London:

A portly man wrapped in a heavy coat and wearing thick sheepskin boots and gloves stumped along the pavement towards the large nativity scene set up before the grand cathedral of St. Paul's. The church was closed for the night, as it was nearly two in the morning and midnight services were long over.  Everyone was home sleeping or getting ready for the mad rush to the tree and the fireplace upon Christmas morning to inspect the treats and gifts left by Father Christmas.

Everyone, that is, except for the big man and the slender horse-face woman walking next to him carrying a large picnic hamper.  She was also muffled against the whipping wind and freezing cold in a long coat trimmed with fur on the cuffs, hem, and sleeves and her face was hidden by a merino-woven scarf. 

Had anyone been awake to see them except the occasional stray cat or shivering rat, they might have thought the couple was heading to the cathedral to put a Christmas basket in the nave for a needy family.  They looked well-to-do and the basket seemed heavy from the way the woman panted as she carried it.

The man glanced about furtively as they reached their goal, the lifesize nativity of Mary, Joseph, baby Jesus, the three Wise Men, and the shepherds and animals surrounding the crèche where the infant lay in a manger.  All the pieces had been lovingly hand carved and painted and looked extremely life-like, down to the smile upon Mary's face and the twinkle in the baby's eyes.  St. Paul's had been using this same nativity for over seven years, it had been made by master woodcarver who had since passed away. 

The woman paused before setting down the picnic hamper and then she looked up at the man and hissed, "Are you sure we ought to do this? What if one of them finds out?"

The man snorted derisively. "How? They just left him on the doorstep with a note. I'm tired of taking care of another mouth, he's no relation of mine, why should I bear this burden?"

The woman's pinched expression grew even more pronounced. "He is my sister's child . . ."

"So? You never wanted to have any contact with her after she finished that crazy school and married another of those crazy people.  Do you want our son to grow up with a freak? An unnatural creature? Do you?"

"No, no of course not."

"Listen, they can't force us to take him in.  If they wanted him so badly, one of them should have taken him. Let his own kind tend to him!" He looked down at the picnic hamper with utter revulsion and kicked it with his foot.  A tiny whimper came from within.  "Come on, let's do this before someone comes by, though it's so bloody cold you'd have to be insane to be out on a night like this."

The woman shivered, but whether from cold or fear of discovery was not to be known.  "Perhaps we should have considered an orphanage?"

"Too much trouble. Here's as good a place as any for someone to find him." He marched over to the manger, which had been stuffed full of sweet-smelling alfalfa, and picked up the wooden baby Jesus and tossed it down upon the ground.  Then he beckoned to the woman, who knelt and opened the hamper, withdrawing a rather large bundle swaddled in a wrinkled blue blanket. The bundled whimpered and sneezed.

She hurried over to where the man waited impatiently, and laid the swaddled seventeen-month old, who looked much smaller, as he had barely gotten enough to eat, on the hay.  "There! Let the Lord look after you now, you pathetic scrap!"

Then she and her husband peered about once again and made haste down the pavement away from the nativity, anxious to be far away from the scene of their nefarious deed.  They never glanced back.

In the manger, the sudden chill woke the little baby, for the blanket was not warm enough to keep out the wind, and he began to cry, a pitiful wail that echoed in the bitterly cold air that Christmas Eve night. 

* * * * * *

Ever after, he would always wonder what prompted him to emerge from Diagon Alley at that particular spot, a block or two away from St. Paul's, instead of the more popular spot close to London Bridge.  It was dark and cold and Severus Snape, newly certified Potions Master, was exhausted from brewing too many potions for his employer, the skinflint apothecary Amos Smithers.  Smithers had given him a list over three feet long and insisted all of them be brewed before Snape returned home to the dingy flat he was renting over in Whitechapel.

He had just finished the last of them and was now able to go back home and seek his bed, cold and lonely, as he had been since moving to London months ago, away from Godric's Hollow, away from the knowledge that the woman he had loved and lost was now gone forever, killed by an insane madman.  There had been more to it than that, Severus thought with a bitter smile. Something about a prophecy her son was supposed to fulfill, that would prove to be the downfall of the dark wizard who called himself Voldemort, and she and her family had been betrayed by their Secret Keeper, but after learning of her death, Snape had not bothered to keep reading.

