Harry exited the pensieve and reeled backwards, his hand shooting out to steady himself. There was a fluted, chiming sound as his arm knocked into Dumbledore's silver instruments on the desk. The next instant he found himself hurtling through a vast blackness, along a trail filled with coloured, glittering stars.

Many hours seemed to pass before he saw a glass bubble beginning to appear in the distance, dim light filtering through it. As he zoomed closer the bauble appeared bigger and he could make out distorted shapes, bent on the inside of the globe. One of them seemed to be moving. He watched in horrified disbelief as he was sucked into the centre of the globe. There was a moment of fuzziness, then everything cleared.

***

Snape loomed menacingly over the students in his sixth year potions class, watching them ineptly chop and mix ingredients in ways that, should he have cared more for their lives, would have given him gray hairs and probably a chronic stress disorder long before now. However, as he did not, he merely shouted reprimands at those many unfortunate victims he caught as they were about to add an ingredient a little too precariously to their bubbling mixes.

Today his thoughts were less concerned with the students. Instead, images of the last meeting with the Dark Lord swirled ominously through his mind. The Dark Lord had definitely been less-than-pleased with his latest information, he thought with a wince. The fact that Potter's whereabouts was unknown was frustrating his Lord and the Death Eaters were receiving the blame. Snape flicked his fingers worriedly as he reflected that he too was in the dark as to Potter's location - Dumbledore was also wanting him to find Potter, though he wasn't entirely sure why. According to Dumbledore he had to give Potter a message - one of many, he thought sarcastically - when Nagini was no longer sent on missions. It was one he did not particularly wish to give and he felt a spark of indignation at being asked to do so by Dumbledore. Why couldn't he have given the - no doubt emotionally wrought - task to someone else?  In irritation he flicked his wand, vanishing some badly chopped roots.

At the moment he doubted Nagini was in any danger. Luckily.

As for himself he could not understand why Dumbledore would think Nagini needed saving. He, personally, doubted the Dark Lord's ability to care for anything. And he seriously doubted that his egotistic Lord would ever be worried about Potter having any impact on his pet’s health. Honestly, sometimes he thought Dumbledore overestimated Potter’s ability level. He frowned as he glanced at a student’s potion. On the one hand he needed to know Potter's hiding place to placate his master, but he could not help thinking that the longer it took Nigellus to find out, the safer the trio would be.

But in the meantime his Lord would use him as a magical punch bag if the last meeting was anything to go by. He winced slightly as the memory of the previous night pushed itself rudely into his consciousness. The crucio had been applied somewhat longer than normal. He had had to fight with all his willpower not to make a sound. Bellatrix had also been allowed to join in with a quick few curses before his Lord's jealous ego had reasserted itself. By the time he was released, his nerves were on fire and his muscles so taut he was unable even to stand. He was then allowed to leave. So graciously he thought, his lips twisting in a sadistic grimace as he remembered the Dark Lord's parting words as he lovingly rolled his wand between his fingers, looking down at Snape's twisted body.

“My little Snake - you have sso pleased me in the past. I do sso hate having to punish you. But I am sure I will not need to do so again, will I Severus? You are, after all, sso favoured by me.”

He had grovelled at the feet of the monster before crawling backwards, blind with pain, to the apparition boundary. Returning to the school, he could only be thankful that McGonagall spent so much of her energy now on ensuring that none of the children would be out of bed after dark... He would need to ensure he restocked his potions soon now. And unless he could come up with some reliable and interesting information his “favoured position” - his lips twisted in a sardonic smile - might be exchanged for one somewhat less attractive. And then he would be unlikely to please Dumbledore or fulfil his promise to himself to protect Lily's brat. And Dumbledore's murder… what he had done… his eyes closed with the pain of memory... would have been in vain.

Suddenly afraid he would reveal something of his desperate thoughts to his, albeit dim-witted, students, he forcefully pushed back his melancholy thoughts, securing them behind strong occlumency shields, and focused on the task at hand: namely, preventing anyone in the vicinity getting prematurely blown-up, including himself. The customary scowl graced his features once more as a potion, the entirely wrong shade of green, sharpened into focus before his eyes.  

“You stupid, stupid boy! Do you think I spend all night making potions to let you give the money to your father for drink?!” A high-pitched, strained, very angry voice reached Harry's ears through the fog as he passed through the edge of the globe.

A second later, he stumbled and tripped forward onto a rug. Mother and son had frozen, the woman with her arm outstretched, an accusing finger in the young boy's face. The boy himself, short with black hair, had one hand held to his cheek. The red streaks of fingermarks could be seen creeping out from round his own smaller ones. They were both silent, staring at Harry as he stood in the centre of their living room, wobbling slightly as he fought to both regain his balance and reach for his wand rather than crash to the floor. The woman had a look of shocked amazement plastered over her face. The boy seemed torn between sulking and confusion over the sudden appearance of the stranger.

Harry shuffled nervously. Sticking his hands in his pockets, he stepped back slightly and tried a nervous grin.

“Um… hi,” he stammered. Silence. Harry ran a tongue around his suddenly dry lips and tried again. “Um… sorry to bother you.” He flashed another nervous grin at the woman. “Um, I'll, er, leave right now.” He took another step backwards. “If, um… you could tell me, that is, er, I mean, er, tell me…” there was a pregnant pause while Harry desperately searched for something that wouldn't sound too odd. “Tell me where I am?” he finished hopefully, peering at the woman. His panicked mind told him that was a dumb thing to say, while his smaller, still-thinking part reassured himself with numerous excuses as to why an almost-18-year-old might end up somewhere by accident. Like practicing apparition or something?

The small boy was looking up expectantly at his mother, still absentmindedly rubbing his smarting cheek with his hand. “No.” The woman answered shortly, her voice sullen. Her eyes narrowed slightly, “Who are you? What are you doing here?” her tone was suspicious and she had begun to advance on Harry.

Harry cast around wildly for something to say. Any excuse! His mind screamed at him. Anything. Apparition lesson. Bad portkey. Anything!! “Uh… um... I'm uh..” Harry paused, unsure of how much to give away. His eyes slid to the scrawny boy at her side. Suddenly realisation struck. “You're Snape?!” he half-yelled in his excitement. The young boy's eyes widened, his mouth slackening slightly as he looked back at Harry. Eileen stepped menacingly in front of her son, her eyes narrowed, her arms crossed in front of her.

“How do you know my son?” She accused Harry. “What's he to you?”

Harry thought quickly. “I'm from the ministry.” He rushed out, “We're testing a new… uh… radar system to track miscreants.” he invented wildly.

Eileen turned from accusing Harry to her son so fast Harry thought he would have missed it had he blinked. “What have you done now, you little brat?” she caught his collar and shook him, “How dare you bring the ministry to our door? Defiling our good name!”

Harry gaped and quickly tried to amend his excuse. “But, uh, clearly it doesn't work right yet, Mrs. Snape. Uh, it shouldn't be tracking young children. We had…we had assumed the description it gave was for someone older.” He waved a dismissive hand in Snape's direction. “Obviously the whole system is wrong. It shouldn't have delivered me here. A complete mistake.” He stepped towards the door. “I'm so sorry for the mix up. If you'll excuse me.”

“No. Wait.” Eileen was thinking hard. If this man was from the ministry then perhaps he had been meant to find Tobias. Perhaps he would be willing to remove him. Or better. She would like to see Tobias writhing in front of some wizards, begging for mercy. Or maybe they would think he deserved prison. She had heard the dementors were worse than torture. Of course, if the man really had been misdirected to her son, then maybe she could encourage him to find a way for Severus to rise into power in the ministry. Or some other influential position.

His career, was, of course, many years ahead, but Eileen was nothing if not ambitious. She wanted power - having so little herself - and was prepared to push her son through any doorways - or windows for that matter - to get it.

So Eileen plastered a smile on her face. “Won’t you have a cup of tea? Mr. uh..?” she asked sweetly. “I would so love to hear more about this new radar method.”

“Uh. No, no. I really. I'm fine thanks.” Harry stuttered, starting again towards the door.

“Oh no. I really must insist. The pleasure is all mine!” Eileen, her smile stretched over her prominent cheekbones to show almost all her teeth, pushed Harry onto the nearest chair. She had a surprisingly strong grip and Harry winced.

“You take it black?” Harry blinked like a mouse caught in a snakes glare and swallowed uneasily, his mind retreating back to the last time he had been forced to accept tea.

“Uh. Ok.” He muttered weakly at Eileen's already retreating back. Does she poison her visitors? He thought, panicked.

Snape, who had barely taken his eyes off Harry since Harry had identified him, now rapidly covered the small distance to the chair. He twisted his hands and looked earnestly into Harry's face.

“Are you my uncle?” he whispered, “Please?” he added, quickly his gaze dropping to his feet, his small body tense. After a few moments of silence he glanced back up and Harry found the small pair of obsidian eyes, usually fixed upon him with hatred and scorn, filled with an uncertain hope as they bore into his own. 

When he didn’t answer, the gaze dropped once more and Snape’s face fell. “’M sorry.” he mumbled and started to back away.

“I can be. If you want.”

