"It’s been seven years, Severus."

Albus Dumbledore watched as his son's trademark sneer slid into place. "Really?" he heard him say. "I really didn't know." Seemingly endless pits of obsidian met his own blue eyes. "Its not like you haven't reminded me every few days for the last month."

The older man gazed at his former student over his steepled fingertips. He must be delusional. Or senile, as one pertinent Ravenclaw had had the gall to proclaim to the Great Hall the day before the leaving feast. He couldn't remember just what had caused the outburst, or what happened afterwards, but he was far too busy a man to bother himself with the minute details of something that occurred a whole two days ago.

But today he considered giving that opinion due consideration. For he was sure that he never once remembered bringing up these events to anyone this past month, but most surely not to Severus. As a matter of fact, he was willing to bet his entire Limited Edition Lime and Citrus Flavored Lemon Drop Collection that Severus had stalked into his office unannounced at eight o'clock every evening after dinner, and at two o'clock on the weekends, darkly announcing that it had been seven years, seven years, before collapsing into a chair and remaining silent till Albus himself deemed it necessary to break the silence.

He closed his eyes briefly, by sheer will power alone managing not to sigh aloud. He returned his gaze to the man shrouded in black before him. The normally erect form of the Potions Professor sat slightly hunched in his favorite squashy armchair, face hidden behind the curtain of thin silky hair Albus had never been able to convince him to bind out of his face. It was not lost on him that he was the only person on earth that saw this side of Severus. It was, in fact, a part of the present problem. The young man would simply not admit to anyone that he cared, even after all this time. Not even himself.

"Do you truly still need time, child?" he asked of the younger man softly.

"I am not a child," was the curt but muffled reply.

"Perhaps not," chuckled the elder professor. "Nevertheless....?"

There was a pause. Fawkes shuffled nervously on his perch beside the door. Then, "It has not become easier."

He felt a sad smile pull at the corner of his lips. "I did not expect to, my boy. Not for you."

Severus gave a jerky nod of the head, to show he had heard. "She was my friend."

He inclined his head, though Severus could not see it. "I know, child. Your best friend."

He expected the sharp bark of laughter that usually accompanied these words. The half strangled sob that followed spurred him from behind his desk to the seat next to the man he had taken as his son many long years ago.

"She was my friend Albus. The only one I had. The adjective is completely redundant." One ragged breath. Two. Albus did not touch him. The armchair the former Slytherin possessed had been turned into a couch, with himself sitting close enough to be in easy reach if necessary. Another shaky breath, and Severus sobbed.

Albus Dumbledore, who had not held the child he considered his own since the night the adoption was finalized, felt a small smile spread tug at his lips, despite the anguish of the situation. Severus' tears usually meant that he was at the end of his rope. They usually cleared the way for acceptance, something the barren landscape that was his emotional being scarcely ever saw. He felt tears of his own run down his weathered cheeks. Ah, the ramifications! Would Severus finally open up to the others on staff here at the castle? Would he finally venture off of the heavily warded grounds? Maybe, given some time, he would develop another friendship. Maybe even more than one. Whatever the young man thought of himself, Albus knew that he had the potential to be a very true friend. And he would be, eventually. Albus knew, because finally, after seven years, the man was letting himself heal.

It was some time before the raking sobs became hitching breaths, and Severus dared show his prominent nose to the world of Albus' office again. To their credit, every portrait adorning the walls were convincingly appearing to be asleep, though Albus was not sure that was because they actually were, courtesy of a spell by his son, or if they were trying to display an act of post-mortem discretion previously unheard of in his capacity as Headmaster. Severus shifted, and he drew the younger man to him, relieved that he didn't immediately try to pull away. He was further pleasantly surprised when said young man's head found his shoulder, and he braced himself against the arm of the chair to better bear the full weight of his son.

