleep, an hour before he usually rose. The sun was shining brightly, as it had been for the past two days, and though it was cold, the weather had shifted, so the wind that blew through the bare trees surrounding the pond was not the icy Northern gale, but a gentler one from the South.  All of these conditions combined to make the top of the ice very slick and wet and in some places, thin it out. 

But you could not tell that simply by looking at the ice covered pond.  To Harry's unaided eye, the pond appeared the same as always, and he gave it  a few token taps with a stick and found it solid before venturing out onto it.  His frequent practices over the last four days had made him able to skate alone without holding onto the older wizard's hands for the most part, and he began circling, the blades of his skates kicking up an odd sort of watery spray, since there was a film of water over the top of the ice. 

Harry, busy concentrating on his maneuvers, barely noticed the difference, except when his skate slipped on a particularly slick patch of wet ice and he skidded, sideways on his bottom, across the pond.

Now, that had happened before, for despite his improvement, the little boy was not an expert and still fell quite often.  Doing figure eights is hard, he thought, brushing at the wet spots on his knees and starting to stand up, the way he had done countless times before.  Merlin, but now my bum aches and feels wet, ugh! He reached back to feel his rear end, swiping at it hastily, when he heard a strange crackling sound. 

Huh? What is that?

He peered down and saw, to his horror, that the ice beneath him was cracking and breaking.

He panicked utterly, and tried to dig in his skates and get off the thin ice, but that proved to be a terrible mistake.  The blade of his skate broke through the ice and what had been a tiny crack widened and the ice split apart under Harry's weight, plunging the hapless boy into the icy depths of the pond.

Now the pond was not deep, only about nine feet or so, but to a terrified child, it may as well have been the depths of the ocean.  Harry could swim, but the shock of submersion in the arctic water took his breath away, robbing him of the ability to breathe, to think, to move.  All he could feel was shards of ice, stabbing and burning, all throughout his body, a cold so intense it burned. 

He opened his mouth to howl, but the deadly chill had stolen away his voice, and all that emerged was a thin wail, too faint to be heard by anyone inside the cottage.  He splashed and struggled, widening the hole of ice, but the cold was like a stone fist, squeezing him about the chest.  He gasped, coughed, and tried once more to summon his voice, but he was mute.

Dad! Help me! Help! I'm so cold!

He scrabbled for purchase on the jagged hole, but the ice was still too thin to bear his weight and it kept breaking off.  His legs were growing heavy, too heavy to move, and a strange sort of sleepy lassitude was creeping through him.  So tired . . .need to rest . . .

Above, the wind sprites fluttered and cried out in horror, for they could tell the child was dying, and were unable to do much save fly back to the window of the cottage and tap hard upon the glass, trying to awaken the sleeping Potion Master.  Awaken, Severus Snape! Thy child is in grave peril!

Inside, the Potions Master stirred, wondering what annoying creature was tapping on his window pane at six in the morning.

* * * * * *

Others flew down to hover in front of Harry, entreating him to stay awake and not give in to the water's icy embrace. 

But Harry was exhausted, his strength all but gone, and he began to slip beneath the black water.

In another minute all would have been lost.

Until a pair of sharp teeth closed over the back of Harry's ice-rimed jacket.

The silver wolf dug his paws into the ice, which cracked alarmingly, but he never released his hold.  He pulled with all of the strength in his mighty frame, muscles rippling as he sought to reclaim the boy from the cold depths of the pond.  Harry was dead weight, unresponsive, his skin as blue as that of the hovering wind sprites, making Silver's task that much harder.

Twice, the wolf's feet broke through the ice, but he never loosened his grip on the child.

Inch by agonizing inch, shifting his grip slightly to grasp Harry's shoulder  for better purchase, Silver pulled the child out of the frigid deadly water.  He dragged the boy across the ice, never slackening his hold, though every muscle in his shoulders and back felt as though it were on fire, torn and throbbing from the effort.  That did not matter.  All that mattered was the boy.

Silver managed to pull Harry through the snow a ways before the rest of his strength gave out and he crumpled to the ground, curling instinctively about the shivering frozen child.  Though the thick fur warmed Harry as did the wolf's own body heat, Silver sensed it was not enough.  The flicker of life within the boy was slowly dying. 

Amber eyes peered worriedly down at the motionless form, and suddenly something else awoke in the big animal's brain, a consciousness that had lain dormant for many long months.    The child needs help, far more than I can give him, or else he will die.  I must save him! Nothing else matters, only that he must not die. 

Silver tilted his head back and howled.

The full-throated deep summoning howl of an alpha wolf calling for help.

It rang through the still dawn like the clarion call of a trumpet.

Such a sound had not been heard in over three centuries upon the Yorkshire heath. 

ARR-OOOW! ARR-OOOW!

Again and again the howl rang out, urgent and desperate, and unable to be mistaken for anything but the mournful cry of a wolf.

Then the silver wolf bent his great head and licked the child's face, attempting to warm the waxen blue-tinged cheeks with his tongue.

Harry's eyelids fluttered, and he opened them a slit, wincing at the pain the light brought, yet able to see a familiar pair of eyes framed by silver fur. He opened his mouth to speak the big wolf's name, but his voice would not work. 

That was the sight that greeted a frantic Severus as he Apparated down to the pond, following the spine-tingling howl of the hunting wolf. 

A shaggy beast sat half-atop his son, licking him, and looking as though it were going to take a bite out of his child.  A wolf-here? Impossible! Yet he could not doubt the evidence of his own eyes.  Nor what its intentions were towards his defenseless  child.

Fury shot through him, and he pulled his wand and yelled, "Get away from my son, you bastard!"