The small face, already framed with lank, dishevelled hair, was eager. “Really? You really mean it?” Small hands pressed on Harry’s knee. He grinned lopsidedly at the boy, one of his hands coming to cover Snape’s own.

“Yeah, why not?”

Eileen reappeared in the doorway of the room, a self-satisfied smile gracing her lips as she took in the scene before her. Evidently her son had already managed to use his wiles to entice this stranger to like him. She settled the tea tray on a low table.

“Tea?” she smiled, offering a cup to Harry. “Do you take milk?”

This man doesn’t look very old, she thought. Evidently they are getting in very young to the ministry these days. He doesn’t even have the matured appearance of a higher studied student; he looks rather more like he entered his job straight from school. Perhaps an apprentice then, learning his way up the ministry – hardly someone to exalt my son to power in that case. She mused. But there is time enough for that, she consoled herself. After all, Severus is only six. By the time he is ready to start seriously making his own plans this man could be quite high up. And there are many opportunities for introductions in between. Still, she appraised his clothes quickly as she handed his cup to him, he does not have the appearance of someone with money. Perhaps it was due to the tests. Maybe they had been asked to wear old clothes for this radar thing.

Harry squirmed under the scrutinising gaze, nervously trying to sip his tea whilst attempting – and failing – to work out if it was laced with poison. He was kicking himself for having not paid more attention during potions class. He cleared his throat – rather too loudly – and leant back awkwardly in the chair, trying to appear relaxed. He ran a slightly sweaty palm down his robe and cleared his throat again. He tried to think of something to break the silence and stop Snape’s mum from staring at him.

Snape himself had scuttled back to his corner of the room, away from Harry when Eileen had entered. He now stood, nervously flicking his gaze between his mother, sitting straight-backed in her chair, to Harry, stiffly slouched in his. His gaze also kept returning to the clock above the fireplace – when had his father left?

“So. Mr…er?” Eileen raised one dark eyebrow at Harry, her tone distinct and pointed. Harry was reminded strongly of Snape.

“Er…Mr, er, Longbottom.” Harry answered slightly defiantly, his anger pricked by the tone. Immediately he prayed that Snape did not know Neville’s family.

“Ah! Mr. Longbottom.” Here Eileen paused, as though hoping Harry would give the intimacy of his Christian name also. When Harry didn’t she resumed. “What exactly does your job at the ministry pertain? My little darling,” she simpered, “is so interested in working there when he is grown up. Aren’t you Severus?” she cooed.

Harry opened and shut his mouth several times. Like a fish, Eileen thought disparagingly, an absent-minded scowl darkening her pinched features. This worker must be very young and clearly not from a rich, pureblood background – he has absolutely no social graces! We shall be lucky if he can climb at all in the ministry’s ranks. Her mind almost purred the word ‘pureblood,’ while conveniently forgetting her own particular lack of social graces – and her son’s mixed heritage.

Harry blanched at the scowl. Pulling everything he knew about the ministry, he hastily began trying to prove his innocence to her.

“I work in law enforcement,” Harry gabbled, “We enter through the fifth fireplace; we’re currently developing the new radar technique from something the Department for Muggle Artefacts confiscated a while back.” He noticed that Eileen seemed to perk up at this. “We’re changing it to pick up magical-related wickedness, dangerous spells, etcetera.”

“Ah! I see. I’m afraid you haven’t quite got it working yet then, Mr. Longbottom.” Not at all, Eileen thought. “You see, my husband – ”

“Oh, no, no. Obviously the system picking up Sna- your son was purely, I mean, completely wrong. It shouldn’t have happened.”

“You misunderstand me Mr. Longbottom.” Eileen ground out, her smile seemingly fixed in place. “Evidently your device is working – only it targeted my husband, not my son.” Harry gaped. “He left just minutes before you arrived” She sipped her tea and cocked her head to one side, her piercing eyes and nose strangely birdlike in appearance. Her look gave Harry the vague sensation he was being drawn to his death by a grindylow.

“Wha..?” he asked in confusion, forgetting for a moment just where he was and who he was supposed to be. “Radar doesn’t… what do you mean?”

“I mean, Mr. Longbottom,” Eileen spoke slowly, as to a dense child, “I mean that the radar is working. Only it is still picking up muggles – not wizards.” She sat back expectantly, evidently thinking that Harry would start doing something. Apparently not. She sighed and twisted her features into something resembling constipation in any normal person, but that was probably supposed to be painful heartache. “My husband,” she faltered, “my husband is a cruel and vicious man. A malicious muggle.”

Harry remembered two adults fighting in a pensieve. And Snape’s venomous comments on his returned homeworks. “So? You’re a witch.”

Eileen gasped, and felt – for once – honest indignation and hurt. How callous was this brat? Then she remembered that he probably thought she had magic. He was a wizard after all. He would assume that she would be able to better him in a fight. He did not know she was a squib. Well. How to proceed? What would he do if he found out? She leant back in her chair and pursed her lips, her frown pensive. On the one hand, she wanted her husband removed and punished for the pain he had caused her, partly because he was a muggle and so she perceived him to be ‘in the way’. But, Severus’ future could be important in returning her to her own previous glory in the wizarding world. If Severus was to secure a high place of honour in a pureblood profession, her father may wish to see her again. Wizards would want her potions and she would gain the respect she craved.

It was Harry that broke the silence. “Do you know the Po-, the Evans’?” he asked abruptly.

Both Snapes gazed at him in confusion.

“Pardon?” Eileen queried.

“Er…does Severus know the Evans’ yet? Um. A family…” Harry tailed uncertainly into silence, realising that perhaps it was not the wisest topic of conversation. Eileen was now looking at Snape through narrowed eyes.

“Do you?” she snapped.

Severus shook his head and stared at his toes. Harry felt something akin to a balloon pop and ooze disappointment inside him. He realised his sole interest beyond self-preservation since arriving at Snape’s house had been to see his mother. Now that looked to be impossible. Snape was too young.

All at once the thought that he, Harry, wasn’t looking at his hated teacher, but only at a little boy, struck Harry. He remembered the angry adults in Snape’s pensieve, and felt a familiarity with the small, dark-haired boy staring at the floor in front of him.

Harry turned to find Eileen looking at him again, indecision marking her features. He remembered her conviction that he had been brought to the house following the wickedness of her muggle husband. He remembered Uncle Vernon when he had been drinking.

“Are the Evans purebloods?” Her voice was cautious and held a tremor of disappointment.

“Yes. I mean, no. I mean, she’s a witch but –” Harry, flustered, shut his mouth tightly.

Snape’s stomach rumbled loudly. Instantly Eileen turned on the boy and hissed at him to be quiet.

“’m sorry.” Snape whispered miserably.

“He is such a greedy little boy – always hungry.” Eileen huffed – a throwaway statement. Harry was strongly reminded of Aunt Petunia. Only this was different. Eileen looked no better dressed than Snape. And the room was old-fashioned and smelt of beer and stale smoke.

And she hates her husband. This illumination was followed by another, with the weight of a hippogriff. She expects me to do something about him. She thinks I’m from the ministry. Guilt slowly filled Harry. Great. Someone else I can fail.

Harry put his cup and saucer down on the arm of the chair and rubbed his clammy hands down the leg of his trousers. “Look, about your husband – ” he began uneasily.

“Nothing!” Eileen broke in with another stretched smile and brittle brightness. “Like you said, Mr. Longbottom – I’m a witch.” She crooked her head at him. “I can easily deal with him; my husband isn’t really a problem.”

For once Harry felt like he had Hermione inside his head instead of himself. He didn’t know what to say. He felt terrible. You and your stupid saving-people thing. He didn’t know why Snape’s mum couldn’t protect herself from her husband, but he knew that she didn’t.

He stood. Eileen stood too. She looked expectantly at him, then began to show him to the door.

“Wait! May I take Sn- Severus out?”

“Take Severus out?” A raised eyebrow.

Harry swallowed. “Um yeah. To the, to the park.”

A pause. “All right,” she said finally.

Harry breathed out a breath he had not thought he was holding as Eileen turned to her son. “Severus! This gentleman is taking you out. Get your coat.”

Severus stilled, then hurried towards the door, his small figure almost thrumming with excitement. A sharp, though not excessive, slap to the back of his head was dealt as he passed his mother.

“Don’t misbehave, brat! Or else.”

Harry squirmed slightly at the threat, so often directed at him. And felt a moment of empathy with the small boy.

Severus reappeared in the doorway, a large trench coat now slung over his thin shoulders. He looked even more ridiculous than in his memories. Harry experienced a moment of uncertainty as he thought of what he was about to do: take his hated ex-teacher to the park. He stepped towards Snape, and automatically extended a hand to the six-year-old. The sudden recollection of his adult teacher’s cold, sneering face filled his mind, and revulsion caused him to jerk his arm back, away from the idea of offering his hand to his teacher. Hurt and confusion flashed across the small boy’s face. Harry swallowed, and with great effort, held his hand out to Snape once again. The small hand slipped into his. It was quite cool, almost cold. He squeezed it slightly to warm it.

“Shall we go then? I’ll bring him back soon, Mrs. Snape.”

They left a thoughtful and somewhat suspicious Eileen in the dowdy living room, her arms crossed, her lips pursed as she stared after them. A typical Snape.