They sat in silence for a moment, Albus carefully drawing tear-slicked silken strands away from their owner's face, silently reflecting, again, on how much of a difference it would have made if he'd adopted Severus sooner. But, he considered, with a gentle tug at a particularly stubborn strand of hair, he had not known a reason to, and there was nothing he could do now. With a decisive gesture, he tucked said strand behind Severus' ear, and pushed that train of thought from his mind.

"I hear her laugh," was the statement that brought him crashing back to the present, from amid memories of confiscated chocolate and potions experiments.

"Lily?"

He felt the young man draw a breath. "Yes. Sometimes. When I'm marking essays for class, or reading the drivel some idiot saw fit to print in my potions journals, and I find something especially inane, I can hear her laugh. Like she used to when she thought I was being too harsh, or taking something too seriously. And she still scolds me, like she used to, when I write a particularly nasty comment on my student's essays. I hear her say, clear as crystal, Father, 'Severus! That's a child!'" he mimicked in a high pitched voice, "like I'm hurting the little cretins," he finished darkly.

Albus could not suppress a chuckle as he ran his hand through the dark strands attached to the head on his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad someone else is taking you to task for your rather acidic brand of suggestions, even if you refuse to listen to any of us."

Severus smiled. "To do otherwise would ruin my reputation."

"I see," he acknowledged pleasantly.

"Also," Severus announced, still smiling, "I do believe your students would all jump to the ridiculous assumption that you'd finally had enough and hit me with an Imperio, and Merlin knows we don't need to give them another reason to love you unconditionally, furry blue socks and all."

Albus chuckled. "You make a valid point, my boy. However, I seem to recall having to suggest to a rather large number of Ravenclaws and Gryffindors that charming their even larger amount of love letters to serenade you during breakfast was not the best way to display their undying affection."

Severus looked up, and Albus caught the phrase "damn twinkling old fool" before the younger man's shields were firmly up once more. Nor did he think it was an accident. "How many chocolate frogs will I have to buy for you to pretend to forget that incident ever happened, old man?"

He smiled fondly at him. "There will never be enough."

Severus sat up and crossed to the other end of the sofa, grumbling under his breath. Albus watched him cross his arms and saw the familiar mask of stoic attention slide back into place. He was rather relieved to see it, even if he half wished it would disappear forever. But the effect was slightly undone by his son's puffy, red eyes and blotchy complexion. He was considering the best way to bring this to the man's attention when he spoke.

"Do you still have the letter?" Severus asked, studying the intricate pattern carved into Albus' desk. "I think I can read it now."

"Indeed." The elder wizard inclined his head. "It remains where you left it, child." He carefully studied the young wizard’s face. "It was always within reach."

Severus crossed to the Headmaster's desk, and stared at the only square of bare wood visible. For years he had studiously ignored the existence of this particular patch of wood and the missive resting upon it. With a flick of his wrist the thick rectangle of parchment was visible, and he retrieved it with shaky hands.

One deep breath.......

Two.........

And Lily's voice overlayed the words she wrote

My dearest Sevie,

I know you hate that nickname, which is precisely why I insist on using it. Give my regards to my Uncle Albie, and tell him Harry's already addicted to those blasted Lemon Drops he sent us, and that when my son's three and has lost all his teeth, he's the one I expect to replace them.

I hope this letter finds you well, despite your....allegiance. To both sides. I worry about you, can you believe it. I, Lillian Renae Evans Potter, the self-proclaimed vanguard for the worry free movement of the Order, is worrying over you, Severus Tobias Snape, who has told me so many times before, in no uncertain terms "Don't waste your time."

I miss you. I'm going absolutely starkers here with only James and Harry for company, so much so that sometimes, facing off Moldy Voldie doesn't seem so bad. Not that I don't love the little booger, but a girl needs more stimulating conversation than a gurgle here and a shriek there or a scream of protest to an empty tummy or soiled nappy. And Harry's much the same way, I'm afraid.