He vaguely recalled that the child, Harry she had named him, had somehow survived, and been taken away to live with relatives somewhere.  But all he knew was that she was gone and her departure left him with a gaping hole in his heart that would never fully mend.  For he had loved her, despite her rejection of him, more fool he.  His love had been a hopeless longing, never to be fulfilled, yet he could not let it go.  What he loved, he loved forever. 

He swallowed sharply and dashed away traitorous tears that threatened to overwhelm him.  Snape, you fool! She threw you over for Potter and still you cling to her.  She never would have come back to you.  Come back to starve and freeze in a one room flat like a pauper when she had Potter and all his gold and his fancy manor to live in? He sneered at himself.  But I loved her first, his heart whispered.  He might have won her away, but she was mine first.  And I love her still. 

He continued walking, emerging from the portal from Diagon Alley into the alley near the cathedral upon the wings of magic.  His black cloak and robes, a requirement for those who worked with potions on a daily basis and risked being burnt and having potions slosh all over one's clothing, were wrapped tightly about his lean frame, and his hair blew into his eyes as the wind picked up.

It's bloody cold out here tonight, he thought as he quickened his pace, his boots echoing along the cobbles.  He considered casting a brief Warming Charm, but he was tired and did not want to waste his precious magical energy.  He would be warm enough soon, his flat was but ten blocks from here. 

He gazed up into the sky and saw a star gleaming brightly in the frosted air.  For one instant he lost his weary cynical air, and looked like what he was-a young twenty-one year old, barely scraping by.  Far away he heard a clock chime and he rubbed his eyes and realized something.  It's Christmas.  And I am alone.  Again. Oh, Lily, I miss you so much. I wish things had been different. If only you had lived. Then perhaps . . .

Angrily, he spun on his heel.  He knew better than to go down that road. Useless to wish for what might have been.  Or long for what would never be. This was his life, the life he had chosen when he had left school.  To become a Potions Master and someday own his own shop, it was a dream he could fulfill, one that was not beyond his reach, if he worked hard and saved his pay.  Unlike those other ones, where he dreamed of Lily leaving Potter and coming to find him, apologizing for being so cruel, for listening to her friends instead of her heart. 

"Gryffindors don't date Slytherins. I thought we could make it work, but I was wrong. You flirt with darkness, Severus, like all your House, and I cannot follow you down that road."

"Lily, no! I'm not one of them! I swear it." He had pleaded, he who never begged anything. "Please listen."

"You told me Lucius Malfoy invited you to become one of his ‘special group', and you know what they are, Severus! They're Death Eaters!"

"I never said I'd accept!" he cried, frantic. "I told him I'd think about it."

"You should have told him to go to hell!"

His face twisted in anguish. "And have him hex me into oblivion? Him and the rest of them? What was I supposed to do?"

"I don't know. Walked away."

"I did."

"Not soon enough. I'm sorry, Sev.  But it's best if we didn't see each other again. Goodbye." She turned to go.

He reached out a hand, it closed upon empty air.  "No!" he cried, something falling to pieces inside of him. "Don't go, Lily! Don't!" He wanted to scream those words at her retreating back, but his voice had dried to a whispery rasp and he could not make himself heard.

"Don't go!"

But she had gone . . .gone straight into the arms of the arrogant toerag, his personal nemesis, James Potter.

She never knew that her words to him had sealed his fate. 

He had turned his back on everything that day. He had rejected Lucius' offer, implying that he wasn't worthy of it, and then he had lived only for one thing-his Potions Mastery. He had completed his apprenticeship in a mere three years, becoming the youngest ever to earn his Mastery in Britain or Europe.  All of his intellect and brilliant mind, all of his magic, was given over to his chosen profession, his first and only love.  During his stay at the Academy of Potion-Makers in Oxford, there had been a joke repeated among the other apprentices that he had been born out of a cauldron and had potions running in his veins instead of blood, for he alone never took a holiday, never joined them for a round at the pub after classes were done, never had friends, he lived and breathed his craft.

He did not bother to explain that there was a reason he did so-and that reason was that potions was something he understood, something that would never betray him, something that would soothe his lonely heart and give him something to focus on. 