Once they had left the house, Snape's whole demeanour changed. He was still shy and quiet, but he no longer appeared so anxious. He had a slight spring in his step as he plodded along beside Harry, down the narrow pavement on the road side. Harry glanced sideways down at him, wondering at how much happier and relaxed his potions master was, now that he was no longer within the glare of his mother. And you wonder why your students hate being in your presence? He thought with a slight smirk.

Snape's hand suddenly tightened in Harry's grip and he unconsciously moved closer to Harry so as to hide himself slightly behind him. His walk slowed and became more awkward so that Harry got the impression that he was almost dragging the small child along.

He looked with askance at the mop of untidy black hair now trying to hide in his robes, then up at the pub. Snape's memories of an ugly man, slightly larger than the adult professor, yelling at Snape's mother swam into his mind. Your father for drink?! He realised that if Snape's mum was like Aunt Petunia, then his dad had to be almost a carbon copy of Uncle Vernon. With a sharp intake of breath, Harry realised that Snape's childhood was only too similar to his own…and that the memories he had found in Snape's mind two years ago were not singular occurrences. All at once he understood something he had not seen when he had cowered under the ferocious glare of his teacher: as a child, Snape had experienced neglect and hatred just the same as Harry. And this small boy was currently trapped in it.

Snape whimpered softly as the pub door began to open and Harry felt both his own fear and indignation for the small boy at his side. Sharply he pulled the boy forward, hurrying them both past the pub before anyone saw them there.

Strangely, the righteous anger he had never felt towards his own aunt and uncle, and the various other adults responsible for his care up until the age of eleven filled him now. Harry felt it, not for himself, nor for his teacher, but for the small boy at his side.

“It's ok, we’re past it now,” he said as calmly and soothingly as he could. “No one will hurt you; no one saw us.”

Little Severus looked up at him, searching for truth. Apparently he found it, for he relaxed and stepped slightly away from Harry's side. Together they walked down that road and the next. It occurred to Harry that, though he had seen the park in Snape's memories, he did not know how to get to the park from Snape's house. He stopped and looked at the black hair.

“Do you know where the park is?”

The boy looked up at him, slight disbelief in his eyes. “Don't you?” he asked.

Harry shook his head, feeling foolish.

“Oh.” Snape's body seemed to deflate a bit and he stared ahead down the grainy road.

“But if you've been before, you know the way Sn - Severus” Harry pointed out.

“I haven't been,” the boy replied, “Uncle Longbottom” he added quickly. At Harry's shocked look his eyes dropped to the pavement again. “'m sorry” he muttered, dragging his shoe on the stone.

Harry felt slightly shocked as he looked down at the child holding his hand. Not been?! How could Snape not have been? It was where he met Lily. He had to have been by now surely! What was the point of him coming back here if he wasn't going to be able to meet his mum? What use was it meeting Snape if Snape couldn't even introduce him to Lily? Harry's disappointment flared into jealous anger. He glared down at the bowed head, selfishly hating him. The shoe scuffed the pavement again and Harry's anger faded. He remembered that this was not Snape in front of him; it was only a six-year-old boy whose childhood was horrible. His face softened. Well, then–maybe he, Harry, could make it better! He would take him to the park –they would ask someone the way–and then Lily would probably be there. Harry could see Lily and he could introduce Snape's childhood self to her, giving Severus a friend. Feeling happy now that he had sorted everything out, Harry wiggled the small hand he was holding.

“Never mind!” he said brightly. “We'll ask someone the way. Then you'll know it for the future.”

The change in Snape was instant. “Really? You don't mind, Uncle Longbottom?” he asked, craning his neck round to see right up into Harry's face. Harry was now looking round for someone to ask.

“Nope!” Harry replied, not really paying attention.

Snape perked up and skipped a bit on the spot. His uncle wasn't mad at him anymore and they were going to the park! He saw someone walk across the road ahead and vanish round the corner. “There! There Uncle Longbottom!” he yelled, dragging Harry along after him as he started running down the road to catch up with the man.

Harry ran with the boy. But once they had reached the corner the man Snape had seen had vanished. Instead Harry saw a woman across the street, and holding Snape's hand tightly, he quickly crossed over to ask her.

“Just down this road,” she answered pointing with one hand, the other weighed down with a sticky blond child, “then turn right and take the first street on the left. It has a large sign outside it with some graffiti on, but it's OK. My Alfie loves it.”

“Thank you.” Harry smiled and nodded at her, then began walking. Absentmindedly he stuffed his hands into his pockets, only to discover some resistance. Snape's hand. Of course. He smiled down at the boy, uncomfortable once more at the idea of holding his teacher’s hand. Snape beamed back. And the thought that this boy was his teacher blew away once more.

When they arrived at the park they found that someone had indeed graphitised the entrance sign. Snape looked up at it interestedly and Harry hastily pulled him through. There was a small, grassy area in the middle of the park, with an old set of swings in the middle of it. A girl and a boy were playing on them, the boy trying to stop his sister's swing so that he could get on. Harry found himself wincing as he looked at the boy's small fingers neatly placed within the swing's chain ropes. He held his breath as the heavy swing knocked forward into the small boy's chin, knocking him off balance. Snape tugged on his hand and the spell was broken as the other child picked himself back up and set again upon getting his sister out of the swing.

“There's some ducks Uncle Longbottom–can we go and see them? Please?” Snape, seeming to have lost some of his meekness, was trying to get Harry to follow him to some ducks next to a murky-looking pond.

“Yeah, all right.” Harry replied, looking around as they walked, hoping to spot a small, ginger-haired girl among the various parents and children sitting and standing round the park. But there was no one there that fitted that description. Once at the ducks, he feigned interest as Snape crouched down to look more closely at them.

“That's a mummy duck. ’Cos she's not as pretty as a man duck,” he told Harry. “They're all ducks,” he added, waving his hand extravagantly over the pond, including swans, a moorhen and a stray seagull in his definition. “They eat bread.” He glanced up at Harry. “Do you have any bread, Uncle Longbottom?” He asked hopefully.

“Uh, no.” Harry replied, feeling slightly fazed by the sudden flow of somewhat biased information. Snape instantly flushed and looked down again. Why?! Harry thought. Out loud he said, “What does a man duck look like?”

“Severus?” Snape blinked. “Are you OK?” Yes, he nodded, he was very OK. Then he remembered his uncle had asked him a question.

“'m sorry.” Snape flushed lightly. “I've forgotten what you asked me.” The last was almost whispered, but Snape stared at Harry's face the whole time he spoke and remained, his eyes locked on an area, Harry supposed, of his chin. Harry noted that his whole body had tensed up. He realised the signs of a small boy expecting punishment but unsure of what form it would take.

“That's OK,” he said kindly, “It doesn't matter. I just wanted to know what a man duck looked like.” He mentally erased 'if you knew' from the sentence.

Snape breathed a sigh of relief. “A man duck is prettier than a mummy duck. It has a shiny back.” He stood up and gazed round, trying to spot one. “Over there. See, Uncle Longbottom?”

“Uhumm, I see it.” Harry agreed standing up and stretching his legs. Snape's attention was caught by a woman and her daughter just next to them as they took out bread from a bag and started to throw it at the ducks at their feet. She looked up and smiled when she caught Snape's eyes.

“Do you want some too?” She asked.

Severus glanced up at Harry. “Are you sure? That would be great, thanks!” Harry reached out to accept the proffered bread then broke it and handed some to Snape who turned to throw it at the waterside. None of the ducks ate it because it landed in awkward places on the bank.

“Here,” Harry broke a small bit of bread off, “Hold out the bread to the ducks, and then when they come for it you can throw it just in front of them.” He demonstrated as one fat duck waddled up. “I think this is a greedy one, don't you?” he giggled with Severus as the small child joined in.

Snape held out a piece of bread to the duck. Before Harry knew what was happening, the duck prodded its head forward and nipped the bread out of the child's fingers. Severus gasped and held his fingers next to his chest, his eyes filling with tears.

“Shh, hey, it's OK.” Harry said gently, taking the small boy into his arms, bread still flopping about in one hand. “It’s OK Sev, I'm sorry–I didn’t know the duck would be so greedy, I should have told you it might do that. Did it hurt?”

With more warmth than before Harry took the proffered hand and turned to walk out of the park again. He grinned and reached down to brush breadcrumbs out of the child's hair. Severus smiled wetly up at him, his hand covered in saliva.

“Thank you.”

They walked back out of the park and turned to make their way back. Harry spotted a small café just over the road and dug his hand into his pocket in search of cash. He turned up a small number of wizard coins.

“Would you like a drink Sev? We could go and get a lemonade or something in that café.”

“Really? A real drink? Not pretend?” Severus asked, slight disbelief in his voice.

Harry smiled reassuringly and nodded. “A real drink. Anything you like.” Severus's face erupted in a wreath of smiles. And Harry felt something sing inside him. “And a cake too!” He added feeling suddenly flamboyant and fun. He could not remember the last time he had felt 'fun'. He surreptitiously tapped the handful of coins with his wand and watched them change into muggle money of the same value. A trick Hermione had taught him, after she had complained about having to take her parents into Gringotts and pay massive exchange fees. She had then spent some time in the library until she found the charm. They had found it particularly useful last year.