He already knows you, Harry does. I've been showing him pictures of you and I at Hogwarts and out, I've told him all about sneaking about the castle with you, all about your miserable snarky attitude, I even told him about the feud between you and his father, but I doubt he understands all that. Even though I know you don't care, I think you should know, James never said a word about me talking to little Harry about you. Not once. I suppose you'll mark it down to Gryffindor fairness, because predictably he often does drone on and on about the Marauders, namely Sirius and Remy, but there's also something else.

Wizarding tradtion dictates that the parents of any child both pick seperate godparents. James' choice was, of course, Sirius, and I, of course, chose you. That means, Sev, that you're Harry's other godparent. It's already down on his birth certificate, and all the other important things, so anyone who needs to know knows, but it can't be used by those who mean you ill.

Now Sev, I know, I KNOW how much you hate James and Sirius, but please, please could you try, for me, to get along with him if things take a turn for the worst? Sirius loves him to death, but we both know a nineteen year old Gryffindor isn't much better than one whose fifteen.

That's all the begging you'll get out of me, because I know you know what will happen to him. I know you know that if James and I can't take care of Harry, and something happens to Sirius, where he'll end up. She hates me Severus. Can you really sleep at night knowing he's there with her and that pig of a husband when you know how much they hate me?

As much as you want to make everyone believe you're this hardened Death Eater that cares for no one, I know different. I know you hate abuse, I know you won't stand for it, so I know you'll do the right thing.

Protect my son, Sev. It’s the only thing I ask, other than you take care of yourself.

I love you.

Yours forever,

Li

The thick creamy parchment folded, and incinerated in the air before him. It was a full minute before he opened his eyes, and when he did all he could do was stare, as he sorted through information he had accepted seven years too late.

Severus turned another corner and growled, low and menacing in his throat. How the hell was he supposed to navigate through this damned labyrinth of meticulously pruned front lawns and rigidly symmetrical human dwellings that some fool had thought to name a neighborhood? His last three locator spells drew him supposedly back to this street, but how was he to know if this street was indeed different from all the others was beyond him. What the rows and rows of identical houses were doing to him was getting on his nerves, something he did not appreciate.

Finally having enough, Severus stalked down the street, straight up to the fourth house on the right. Much to his internal pleasure (if he ever admitted it to himself) the door had a shiny number four right above the doorbell, which he pressed. Liberally.

Petunia Dursely had always been unpleasantly thin and horse-faced, yet when she answered the door, Severus caught himself thinking that perhaps her youth had been kind to her…if only a little. The starched white dress she wore did not make her appearance any softer, instead it made her look rather like a walking decorated board.

“What do you want!”

So she hadn’t learned any manners over the years either. He supposed it was sad, or it would have been, had he cared one whit about Petunia Dursley. But, as it was, when his business was all done here, Petunia could die immediately or live to be three hundred, Severus honestly couldn’t care.

“Where is Harry?”

The pinched face before him simultaneously seemed to manage to become even more severe an relax all at once. Severus found the thought sufficiently disturbing enough to put off asking the woman how she did it. “So you freaks have finally decided to come for the brat, have you? Well it’s about time someone came to relieve us of this wretch BOY!” she screamed.

There came a muffled response and a thump from inside the house, but for all Petunia’s thinness, Severus could not see around her. She gave him a sneer worthy to rival one of his worst and snapped “Don’t set foot in my house,” before snapping away to the side of the stairs.

While most of Severus’ brain was occupied with thinking about why she chose to go to the side of the stairs instead of up them, another, small part of his brain commented that she certainly needed help relieving herself, judging by the way she walked. And as this same part of his brain took to listing all the laxative potions that would work on Muggles, the rest of his brain was steadily  becoming more and more curious, especially when she took to hissing like some obscene snake.

All thoughts flew from his mind as Petunia turned from the stairs, half-lifting half-pulling a tiny bundle of cloth towards him. Severus hardly had a minute to gather his bearings before said bundle was quite literally thrown towards his person and the door shut and locked in his face after a vehemently hissed “Never come back!”