Fiery missiles shot from the Potion Master's wand, peppering the wolf with stinging hot pellets.  The wolf yelped and backed away, reluctant to leave the boy, showing his teeth in disapproval.

"Go on, get, you miserable vicious brute! How dare you try and eat my son?" Severus screamed, sending another volley off.

Silver crouched, snarling, but some of the fire pellets struck him on the nose, and that was too much.  He whirled and fled, desperate to escape the hail of fiery projectiles. vanishing into the snowy woods like a ghost.

The Potions Master did not bother pursuing, his only concern now was his injured child. Severus flung himself down beside his son, chanting a warming charm, and as the heat returned to Harry's frozen frame, the child shivered violently, and managed to say, "Dad . . .where's Silver . . .?"

"Hush.  You're going to be all right.  I'm here, you're safe." Severus worked frantically, heating the air up about him so high the snow melted while slowly infusing his son's limbs with warmth.  "Harry . . .Merlin help me . . .you're near frozen to death . . ."

Harry groaned, for the warmth that had felt so good was now starting to hurt.  A lot.

He began to cry, begging his father to make it stop.

"Shhh . . .I know, child . . ." He gently lifted his son and holding him close, Apparated back to the cottage, where he had plenty of potions to ease the pain of returning circulation, warm clothes and blankets, and spells to restore limbs affected by hypothermia and frostbite. 

An unpleasant twenty-five minutes followed, as Severus dosed a groggy whimpering Harry with a Pain Reliever plus an Anti-Frostbite Draft as well as a Decongestion Draft, since Harry had swallowed some of the icy water as he thrashed about.  Harry writhed and sobbed, for the returning circulation to his limbs was very painful, though Severus did his best to ease them by massaging his son's feet and hands, arms, and calves, rubbing in a gentle brisk motion.

"Oww . . .Dad . . .it hurts . . .owww!"

His arms and legs prickled and burned like fire and he couldn't help crying, even though he knew he should be brave and quit bawling like a little baby.

"Easy, son.  Relax, you'll feel better soon.  You almost froze to death . . .but you're going to be all right." Severus murmured, still massaging, relieved that the color was starting to return to the pallid limbs.  The potion worked quickly, one reason why poor Harry was in so much pain.    "If the wind sprites hadn't come tapping at the window . . ." he trailed off, shuddering with the awful thought of finding his only son dead from  a skating accident.

"Silver . . .saved me . . ."

"What? What did you say?" Severus asked, now taking a warmed towel and swaddling his son in it, he had removed all of Harry's soaking wet frozen clothes before beginning the treatment. 

"The wolf . . .did you see? . . .he saved me . . .from the lake . . ." Harry repeated, tears still trickling from his cheeks, though the terrible prickling burning was almost gone.  Now he felt comfortably warm and sleepy.

"You're delirious.  The wolf bit you, Harry.  He would have killed you if I hadn't driven him off with a Meteor Swarm."

Silver? But he would never hurt me . . .That must be wrong . . ."No . . .Dad . . .Silver . . .saved me . . ."

Severus just shook his head.  The poor boy was rambling, half out of his wits from his near brush with death.  "Hush . . .Go to sleep, Harry." He chanted a quick charm to dry Harry's hair, then lifted his son off the couch and carried him into his room, where he quickly put Harry into warm flannel pajamas and tucked him into bed.

Then he simply sat there,  transfiguring a sock into a wooden chair and just looking at his son, whom he had come so close to losing on this sunny morning to winter's cold embrace.  He silently thanked the wind sprites and then he clasped his hands in his lap and watched his son sleep, tears blurring his eyes. Merlin's grace, Harry, but I nearly lost you.  Had I been a minute later . . .you might have been joining your mother beyond the Veil in heaven.  Of course, you shouldn't have been on the ice in the first place, but I'll deal with that bit of disobedience later.  Right now, I just need to calm down and to thank God for allowing me to save my son, both from the lake and from the jaws of that wolf or whatever it was.

A part of him did wonder how Harry had gotten from the lake to the shore, then assumed that the wolf had gotten his son out, though not to save him as Harry assumed, but to kill him, for Severus had seen the animal nibbling at his son, like a person nibbling on a piece of chocolate before consuming it.  It was enough to make him believe in all the gory tales of wolves murdering babies in the cradle and he shivered involuntarily, wondering if it could have been a werewolf and not an ordinary one.  Werewolves were known for their love of human flesh.   And Severus's one secret fear was of being bitten by a werewolf, harking back to a nasty prank played on him as an adolescent, when  Remus Lupin had nearly bitten him as he entered the Shrieking Shack on a dare made by Sirius Black and James Potter.  A foolish malicious prank that could have ended in tragedy, both for Severus and for Remus, since a werewolf who bit a human must be killed under Ministry law, and Remus could have killed Severus in the throes of the curse. 

Severus had never forgotten or forgiven Potter and Black for that.

And yet, gazing down at the son of his school rival, he felt none of that animosity towards Harry.  True, Harry was James's child, but Severus had raised him from a toddler, watched him say his first word, nursed him through his first illness, potty training and tantrums, had scolded, punished, and hugged him, and now he could not imagine his life without Harry in it.  A Potter by blood, but a Snape by choice. You may have his face, but you have my heart, and always shall.  And I will do whatever I have to do to ensure your safety, you reckless wizardling, up to and including locking you in your room till you're thirty.

He tugged a lock of his silky black hair free from its queue and examined it for any strands of gray.  Miraculously, there were none.  Yet.  But by the time he was thirty, Severus predicted he'd be white as an old man, the way things were going. Ah, the joys of raising an impulsive headstrong child! He wished someone had warned him.