Severus decided he wanted a lemonade and a chocolate cake. He kept asking Harry if it was cheap, seeming unable yet to read and understand prices. “I don't want to be a greedy boy” he told Harry over and over again. Finally, though, Harry got him to make a choice, then ordered a lemonade and a muffin for himself. The somewhat elderly lady serving them thought Severus was incredibly sweet and told him she would give him an extra big piece because he was such an angel. Harry just thought it was rather sad.

When they sat down Severus waited, perched on the edge of his seat for Harry to start eating. Then he tentatively took a small bite of his cake.

“Is it good?” Harry asked encouragingly.

“Umm! ‘Ank oo!” Severus spewed out, his mouth still full of sticky chocolate. Harry grinned, trying not to be put off by the half-chewed food.

“Good.” This seemed to put Severus in the mind that he was fully allowed the cake and he dug into it with surprising speed.

“Sev, why did you ask if it would be a real drink?” Harry asked, thinking that he already knew the answer.

Severus shrugged and, still focused on his cake replied, “Mummy used to say I could have a drink sometimes but it was only ever pretend. She said I wasn't good enough or that she,” Severus screwed up his face, fork in the air dangerously near to his eye and recited, “wasn't going to waste good money buying me an expensive drink that I didn't need.”

Suddenly Harry wanted to buy the whole shop for the small boy across from him.

“It's not a waste,” Harry said sharply. Severus looked up at him. “You're worth every penny Severus Snape. Don't ever let anyone tell you different!” The words rung in the otherwise empty shop. Severus was staring across the table at him, his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide. Harry was caught in their gaze; long black tunnels leading to hidden depths. Harry was sucked in and swirled along. He remembered holding a man in his own time. Who had died in his arms, blood soaking into his robes. Leaving Harry with only his memories.

“No, I'm not, that's not me. I'm a bad boy.” Severus, flushing, had ducked his head. Harry swallowed, thinking of a similar small boy who had lived with an unloving aunt and uncle.

***

As they neared the house in Spinner's End, it was growing dusk. Through the net curtains, the orange light of a fire glowed. Eileen walked into the room and placed something on the sideboard. Harry felt strangely reluctant to return Snape into her care. Snape himself had grown quiet on the walk back home, and now stood silently at Harry's side. Harry sucked in a breath and pushed the lopsided gate open. With determined strides he walked towards the door.

He lifted a hand to knock, then brought it down. Quickly he crouched in front of Severus, turning the boy to face him. He grinned at the small face. “I have to go now Sev, but I'll come back and see you soon – OK?”

“You mean less than years, Uncle Longbottom?” The face was hopeful, but sad.

“Years? No–tonight!” Harry frowned, confused. Then his face relaxed into a grin again. “I'll be back after tea.”

The door opened and black skirts and tight laced boots filled the doorway. “Was he a nuisance, Mr Longbottom? I hope you behaved yourself Severus, this gentleman is very important.”

“No, no. Severus was great. We had a fun afternoon.” Harry straightened up. He ruffled Snape's hair. “Well, I'll see you later, Sev.”

“Thank you. Goodbye, Uncle Longbottom.” Snape stepped into the doorway, next to his mother, his pale face lit by the light filtering past Eileen.

Harry waved over his shoulder as he walked back down the path and opened the gate again. As he made his way down Spinner's End, he passed a man loudly saying his farewells at the pub. He turned the corner and began making his way back to the park where they had fed the ducks. He wanted to go back to see Snape again that evening. He saw another road which had several shops still lit and turned down it. The shop fronts were quite shabby, though their contents neat, and he assumed it to be the high street. As he passed one window, he saw a small teddy bear sitting in one corner. It was wearing a green ribbon round its neck and looked slightly forlorn. Two button eyes stared unseeingly down at the wooden window seat. A slight smile formed at the corners of his mouth and he pushed open the shop door. The tinkle of the bell brought a man out of the back of the shop.

“Yes sir? Can I help you?” He was slightly stooped, his greying hair in the style of a past era. His brown, weather - beaten face crinkled up at Harry as he placed work-worn, arthritic hands on the wooden counter top.

“Er, yes thanks. I'd like to buy the teddy with the green ribbon in the window. Please.”

“Certainly sir. A sweet bear that one. Been there for a while now it has sir. Though it's a very good make–seen others like it in the big shops in London. But it seems that dolls are more in demand at the moment. Ah, well. Times change, times change.” The man wrapped up the bear in stripy, crisp paper. “That'll be three and six, sir. Thank you very much. Hope your son likes it sir.”

“Thank you.” Harry took the bag and left the shop, not bothering to correct the older man.

He saw a small restaurant, walked in and sat down at a table. A girl came up to take his order, and as he ate he pondered what to do. The memory of his teacher lying dying in his arms kept presenting itself at the front of his mind, and he was finding it difficult to eat his meal. Harry realised that he had come to think of the small boy with whom he had spent the afternoon as Snape, and not as some other child. All right, perhaps he wasn't exactly ready to forgive his teacher for all that he had done–and he certainly wasn't about to think of the grown-up Snape with anything but awkwardness–but…

The image of the dying man, his face drained of colour, grasping at Harry's cloak, filled his mind once more. He swallowed and pushed his plate away, fighting the sudden nausea that filled his throat. Snape. Dying. Already dead. The small child, Severus, already dead. Before his time. Tears pricked Harry's eyes as desperation and sorrow swelled in a tidal wave inside his chest.

“Are you alrigh' sir?“ The girl, chewing her gum, had come to remove Harry's still half-full plate. “Do ya wan' some tea?”

“Um, no. I mean, yes and no. Could I have the bill, please?” The girl popped her gum and moved off, shooting a glance at Harry as she left. Harry scrubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve, then, when the girl returned, hastily pulled some muggle change out of his pocket and placed it next to the receipt on the table. Grabbing his bag, he left, turning back up the high street in the direction of Spinner's End. He would go and see Severus, give him the teddy bear, and try to find some way he could help the boy who would go through so much only to die later in his nemesis's arms, abandoned by everyone. The sudden remembrance that he had still to return from this time to the present and defeat Voldemort, by–he felt bile rise in his throat–dying himself shook him, and he redoubled his pace. He wanted to be somewhere familiar, even if it was the Snapes’ unwelcoming home.

As he neared the cluttered garden for the second time that day, Harry paused. Unsure, he simply waited, wondering if Severus would be able to help him get back. He felt very young, and wished Dumbledore had been around to contact for help. Resolutely he pushed these thoughts out of his mind as they threatened to swamp him. However he was to get back, he would no doubt find out in good time. And besides, the longer he stayed here, the more he could help Severus, and the longer he would be able to stay alive. Maybe he could even stay with Snape, teaching him and helping him to find happiness in life before he became so bitter later on. Maybe he could even change the future…

Harry walked down the path and knocked lightly on the door. After waiting a moment he cautiously pushed the door open and peered round it. He thought he could hear noises coming from a room down the hall. As he neared it, he heard a man's voice speak roughly to Severus. He turned the handle and pushed the door open. The first thing he saw was Severus, cowering in a corner, his knees drawn up to his chest his eyes wide with fear. He jumped out of his skin at the bellow which assailed his eardrums. A heavier built figure than the Snape Harry knew towered, crimson-faced, over a cowering Eileen just behind the door. A sharp tug jerked Harry off his feet, then he was falling backwards, tumbling down and down and down.

“Beozoar!” He yelled into the silver mist as the kitchen dissolved around him.

Snape's hand shook as he poured the blue potion from the small bejewelled bottle onto the cut. A hiss escaped him as the sapphire liquid made contact with the ravaged flesh.

Nagini had wanted feeding tonight and Voldemort had asked his most loyal death eaters to offer their own flesh as food. He had savagely removed his 'pound of flesh', as he mockingly called it, from Snape, Malfoy and Bellatrix, the latter of whom had moaned in ecstasy at the honour as her skin was ripped and cut from her body by his spell. Snape had been less than happy at the prospect. But he was a spy and, though his Lord was mad, at least by complying with his wishes you one was more or less assured security in his innermost lair. 

Still fuming at his Lord's idiocy, Snape turned and retraced his steps to the potions cabinet in his bathroom. For now he relished the anger. It helped him to rise above the drudgery and loneliness of each day, and gave him something to fight with. The potions cabinet revealed shelves full of small bottles - the main comprised of headache relievers and potions for reducing the after-effects of the cruiciatus curse and headache relievers. But tucked away on the left were several doses of a strong sleeping draught, a few purple bottles of anti-nausea syrup, two small golden bottles filled with the glistening good luck potion, and one very small bottle, hidden between two larger ones. It contained something so precious to Snape that every time he opened the cabinet he took it up and ran his fingers over it, checking it's seal and reassuring himself of it's presence and weight in the smoothness of it's mother-of-pearl container. It contained something which he most feared to take and yet which he knew he would at some point have to do. It would be possibly the biggest gamble of his life. Should his Lord smell the scent on his breath the gamble would be over.  