It took a moment for him to realize that the tiny, shaking little thing he had clasped awkwardly against his torso was Harry Potter, the boy he had come to fetch. This was his godson.

Abruptly, what seemed like a hurricane descended on the property of Number Four Privet Drive. Lawnchairs and potted plants went crashing against the house, sometimes breaking windows and whipping the curtains into the fierce winds. Severus wasn’t accustomed to such violent outbursts of accidental magic, and took a minute to realize it was his magic reeking havoc on the Dursley residence, not the tiny tyke in his arms. After an intense moment of concentration, he had himself under control, and turned placidly to walk back to the apparition point a few streets over.

He looked down as he passed number seven, and found two green eyes looking up at him. The child’s eyes were deceptively blank, save for a trace a wary curiosity. “’Lo,” the child said, in a vice hoarse from disuse, Severus hoped.

“Hello, little one.” Harry seemed to like that, because a little bit of tension leaked out of his body then. “Does anything hurt?”

Harry, however, decided to ask a question of his own. “You takin’ me ‘way?”

“Yes,” Severus nodded. “I am taking you home.”

The boy the sat straight up in Sev’s arms, from where he had been leaning against the man’s chest. “Home?” The question was not hopeful, and held far too much skepticism than any seven year old should even know about.

“Yes, Harry. Home.” Severus had stopped walking, and had readjusted the child into a more comfortable position. Harry’s eyebrows immediately drew down in an angry scowl.

“How come you din’ come ‘fore?”

Severus reached a hand to smooth down the messy hair, then straighten the giant t-shirt so that so much of the boy’s marked skin wouldn’t show. “I didn’t know, child.”

Harry seemed to consider this. After a minute, he found Severus’ explanation acceptable, and lay his head back onto the man’s chest. Severus took that as permission to resume walking, and soon they were at the apparition wards.

Tightening his hold on his godson, Severus said “Hold tight, little one,” And with a ‘Pop!’, they were gone.

His arrival back at Hogwarts was not marked by panic and fanfare. He made it to the front doors without meeting even a shadow. He walked up three flights of stairs in eerie silence, knowing tat this semblance of peace would be broken, very soon.

He walked into the hospital wing, and all ell broke loose.

Pomphrey, McGonagall, Hagrid and Sprout all rushed forward before the doors had even closed behind him. Hagrid’s booming ”Yeh’ broug’ ‘him, P’fessor,’ caused Harry to flinch, and before he’d even spared a thought he’d pulled his wand.

Everyone froze. Severus couldn’t really care though, for the tiny wizard in his arms had a death grip on his neck. “Step back,” he said slowly. “All of you.”

Minerva was the first to recover. “Severus really,” she began, only to come face to tip with the potion’s master’s ebony wand. Pursing her lips, she took the obligatory step bck, and all the other teachers followed suit.

Ok, so that hadn’t gone so bad. Now, to get Harry onto a bed, and seen to by Poppy.

“Madame Pomphrey, if you would, I do believe this little boy needs to be checked over.” He shifted his wand so that it was held close to his wrist, and rubbed circles in the boys back. He felt the child tense, then relax, and thought to himself that maybe the boy hadn’t a clue what it felt like to be soothed.

Pushing that train of thought away, he followed the muttering mediwitch further into the wing and next to a bed. All attempts to place the still silent child on said bed, however, failed miserably, and Severus had to draw on reserves of patience he didn’t even know he possessed.

Finally, with a sharp motion form Poppy, Severus was seated on the cool hospital mattress, Harry seated in his lap. Sparing a repressing glare to all teachers present lest they dare laugh at his predicament, Severus settled, and concentrated on removing the little boy’s face from the front of his robes.