With a sigh he put the bottle back down on the shelf, sliding it back away from the edge. He shut the cabinet and turned to the bath. Bending, he turned the taps and slowly and straightened again, the knots and fresh wounds in his back flaming with pain. A grey and pain-twisted face appeared in the mirror before him, tired black eyes filled with lost hope staring into his own. A bubble of despair at the thought of always remaining like this, all alone, rose in him, and he savagely raised his fist and struck the mirror, it's glass shattering round his hand. The face vanished and numbly he sucked at the blood now dripping from his knuckles.  The noise of the water pouring into a now almost- full bath roused him and he shook himself irritably, trying to shake off the feeling. With relief he pushed the morose thoughts to the back of his mind as he turned to have a bath. At least here was something he could do that was ordinary and normal and nice and he could focus on that rather than on anything else... including the talk he would need to have, once he resurfaced, with Dumbledore's portrait.  

*** 

"Well, my boy, what did Lord Voldemort want this time?"  Snape flinched and frowned as he sank into the chair behind the desk.

"The same as always Headmaster. To talk. He has been on three more muggle raids since last Tuesday. Nagini wanted feeding. He wants to know where Potter is and he wanted to listen to Draco's retelling of the tale of Miss Brown's torture incident with the Slytherin death eaters." Dumbledore's portrait raised it's eyebrows.

"You sound very bitter Severus. Was that really all? Or did you know the muggles?" 

Snape glared at the desk wood and ground his teeth. To his horror he felt hot tears prick at his eyes. Dumbledore's portrait may have retained his intelligence and obsession with lemon drops (there was a small bowl painted in) but it had lost any tact the wizard had ever possessed. Also, though it had retained Dumbledore's caring attitude it had lost his sympathy and was developing a tendency to ask completely inappropriate questions. But the fact that someone - even if it was a portrait - had bothered to notice that all was not roses with him, and actually care enough to ask, struck a cord. He had not thought he would be bothered by living alone, a true spy, once he had - he swallowed - killed Dumbledore. But clearly he had been wrong. He waited until he trusted himself to speak. A rustling sound was followed by a slurping. He looked up, his eyes dry. "No Headmaster, I'm simply tired. It was a long meeting and I have had several classes and a detention to take care of today." The portrait nodded, then stuck another lemon drop in it's mouth.  

"You will need to start giving him a hint of where you think Harry might be found. Make sure he is not there, of course. But where he has just vacated perhaps." The lemon drop was moved to the other side of the mouth and crunched on. Snape watched, detached, as Dumbledore's face screwed itself up momentarily at the sourness. "You do not want him to think you are no longer useful - we will not get the information we need for the Order then."  

"No indeed." Snape said drily as he stood up, gathering various homework parchments together into a pile on his desk. "We would not want the Dark Lord to think I have outlived my usefulness."  

"Uhum. Why don't you get a bowl of lemon drops for your desk, Severus? I'm sure it would make Minerva so much more pleasant and relaxed when she comes to visit you for your meetings...in fact, all of the staff." 

Anger was so much nicer an outlet for frustration than crying, Snape reflected later as he sagged in an armchair, watching the last few shreds of parchment flutter to the floor. No doubt he would regret destroying the seventh years' potions assignments later when he had to regrade a new set, but for now he felt oddly satisfied. Ripping them into millions of pieces whilst screaming at the top of his voice had been really good. And besides, he justified, either the fools knew the information or they didn't - having to redo the work would only help those who hadn't yet studied enough. And those who had didn't need their work returned anyway. He stretched his legs out so that he was spread-eagled in the squishy chair - a leftover of Dumbledore's - and tipped his head back to gaze up at Dumbledore's enchanted ceiling. The stars glinted down at him, outlines of star clusters being drawn and labelled in tiny, spidery print before disappearing again. Merlin, but he was tired. So tired. His breathing evened out and deepened and he reflected that his eyes felt like someone had put sandpaper under his lids. He really needed to be in bed, but there was just so much to think about and plan. His students needed him to protect them. He should go and patrol the halls before bed... Snape's eyelids slid closed and he was asleep before he knew it.   

***    

A golden feather floated down, stroking Snape's cheek, and he jerked awake, instantly alert. His gaze snapped round the room, coming to rest on the phoenix feather laid on his robes. He snatched it up instantly and vaulted himself out of the chair heading for the door, wand drawn.  "Phileaus, report." He barked.  

"I believe three miscreants have been caught by the male Carrow outside the Room of Requirement, Headmaster," the portrait replied as it slid back into it's frame.  Snape acknowledged this with a curt nod of the head as the door swept shut behind him. Blood rushed in his ears as he paced through the corridors, slipping down side passages and behind tapestries to reach the Room of Requirement. He arrived, just in time to find Amycus Carrow pointing his wand at the tallest miscreant, whom he realised with a shock to be the Longbottom boy. Stowing his wand behind him he prayed that Longbottom would for once show some backbone, and was pleasantly surprised as he drew in front of the group to see the defiant look on the young man's face.  

"Professor Carrow? Three students out after curfew? How very disappointing," he drawled, his smooth velvety voice covering up for his shaking fingers which gripped his wand tightly behind him, out of view of the other death eater. One wrong word. He took a deep breath and cut across the other man's malicious retelling of events. "Well. We'll just have to show them how important their beauty sleep is to us. And how terribly dangerous," - his voice hovered over the word for a mere instant - "it is for them to be caught after curfew roaming the corridors of this ancient school."  

Carrow snickered and prodded his wand into Neville's chest, "Jus' what I was finking ‘eadmaster. I 'ave the equipment in my room." He gave a derisive snort. "Not that these muggle -lovers will last long under it though." He started to laugh, a horrible gurgling sound expanding into the silence.  

"No Professor Carrow. I don't believe that will be necessary." At the other man's startled look he inclined his head towards him. "There is no reason for you to trouble yourself. I believe I shall be able to come up with something suitably," he paused and the three students paled slightly, "fitting." He raised one eyebrow. "Come with me." And with that he turned and began to walk back down the corridor in the direction of Gryffindor tower. After a few paces he stopped and turned, his voice now icy with contempt. "Mr. Longbottom? Missess Weasley and Lovegood? Are you deaf as well as disobedient? I can assure you that should I need to enforce your obedience I shall do so."  He could feel rather than see the leer which crossed Carrow's ugly face. The three teenagers glared at him but nonetheless stepped forward to follow.  Snape continued in long unhesitating strides until he reached the portrait of the fat lady. Then he waited until he heard the footsteps of the teenagers pause close behind him. He swept round, his cloak billowing theatrically behind him. All three jumped. "So!" He hissed, "You think you are important enough to be out after hours? As foolish as your departed hero? You think you have the right to disobey me and the other staff of this school? Those who are put here to protect your worthless skins? How dare you!" Longbottom and the Weasley girl opened their mouths about to argue with him. "Silence!" In his anger he swept his wand arm in front of them, almost casting Silencio by accident. "Three hundred points from Gryffindor. You will all report to Professor Hagrid tomorrow evening immediately after dinner." He paused watching their faces for any reaction. Longbottom looked angry but the Weasley girl was clearly steaming. Miss Lovegood appeared perhaps slightly less 'absent' than normal, and he smirked inwardly. Perhaps someone would work something out from this. "I understand the Flesh-eating sregdabs are getting out of hand again." He smirked as their faces paled slightly.  "Do not let me catch you out after curfew again, or next time I might not be so lenient..."  He sneered at the fury that returned to Miss Weasley's eyes and swept past the trio back the way he had come.  

*** 

The next morning found the sixth and seventh years at the Gryffindor table in an extremely bad mood, and Snape was the happy recipient of more than one amateur death glares. "Seems the li'l lions aren't too 'appy wiv' you this morning Headmaster." Carrow leered behind Snape and clapped a hand on his shoulder. It took all Snape's resolve not to cringe away from the man.  

"Indeed Professor Carrow." Snape smiled thinly. "Perhaps it will make them think next time they choose to risk their necks." Carrow snorted and began piling bacon and sausages on his plate. Snape felt a not-so-amateur death glare boring into his left shoulder. He surreptitiously moved his coffee cup a few inches closer to himself - and further away from the head of Gryffindor. Draco's idea of bringing Lockhart's duelling club back to life would need to be quietly ignored, he decided - otherwise he might find himself compelled to answer a duel issued him by Minerva. And, though he had complete confidence in his own abilities, he did not possess quite the same measure of anger which continually seemed to fill his deputy.

A loud crash resounded followed by jingling and clanging. Harry groaned as his elbow protested loudly at colliding with whatever hard and unforgiving surface he had catapulted into. It was extremely dark and Harry found he couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. He bushed his finger over it and felt a sharp pain from the dull throb in his thumb. Gingerly he pulled a splinter of wood out from his thumb and let out a low hiss.

Then he froze as his ears picked up the sound of heavy and agitated footsteps somewhere outside his prison. Holding his breath he became aware that his backside was touching something hard, and his arm was resting against a cool, smooth piece of wood. At the sound of a door opening he tensed - and instantly felt that he was off-balance. He could also feel a massive sneeze coming on.

"Severus!" the voice was a hushed shout. "What are you doing? Your mother's trying to sleep." Harry's eyes widened in the dark. He was still back in the past? With Snape?

He realised he had missed whatever reply Snape had made as the man's voice filtered through the wooden walls to him again. "Honestly Severus, there's nothing there. Monsters do not exist."