Poppy, it seemed, wasn’t goin to wait on him. While he spoke quietly to the child, she stood over them both, waving her wand anc collecting the readings. With each sheet of materialized parchment, her frown became deeper, and Severus was sorely tempted not to rip the lot of tem from her hands and read them himself.

“I don’t suppose you’d mind telling me just what displeases you so, Madame Mediwitch?” he asked in his silkiest displeased voice.

Poppy hardly spared him a glance. “As if you don’t already know. He’s suffering from severe malnutrition, dehydration, a whole list of deficiency diseases – Good heavens, did that vile woman feed this child at all?”

:”No.”

It was a shock, surely. Down near Severus’ chest, a pair of clear green eyes gazed up at the hospital witch, an impassive expression on his young face.

Again, Minerva was the first to recover her shock. “She didn’t feed you, Harry?”

The boy gave her a long look from the corner of his eye, and Severus once again found himself impressed. “Not a’ways,” Harry answered, fiddling with one of Severus’ buttons. “Sometimes I got wha’ Dudders din’ want, or somethi’ a’ needed to frow out.” With every word uttered from Harry’s lips, the rage in the room rose. It was completely incomprehensible that Petunia treated the child, any child that way. It was even more unfathomable that Harry could speak about it like….like it was normal.

Perhaps feeling the tension in the room, Harry took it upon himself to break the heavy silence the adults were all drowning in. “C’n I ‘ave s’milk?” he asked, looking up into the face that had saved him.

Severus blinked, then tightened his grip on the small seven year old. “Yes, yes you may.” He traded a look with Poppy over the boy’s head before calling ”Bob!”

Instantly, with a small ‘crack’, the wrinkly little house elf appeared before him. Harry, like he had for most of the afternoon, gazed at the little elf blankly, before deeming it acceptable and gazing away. Bob, though, became completely enraptured with the small child in the room, and only Severus’ specially patented glare prevented him from hopping about in excitement.

“Master called Bob?” the little creature asked, large grey eyes never leaving Harry.

“Yes,” Severus enunciated, resisting the urge to snarl at the excitable little creature. Now he’d never be able to keep the little vermin out of his quarters. “Bring some milk, Bob, for Harry here. Mind you hurry up, don’t dawdle.”

The elf was gone and back again with a double pop, beaming from ear to ear as he returned. And Severus could see why. Bob hadn’t just appeared with a cup of milk, but also a cheese sandwich, two chocolate chip cookies, a sliced pear and pudding. Severus glared.

“Master Harry is eating lunch, yes?” the elf asked.

Harry, who previously hadn’t been paying attention because Severus’ button just wouldn’t come off, looked up in surprise, which quickly turned into calculated delight, when the elf called his name.

“Issat’ for me?” The boy leaned forward out of Severus’ arms, gazing at the tray with all the devotion reserved for the Muggle Pope. “All for me?”

Bob nodded excitedly, and placed the try on the bed. “All for Master Harry.” The boy just stared at the food from the comfort of Severus’ arms. “Master Harry eats all lunch, yes?” After receiving a rather dazed nod from the boy, Bob beamed, and disappeared.

While Poppy retired to her office to complete paper work, her mouth still set in a grim line, and Minerva towed Hagrid and Sprout from the room, Severus turned his mind to the task at hand. Caring for Harry.

He tipped the child onto the bed, then found himself looking into frightened green eyes. “It’s ok, child. How about you start with the milk, hmm?” His ‘soothing’ voice hadn’t had to be used in a while, not since his second year of teaching when he had to calm down a hysterical first year and coach him down from the ledge in the astronomy tower. In the end, though, he was glad to know it was still in good condition, even if it did result in a slightly calmer Harry eyeing the tray distrustfully.

“Is all mine?” he asked softly.

Severus found himself running a hand through the boy’s hair. “It’s all yours, Harry.”

“Is it bad?”

A familiar wave of anger surged through him, but Severus managed to push it down. “No, it’s not, Harry. We don’t give children bad food here.”

After a long minute of searching his face, Harry decided Severus was telling the truth. Cautiously, the little boy started in on the sandwich. When it wasn’t taken away from him, he graced the potion’s master with a small smile, and turned back to his lunch. Severus breathed a sigh of relief. With luck, the boy would accept every meal as his, without having to be reassured, very soon. The man could hope, after all.

Well, that had gone much better than expected.

Severus stood, fingers absently twiddling with the tiny cotton nodules of the bath towel in his hands, anxiously watching the tiny form of his godson as the child played in the bath.

Maybe played was the wrong word.

The animated animals Poppy had pressed on him as he prepared to leave the stringent hospital wing were now frolicking in the used bath water. Harry mostly sat there, watching the animals play around him. Occasionally, one would swim close enough for the boy to grab at, and the resulting scuffle and splashes left the little boy drenched, and seemingly not bothered by it.

Still, Severus was concerned.

Harry was clutching his genitals.

The child psychology books he had read over the years all suggested that this was some kind of self-comfort  maneuver, though he wasn’t one hundred percent sure how that worked. He wondered briefly if, with his history, he had ever done likewise, before the machosistic part of his brain pulled his mind back o more unpleasant matters.

If the boy sought comfort from himself that he didn’t yet trust Severus to give, then fine. Unfortunately, the young potions Master didn’t believe that was the case. The look of pure acid the boy had given him as he’d pulled the ghastly excuse for clothes off the tiny frame made his instincts scream and his stomach churn.

The child had promptly slid his little hands between his legs and turned away from him, shooing mistrustful glares over his tiny shoulder. Heart hammering, and brain suddenly too small for proper thought, Severus had lifted the boy, carefully ignoring the way Harry curled more in on himself, and set him in the tub. Harry had then sat there, tummy deep in lukewarm water, eyeing Severus and the four bath toys with a level of suspicion that would have done a certain old auror proud.

Severus had decided right there that he would use magic to clean the boy up if he wasn’t potty trained, and he’d let the boy wash himself.

Harry hadn’t complained.

Now he was just waiting till Harry got bored. Or cold. A slight drying charm would ease the process along nicely, and he wouldn’t have to endure those suspicious eyes for too long.

When the boy was washed and dressed in warm pajamas, Severus stood in the kitchen, considering his options. The potions Madame Pomfrey had prescribed all required a full stomach and would send him straight to sleep. Perhaps he boy would eat and take his medicine with minimum fuss? He was about to broach the topic when there was a booming knock on his door.

Shooting a reassuring look to his young charge he strode over to the door. He had seen Hagrid not an hour ago, he grumbled internally. What could he possibly want so soon?

He opened the door to a wide glimpse of Hagrid’s tear-streaked, beaming face, before becoming aware of a brown, yipping blur shooting past his legs. He spun around and drew his wand in one smooth movement, a curse on his lips as the thing drew near to Harry, and only the appearance of a happily wagging forked tail saved the little crup from a sudden death.

His flinty gaze quickly rested on the apologetic face of the school’s Groundskeeper.

“Sor’ ‘bou’ tha’, P’fesser,” the large man began. “Little thing’s a bi’ enth’siastic, I’n he?”he sniffed.

“Indeed,” Severus intoned. “However, I find myself most curious as to why you would bring an infant crup all the way down to the dungeons, Hagrid. There are no potions that require those particular ingredients, at least none that you should possess knowledge of.”

“’Ere now, Severus” Hagrid scowled. “The cup’s for Harry!”

“Certainly not!” Was he man mad? “Harry is in no condition to care for an animal, Hagrid.”

“O’course ‘e is, Severus,” Hagrid replied, moving to perch himself on the sofa when Severus moved aside. “’Onestly, listenin’ to you’d think you never took Care O’ Magical Critters.” He shot Severus a disappointed look. “Crups don’ need no carin’, ‘cept someone to romp wit’ from time to time. They’re magical, aren’ they? Jus’ need to bond to a magical human, they do, and the rest is a breeze!”