"Yes, they do!" A small voice piped up. It held just the edge of a miserable whine.

"No. They don't Severus. We've been through this before. There is no monster in your wardrobe. There is no monster under your bed either." Harry grinned, imagining a tiny Snape pointing over the side of his bed. "Now go back to sleep. Your mother isn't well and she's very tired. So am I. You must be exhausted - it's past midnight!"

"I'm not tired! I won't go back to sleep. Why can't Mummy come and see me?"

"Because she's not well. She needs her sleep. And you are tired; I can see the bags under your eyes."

"No! She's always tired. When is she going to get better?" Snape whined, the sound of eminent tears leaking through into the plaintive voice.

"Soon. Now go back to sleep Severus."

A few moments later Harry heard the door click shut and the footsteps fade away into the house.

He waited a moment more then carefully pushed the door open. It swung silently into the room. He grinned at the small lump under the bed clothes. Putting out a hand he let it hover just millimetres above the lump. Then he frowned and gently sat on the bed.

"Severus? You alright? It's me, Ha- uh, I mean 'Uncle Longbottom'." There was no sound from under the blankets other than heavy breathing which sounded like someone was very hot and running out of air. Harry reached forward and gently tugged the covers back. A small boy, much smaller than he remembered, was lying on his back his eyes squeezed tightly shut, sweaty hair glued to his forehead and his red pyjama top with spaceships stuck damply to his chest.

"Oh." Harry breathed. He sat for a moment unsure of what to do. Finally he coughed. Severus jerked and his eyes flew open to stare in terror at the man above him. Then he relaxed. "Who are you?"

"Um." Harry was puzzled at the sudden change in the atmosphere. "I'm your Uncle."

The boy frowned. "I don't have one." He grew suddenly fearful again. "Are you a monster in disguise?"

Harry choked back a laugh. "No! Are you?" He grinned at the tiny potions master.

"Yes!" Severus bounced upwards onto his knees, toppling forward into Harry who caught him slightly clumsily. "I'm the meanest, gignormouses T-rex in the whole world." He flung his arms wide and Harry quickly slid his arms round the small boy, holding him up in a sitting position as the Severus leaned precariously backwards. "In the whole Space!" Severus added as an afterthought.

"Really?!" Harry feigned astonishment. He had never realised little kids were so much fun. Dumbledore should have brought them in as stress relievers during the exams, he thought trying not to laugh.

"Yes!" Severus rocked forward suddenly, pressing a fat finger onto Harry's lips. "But you mustn’t tell. It's a secret." He pushed his finger through Harry's lips into his mouth, fascinated by his teeth. "Are they yours? Gran'pa has some but they in a glass of water. He says they're only pretending an' they don't have any gold like Daddy's. Do you have gold in your teef?"

Harry tried to move away but quickly realised he had to grab the marauding finger to get it out of his mouth. He gripped the small hand in his own. "Yes they're mine." He muttered, sliding his tongue round his mouth to get rid of the feel of the child's finger. "And no, they don't have any gold."

"Why?"

"Err, because... Because.... Because I'm a wizard and I'm only eighteen so I don't need any yet." And hopefully never he thought darkly.

The dark eyes had widened into small glowing orbs in the round face. "A wizard! You mean you can do magic?"

Harry felt confused. Didn't Severus have magical parents? Didn't he know he was a wizard? "Uh, yes. But not here or people will know I'm around."

"Oh." Severus' face fell. "Not any?"

Harry winced. How had such a cute adorable puppy-dog type child grown into the snarky dungeon bat? "Err..." He remembered the teddy he had bought the boy, supposedly in Snape's future he guessed. "Maybe just a very little bit." He watched the boy's face light up and smiled. "Shut your eyes."

Snape immediately squeezed them tight shut and clamped his hands over them, pressing his palms down as hard as he could. "Tight shut." Harry warned, turning to reach into the bag he'd put behind him on the bed. "Ah!" he chided as he caught Snape lifting a palm for a sneak peek, "No looking."

"I'm not looking!" Severus retorted happily. "All I can see is black."

Harry grinned and wiggled the bear in front of Snape's face, causing the boy to rub noses with the small, fluffy teddy. There was a delighted squeal and Snape grabbed the bear with both arms, scrunching it into his face. "Thank you, thank you, thank you Uncle Longbottom!!" He squealed.

But his cries fell only into the empty room, Harry had vanished once again and the small boy was left staring in wonder and dismay at a handful of sparkling silver pixie dust which settled silently onto his duvet.

Tonight his godson was sitting quietly in his office. Obviously a day which had depressed him somewhat, Snape mused as he discreetly scrutinised Malfoy from Dumbledore's desk where he sat answering parent’s letters. It would happen like this; most nights Draco would be arrogant and often spiteful, strutting around Snape's quarters as though he owned both them and Snape himself. Snape would cringe inwardly and attempt to ignore the more subtle threats and hints against his character and loyalty to the Dark Lord while using indifference as an answering tactic to the more obvious slants which the boy threw towards him.

Occasionally he would wonder how much Draco really knew and how much he suspected. If he was really suspicious as to which side of the card his godfather's face looked out from or if he was merely trying to assert his own manhood and feeling of self-power by belittling Snape's own authority.

But then, other nights, such as tonight Snape would spend the evening watching his withdrawn charge look like the young boy he really was. Confused and scared of the world and the hatred which filled his small portion of it. For, on nights such as these Snape truly believed that Draco admitted to himself that he had taken a wrong turn and had signed his life to something which now entrapped him, suffocating his joy and drowning him in its madness.

On nights such as these he felt hope.

Hope that the world was mad and that Draco would one day walk free from the insanity before it consumed his soul. As it had done his. 

Snape scratched out a student’s idea of what made a safe and effective potion to heal magical burns and told them that they should try reading a textbook before they left school. The next paper proved little better. They had at least managed to assemble a rough idea of the correct ingredients however, Snape mused. He thought for a moment and then flicked the paper back over to see the name of the author.  'Luna Lovegood'. Snape narrowed his eyes before thoughtfully scribbling in red ink across the entirety of her methodology and writing that he would have 'thought someone who had managed to attain a place in their 6th year at Hogwarts should have been able to concoct even the simplest of potions that Brunei had described as to the healing of burns.'  He hoped the girl would take the hint to find the book in the library and that no-one else would see the suggestion for what it was.

There was a movement by the fireplace and Snape glanced up to see Draco had shifted to lie across the chair arms and was scowling into the fire. Snape frowned. If Draco had been facing him (and he hadn’t trained him so well in the art of occlumency) he might have tried finding out what was going through his godson’s mind. As it was...

"Problem Draco?" he asked his voice silky with indifference. But just at the right level to suggest he did care about the boy's wellbeing. He knew he would expect nothing less.

"Not that you would care!" Draco snarled back. Then flushed slightly and shifted in his chair. Snape raised one eyebrow. "Uh- I didn't mean it like that. I- I meant that, um, it isn't really any of your business." Snape pursed his lips and leaned back slightly in the headmaster's chair. Draco must really be bothered by something tonight - it wasn't like the boy to be so inarticulate.

"I would still care, Draco." Snape said his voice surprisingly gentle. Draco looked round in surprise. Then he turned back to the fire.

"I know." He muttered, slouching down in the chair. "But, like I said, it's not your business."

Snape's lips thinned then. There had been a time, when Draco had been younger that the boy would have confided in him with anything. Especially that which he felt unable to talk about with his father. But ever since Lucius' arrest, Draco had spoken less and less to his teacher, preferring his own counsel and the listening ears and silent mouths of his two bodyguards.

And though Draco had initially allowed Snape to see his grief and terror after Dumbledore's death last summer, he was now more of a closed book than ever before. Snape did not know if Draco was worried about his allegiance to the Dark Lord, or if the Dark Lord had produced another task for the young Malfoy to prove himself. He hoped not. He had not heard of any such plans and if there were any then it did not bode well for him as it could only mean one thing: he was falling out of favour with the Dark Lord. And if that happened... Snape suppressed a shudder. The order needed any information he could silently feed them, whether they would accept it or not. And Dumbledore had tasked him with a message to deliver to the Potter brat, which, if the Dark Lord chose to reject him, would mean almost certainly that he would fail.

As things stood now, even with the potions he had made and his position in the school and inner circle, he did not fancy his chances against his Lord. Since he had killed Dumbledore he had found it harder and harder to maintain his occlumency shields and focus. He needed the Dark Lord's complete trust to avoid a true invasion and investigation of his mind.

Time to change the subject.

"Draco, what happened today between Mr Nott and Mr Longbottom?"

"Huh?" Draco craned his head round to look at Snape. "Oh, nothing much I don't think Severus, just the usual stuff."

"Mr Nott tried to curse Mr Longbottom did he not?"

"Hmm... Quite possibly.  Would have served Longbottom right if Nott had managed to hit him." Draco smirked and Snape winced inwardly. He did not think that even James Potter would have tried the same curse. Of course, Black might have, he mused. He was sure his brother Regulus would have heard of it.

"Mr Nott should have been more careful." He snapped. "Had it hit Mr Longbottom his grandmother would have been able to file for expulsion."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Severus - you're being over dramatic. Whose side are you on anyway?" Snape froze, before narrowing his eyes to slits. He opened his mouth to berate the boy's cheek when, "Gryffindor's or ours?"

Snape allowed himself to smirk. "Ours, naturally Draco. But the school governors are unfortunately terribly unbiased in that respect." A pause. "And I must at least play the part of Headmaster of a, even if my rules would be quite different. At least for the moment." He let the last sentence hang in the air as a suggestion of future times. Anything really that Draco cared to imagine. It would not do, after all, to be too specific in his morals.

The boy smirked lazily back at him from under his platinum blonde fringe. He looked like a cat with the cream. And Snape relaxed in that gaze, allowing the mantle of Death Eater and loyal follower of the Dark Lord to fall over him completely that night.

Severus lay under the covers, his arms pining down the edges of the duvet, the curtains of his four poster taped shut with defensive spells. His breathing was ragged in the close darkness and his breath was rapidly heating the small air tent around his face. Someone sat on his bed and he jumped and shook, almost scared enough to wet himself. Terrified he held his breath as he sensed something move over him then rest on the blanket just above his head. He screamed and found himself staring into the face of a man with green eyes and glasses.

Harry stared down in shock at Severus' sweaty and terror filled face, pale on the pillow. He looked almost grey.

"Severus? It's alright, it's just me. Remember me? I'm your, er, Uncle. Guess you maybe haven’t seen me for a few years though right? I'm sorry about that, but I can explain. Sorry about barging in like this as well." he turned and gestured round the dark confines of the small four poster. "I hope you don't mind?" He looked down at Severus and ran a hand through his own hair, giving the younger teenager a crooked grin.

To his chagrin the other boy responded by bursting into tears. He stuffed a hand into his mouth and curled the other round his chest, trying to comfort himself and muffle the noise. Sobs wrenched themselves into the darkness, the wretched boy pleading to Harry. After a few moments while Harry just sat, stunned on the side of the bed, he suddenly moved, leaning over and gathering Severus up into his arms.

"Shh. Shh. It's alright Severus, it's alright now. I'm here. Uncle Harry's here. I'm not leaving. Shh, shh, it’s alright." He sat, cradling Severus' head in his shoulder, his hand stroking the black greasy hair. Gently he began to rock them both back and forward.

Severus wept silently, his tears soaking into the rough fabric of Harry's jumper. He had thought it was James Potter when the blankets had been pulled back from his face. And the shock had jerked his tears free. Now he leant, confused against this man. Vague half memories entered his mind from his childhood. Shapes of a room and a person in it, also when he was in bed. Awkwardly he moved his arm away to the side and sneaked it under the covers to close his fingers over a worn and thin grey paw and gently tugged a small toy bear out from under the duvet. He shifted, looking down at it, and felt the man do the same. A hand, not much bigger than his own, covered his.

"I gave you that. When you were about two." The man - his Uncle? - said gently.  Severus smoothed his fingers over the silky paw, swallowing against the lump in his throat. "You hadn't heard of magic then. Not to believe in it anyway."

Severus said nothing, just blinked and breathed and looked at the bruised knuckles and thin fingers of the man's hand.

"You thought I'd conjured it I think." The man sounded slightly nervous now, Severus thought. And slightly amused.  "Do you remember?"

Severus cleared his throat, a rough noise in the darkness. "Not really. A bit maybe. Mostly shapes and colours."

Harry nodded and leant back slightly, his fingers still gently carding through Severus' hair as he pulled his head forward with him. There was quiet for a while, broken only by the night-time sounds filtering in from the room and the open windows of the slytherin dormitory through Severus' thick green curtains.

"You came when I was eleven too, didn't you?"

Harry started then, his fingers slipping slightly and catching in Severus' hair. "Um, I don't know. What did I, er, we do?"

Severus frowned and lifted his face up then, his eyes meeting the green ones of his Uncle. "You took me to the park. For a picnic. Remember? Lily was there on the swings. You told me to introduce myself. And I- I wouldn't so we went to the cinema." A slight flush suffused his cheeks.

Harry couldn't help it; a teasing grin lifted the corners of his mouth. "That's not the case now though, is it?"

"Uh, no." Severus smiled an embarrassed grin, ducking his head to fiddle with the teddy.

Harry pulled Severus close again, lightly kissing the top of his head.

"What did we see?" Harry asked, "At the cinema?" He wondered what films had come out twenty years ago.

"You don't remember that either?" Snape sounded slightly sceptical.

"I remember taking you out for a chocolate cake when you were younger."

"No, we had ice cream. In those little tubs. Maybe it was another boy - are you sure you're my Uncle?"

"Yes. Quite sure, but you were younger when we had cake. Maybe you don't remember it - we went to a café near the park. You said it was the first time you'd had cake out."

"It was the first time I'd been to the cinema too, but I remember that. But not the other time. How come you can't remember when we went to the cinema? You were older than me so your memory should be better."

"Well, you were only like, six or - or seven maybe when I met you first."

"I thought you said you'd given me Te- the bear." Snape amended hastily, his voice accusing. "I've had him ever since I can remember."

"It's complicated Severus." Harry said after a moment or two. At Snape's sullen glare he added apologetically, "I'm afraid I don't really understand it myself. But I am real, and I am here now. Does that count for anything?"

Snape didn't say anything for a long while but then he slowly nodded against Harry's chest, his fingers tightening slightly on Harry's arms. Harry breathed out a breath he had not realised he'd been holding.  Gently he carded his fingers through Severus' hair, feeling the rhythmic breathing of their two bodies coming quietly into the same pattern.

"So, why are you so wound up tonight? What's happened?"

Severus froze and suddenly Harry felt a cold dread grip his chest. He knew with absolute certainty that he did not want to know the answer. He held his breath, waiting in the silence for Severus to speak.

"They - Potter and - no, Black- told me to - to go -" Severus sucked in a deep shuddering breath.

"Shh, shh Severus, it's alright." Harry squeezed his arms tighter around the younger teenager.  Strangely he felt his heart breaking with sorrow at Snape's plight.

"Lupin's a werewolf." A strangled sob broke from Severus throat, muffled against Harry's chest.

Harry swallowed round a painful lump in his own throat, blinking to clear his eyes of sudden moisture. "You're safe here Severus. I promise." What did he promise? Safety? Here?! Harry pondered. In the darkness he saw the rest of Severus' life play out; made up of Snape's memories and what he had seen in the pensieve, his school years and Dumbledore's comments. It did not look like a nice, safe life down his binoculars. His godfather's comments came into his mind and he winced, unconsciously holding Severus tighter against his chest again.

"It will be alright Severus." Harry lied.

"Black told me to go and see. He wanted me to get caught by the werewolf." Severus whispered. "And I -, I went." The last was swallowed by another sob. "I thought I was going to die when I saw him in the tunnel."

Harry just nodded numbly.

"Then- then Potter was there, and I don't know what happened but-" another breath, "next thing I can remember we were outside near the willow." Severus chuckled, the sound low and derisive, and it carried just a hint of hysteria. "I think I threw up on his shoes."

Harry felt strange then. A mixture of humour at the idea of Snape throwing up on his Dad, coupled with satisfaction that James had had some form of just punishment for his own crimes of humiliation. Also annoyance that Snape had thrown up on his Dad! But also anger that his father and godfather -especially his father - had done such a thing. Ever since he had seen inside of Snape's pensive he had felt bad about what his father had been like; embarrassed and guilty.

But now, though he had been told about the werewolf incident before, he felt truly angry. Harry realised that he hadn't considered that his teacher had practically died that night. Or become a werewolf - dangerous and outcast. And it was all because of a stupid prank by Sirius. The man he had trusted with his own life. The man he had looked up to. Harry felt sick and bitter.

"Good." He heard himself say. 

Sometime later Severus fell asleep and Harry eased him back onto the pillows. Then he stood. It was time his father and Sirius learnt a lesson. Quietly he slipped from the room and crept down the stairs. Slughorn was asleep in a large squashy green armchair in the slytherin common room, an open book on his chest rising and falling as he snored. Harry's lips thinned into a tight line. Clearly ‘constant vigilance’ didn't affect the Slytherin head of house. Not even after one of his students had been almost killed that night.

Then again... He remembered the first time he had met the professor. Blushing slightly he waited in the low firelight, and only continued towards the corridor when he was certain Slughorn was really asleep.

Out in the cold corridor the dungeon lights glowed dimly from the walls as Dumbledore watched the young man stride through them, heading in the direction of Gryffindor tower.  He pursed his lips and reached up a hand to stroke Fawkes with, while the other slid towards the bowl of lemon sherbets on the arm of his chair. He was very interested in this man he decided. This man, who, against all rational rules of 'Hogwarts a History' had, nonetheless, suddenly and without any prior warning appeared on a bed in the Slytherin dormitory. He did not think it could be pure chance either as to which bed this man had settled on as he'd then stayed there, pretty much unmoving for the best part of an hour. As headmaster of the castle Dumbledore was given certain tools - ones which, he knew, gave pause to both staff and students as to his ability to know all things. A somewhat fake omniscience but, nonetheless, useful. Unfortunately, though the castle was wont to inform him of all happenings unexpected and he could ask to view areas containing students at any time, the picture delivered was somewhat less than perfect such that it consisted more of a puppet shadow theatre show rather than real life television. And the sound was not taken up to him. He had to rely on pictures and ghosts for transmission of important information. Unfortunately, those in Slytherin were currently not talking to him and Phineas Nigellus was in the huff too.