Severus rolled his eyes, and turned a disapproving glare at the small bundle of brown fur. The thing really was excitable, continuously jumping on Harry’s feet. He would have hexed the thing, except Harry didn’t seem to be bothered, and was actually stopping every few steps so the little fur ball could catch up, before taking another step, and subsequently rolling the magical creature off again.

It was probably the closest to fun Harry had ever been after his parent’s death. Lily and James had nearly spoiled the little urchin, he was sure.

“Hagrid,” Severus began, dragging his mind back o he present. “I don’t care how easy it is o care for that mutt; you cannot give an abused child an animal to care for!” His voice rose at the end, and said furry menace yapped a few times in his direction.

“I gave you a niffler,” Hagrid replied evenly. Snape had the grace o turn a bright red, much to Hagrid’s private amusement.

“But sill – “

“Oh, come now, Severus. I’m not takin’ ‘im back and tha’s tha’.” He paused. “’Sides, he little thing’s already bi’ ‘im, nothin’ anyone can do, now.”

At his words, Severus whipped around, wide-eyed and panicked. He was halfway across the room before his brain caught up with the situation.

One, he crup was small enough for its size o suggest that it only had its milk teeth, which couldn’t cause much of a bite.

Two, crups bonded by ingesting a tiny bit of their intended’s blood.

Three, Harry seemed to be in no pain, or even slight discomfort. He was seated on the stone floor near the fireplace, scrawny arms wrapped around the enthusiastic black crup hat was diligently acquainting his tongue with every inch of the little boy’s face.

Hagrid chuckled from behind him, and Severus turned to see the large man heave himself to his feet. “I’ll see you lot at dinner, then.”

Severus scowled, but made no move to stop him. “I refuse to thank you for saddling me with this burden.”

Hagrid chuckled. “You’re very welcome, Severus.” He let himself out.

And then Hagrid was gone, and Severus was alone with his ward again. Except for the puppy, whose presence he refused to acknowledge. It wasn’t like he’d wanted the thing. It had been foisted upon him, and as such, his was perfectly within his rights to be discontented. Yes, perfectly. And if he was internally obsessing about what the darn thing would do to his shoes, then so what? They were his. To wear. Not to be chewed upon. Maybe he’d apply an itching charm to the leather…one activated by saliva…..hmm, maybe.

Severus was only partially submerged in his thoughts. There was a child in his care, after all. Said child was still seated on the floor, watching him with a deeply thoughtful expression on his tiny face. Harry seemed to be dissecting him with his jaded green eyes, and Severus unconsciously stiffened.

Harry was…different. He wasn’t nearly like any other eight year old he had ever met. Not that he had met many. Harry wasn’t much like most abused children either. He was a bit too free with information concerning his upbringing. Severus mentally reviewed the scene from the hospital wing. After Severus had been forced to seat himself on the hospital bed, Harry had been paying avid attention. As before, he watched Harry follow every move Poppy made, but the boy was also watching her face, and every expression she made.  That was….curious. Harry also watched Minerva and Hagrid in a similar fashion, his grass green eyes lit with a suspicious light. Goodness, was he calculating? Severus scanned through the memory weighing Harry’s expression against the reactions he had received. He stood there, shocked.  Harry had been sizing them up, he was sure of it.

Severus didn’t know whether to be concerned or to laugh out loud. Harry, at eight years old, was fully cognizant of the effect his words had on his audience, was even studying them to make sure his words had the desired effect.

And that was…incredible. Dangerous. Scary. It was positively Slytherin. Severus met that green gaze and smirked. Slytherin, he could deal with.

He turned, and swept into the hallway. “Come along,” he called over his shoulder. “Let’s go decorate your room.”

There was a bit of a scuffle, and then the patter of little feet quickly drowned out by over-excited yapping. Severus sighed softly.

There went his peace and quiet.