He realised the young man was standing in front of the fat lady's portrait, apparently trying to get into the tower. To his amazement the scene moved inside the common room and he started forward in his seat causing Fawkes to emit an indignant chirp as he lost his balance and flew sulkily off to another perch in the office. The man was actually climbing the stairs to the boys’ dormitories now! Dumbledore reflexively put his hand on his wand. He could be down there in less than it would take Fawkes to fly if needed. He watched as the man entered the dorm. Then, without apparently doing anything, he vanished. Dumbledore leapt up with a cry of alarm but when he reached the Gryffindor dormitory there was no one there other than the four boys who usually slept there.

To his annoyance Horace Slughorn was unable to shed any further light on the matter having fallen asleep sometime around four in the morning, while Severus Snape flatly refused to answer his questions. Instead Dumbledore took to brooding over the identity of the young man, the age of whom he wouldn't have put at any greater than twenty, though likely older than Severus himself.

It wouldn't be until James Potter proposed to Lily Evans some five years later that Dumbledore would begin to feel some small satisfaction as to the stranger’s identity, though it would take another sixteen for him to be certain of his choice.

The carpet Harry landed on this time was soft and warm; the room dark other than from the glow of a fire round the corner of the desk Harry had rolled behind as he entered. His last trip, after vanishing from the Gryffindor dorms had been the time Severus had spoken about. Harry had gone out of his way to do what Snape remembered, trying to make the trip as special as possible. It turned out that 'Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory' had come out in 1971 and the cinema had been filled with children.

Harry had been slightly disappointed that Snape still hadn't wanted to talk to Lily, even though he'd asked him several times during their picnic. And he thought that Snape had probably already been playing with Lily and Aunt Petunia in the park before, but in the end he had dropped the subject feeling uncomfortable with the thought of pushing the man.

As he looked round he realised that he was back in Dumbledore's office. He made to stand when two things happened at once. The door opened in a rush of cold air and Harry realised that Dumbledore's portrait was already sleeping peacefully behind the desk he was still hidden behind. Awkwardly he crawled into the small hole below the desk pushing himself as flat as he could against the wood at the back. To his surprise he felt the wood melt around him, and shrank further in, holding his breath as Snape's robes appeared around the front of the desk and he sat with a whoosh into the great chair there.

Harry realised Snape was talking to Dumbledore's portrait. It sounded like Dumbledore was sucking on lemon sherberts again he thought with a grin, having to hastily stuff his hand in his mouth to stop the laugh that almost escaped at the memories. He blinked in surprise at some of the conversation - he hadn't considered that Snape might have been dropping hints about where he was to Voldemort, creating a false trail the whole time. He realised with shock that perhaps the three of them had been even less secret than he had thought, even after finding out that Snape had put the sword of Gryffindor in the frozen pond.

Harry jumped and froze as a loud bang suddenly echoed throughout the office. Small bits of glass and dust went flying past the desk opening. Seconds later Harry heard Snape slash his wand through the air again and set of books went crashing to the floor near the desk out of site, causing Harry to jump again. A cold sweat trickled down his spine in the silence that followed.

Then...

Crash! Bang! Wheeee!

Pieces of paper, more glass, some metal ornaments, and an ancient jar of lemon sherberts began flying round the room coming to land in various thuds and splats on the carpet. Finally some feathers floated down - Harry had missed the Pouf! Pouf! Pouf! as Snape had blasted the cushions apart in the other noise.

Slowly Harry let out a measured breath. He heard Snape snort and then fling himself into one of the remaining armchairs. Really, Harry though, it was amazing how resilient Dumbledore's office was, considering he had done a similar thing to it only the year before.

He jerked as a snore filled the room. Then another and another. He had to stuff his hand in his mouth once more as the relieved tension gave way to giggles. But it was too funny!

Gaining a small modicum of self-control Harry cautiously wriggled free from the desk and out from under it. Gingerly he pushed himself up and quickly focused on the rooms other occupant. Headmaster Snape was stretched out in a chair next to the fire, his head laid back and his mouth wide open. Loud, cartoon like snores erupted from its depths every few minutes and Harry felt his self-control slipping. Forcing himself to calm down he silently surveyed the mess around them both, feeling a mixture of shock and sympathy towards the man in the chair. Lastly his eyes came to rest on the portrait of Dumbledore.

The old man twinkled down at him, fingers reaching absentmindedly for another sherbet. Harry gaped. This only served to make Dumbledore's eyes crinkle up even more. "I knew it was you." He said, "Knew from the moment James asked Lily to marry him."

Harry stared non-plussed. "But I couldn't be certain," Dumbledore went on, "Not till I saw you as you look now - when you were about 16 I suppose. To think you walked right past Horace and he never as much as noticed you!" Dumbledore chuckled to himself, while Harry tried to rapidly process this new information about the man he thought he had known.

"Of course, I couldn't know what you were doing there," he went on, "But I can guess now. You will take care of him for me, won't you Harry?"

Harry managed to mumble some sort of affirmative. All he could think of was the painful reminder that in less than a few months this man would be dead - he wouldn't have a chance to look after him at all, he'd already failed Dumbledore before the older man had even asked.

"There is a way Harry." Dumbledore said sharply. "The beozoar you mentioned to him - he's been obsessed with it his lifelong, even used it for Remus' werewolf tonic. I believe he has a potent bottle of the potion used to cure Arthur Weasley's poisoning. I think it must be in the bathroom here if it's not on his person - it's the only place I can't see into!"

Harry flushed then paled at the thought of Dumbledore being able to see everywhere else and thanked whatever architects designed the castle that they had excluded the bathrooms!

He realised with dismay that his hands were beginning to fade. "Professor, how does this work? What's happening?" he asked urgently, not caring that his voice might wake the sleeping Headmaster to his left.

"A simple time portal Harry, with a difference." Dumbledore twinkled at him as he vanished from view, Harry spinning once more across darkness and stars. 

Harry arrived back on the red carpet of Dumbledore's office only moments later, though on his feet this time. The bowl filled with Snape's memories rested quietly on the table in front of him. The small silver instruments on the desk had stopped spinning, no longer chiming quietly in the office.

Suddenly Voldemort's voice boomed into the silence. Harry remembered Snape's last memory which seemed years ago now. The instructions from Dumbledore for Harry to die if the war was to be won. He felt spilt in two. He had to go to Voldemort before the time ran out and Ron and Hermione and everyone else were killed… but now he also wanted to run back to the shack, to check to see if Snape was still alive.

Harry dithered, torn in indecision and panicking as the time slipped by. With a grunt of frustration he threw himself towards the only door leaving Dumbledore's office through which he'd never passed. Moments later he found Snape's bathroom and looked wildly round for anything which could be the antidote Dumbledore had spoken of. He wrenched the medicine cabinet door open, shoogling the bottles within making his heart leap in his throat. In desperation he stared wildly at the miriad of potions within, not knowing which one to pick.

Without thinking he pointed his wand.

"Accio Nagini antidote!" he yelled. Bottles blasted off the shelf and a tiny bottle at the back whizzed forward. Seeker reflexes kicking in he caught it just before it hit him.

Turning, Harry raced from the bathroom, through the bedroom and out through the office. His eyes scanning the corridors for help he skidded round a corner and down the steps.

"Luna!" he gasped, seeing the girl calmly levitating a dead giant out of an upstairs window. She turned and blinked at him.

"Harry. I thought it would be you." She smiled and dropped the giant out of the castle. "You look older. Are you going to Voldemort?" There was a dull thud and the windows shook as the giant hit the ground outside.

"Yeah, listen Luna, could you do me a favour?"

Luna smiled and blinked at him again. "Of course Harry. The nargalls say he's still alive."

"Right, yeah, I need- they what?"

"He's still alive Harry." Luna repeated. "Snape." she added as Harry stared gormless at her. "That's who you want me to go to isn't it?"

"Yeah…" said Harry, slightly uncertainly. He shook himself. "Luna. I have to go to Voldemort. I…" he hesitated, then changed his mind. "I need you to go to Snape straight away - he's in the shrieking shack. Give him this will you?"

Luna nodded, holding out her hand for the vial.

"He's innocent." Harry said firmly, locking eyes with the other girl. He didn't let go of the bottle. Luna gave a slight tug.

"I know Harry." she smiled. "You need to go."

"Yeah." Harry wavered uncertain, miserable suddenly at what he now had to do.

"It will be ok Harry." Luna patted him on the arm.

"Right." Harry swallowed and smiled weakly back. Then Luna walked past him and turned towards the staircase for the grounds.

Harry gritted his teeth and grabbed his wand tightly. Setting his jaw he turned towards the stairs leading to the castle entrance. Voldemort's voice boomed out, mocking him and the rest of the army. Angry and determined now he marched  out towards the front doors. Spotting Neville he told him about Nagini then walked out into the gathering dusk to meet his death.