But now he was finished with all that and need explain himself to no one. 

He gazed at the star again, had it grown brighter since he had last looked at it?

His steps took him past the life-sized nativity that stood on the lawn in front of the cathedral, and he paused for a moment to hug his cloak closer. The chill wind snapped and snarled about him, blowing his hair into his eyes. He reached up a gloved hand to shove it aside.

It was then he heard it.

The wind had subsided to small gusts that stirred the dust along the pavement and it rose above it in a thin wavering screech-but one that was unmistakably the cry of a child.

Severus wondered what brat was still awake this close to Christmas morning and pitied the parents, being forced to listen to that annoying sound.

He rubbed his hands together, they were stiff with cold even inside his gloves, and prepared to move on. 

The crying was repeated, more insistent this time.

Severus tilted his head.  It sounded almost as if . . .it were coming from the manger in the nativity.

He shook his head irritably.  He had inhaled too many potion fumes tonight, he was overtired, and his brain was dreaming up fanciful things, like the baby in the manger coming to life and crying. 

He peered hard at the manger inside the crèche, surrounded by the Holy Family and the adoring Wise Men and animals.  Get a grip, Snape.  They're wooden figures, painted and carved, and they do not come to life, even on Christmas Eve. He berated himself soundly.

No? Then why is the baby moving? Another part of him asked.

He took a step towards the manger.  Surely he was seeing things.  He had gone past this nativity for weeks on his way to work and had seen the figures countless times. 

The baby is wood, Severus. Wood. And this is a Muggle nativity and it does not come alive! You're imagining things.

Had there been firewhiskey in that Restorative Draft he had drunk just before beginning that last set? Was he wandering about London in a drunken stupor and just didn't want to admit it?

Had he gone round the bend, like the other apprentice swore would happen to him one day, with only his ingredients and cauldron for company? Could you go mad and not realize it?

The crying increased as he drew closer to the manger. 

He leaned over and stared down at the baby asleep on the hay.

Except the baby was not asleep. 

The baby was wide awake and screaming like a possessed thing, blue with cold.

Bloody hell, but I am not seeing this! I'm not! His mind shrieked.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Then another.

That's it, Severus. Just breathe in and out. Calm down. He recited potion ingredients in his head-A is for asphodel, B is for bezoar, C is for comfrey, D is for dittany . . .Then he opened his eyes.

The baby in the manger had not become a silent block of wood. 

It was still crying and waving its fists, wrapped in a blue blanket that was well-made but threadbare in places. 

"Merlin save me, but you're real." Severus breathed, no longer able to deny the truth.

The baby's face was scrunched and blue from cold, Severus didn't know where the kid found the energy to howl like that.  Then he supposed if he were freezing, he'd be screaming too. 

Cautiously, Severus reached out a gloved finger and brushed it across the baby's cheek. 

The baby opened its eyes.

Severus found himself looking into eyes of pure innocence, colored a startling evergreen. 

He found those eyes drew him, held him, as if with some kind of mystical force, and he could not look away.  His thoughts ran in circles, asking unanswerable questions.

What child is this?

Who would leave a baby to freeze to death in a manger on Christmas Eve?

And what in sainted Merlin's name am I going to do about it?

The baby began to sneeze and cough, obviously congested from all of that crying.

Severus finally managed to tear his eyes away and look around, hoping against hope that whoever had put the baby here would return, because no one could be so heartless as to abandon a child this way. 

But the street was empty, the church stood silent sentinel and witness, and the darkened shops told no tales, grim and desolate.

There was only himself and the abandoned child.

A child who would freeze to death if something were not done.

Soon.

Severus knew he was considered cold and aloof by his peers, but even he would not have been able to do such a heartless thing. 

He looked again at the child, unwanted, abandoned, yet still finding heart to fight to live.

He made his decision.

"You're a survivor. Like me."

Then he knelt and lifted the baby out of the hay, awkwardly, and held the child close, wrapping a fold of his cloak about the foundling. The baby whimpered and shivered.  "Hush. You're safe now. I know, I'm a scary stranger, insane to be doing this, but what choice do I have?" He murmured a soft Warming Charm, and the baby stopped shivering and snuggled against his chest.  "Even I'm not such a cold-hearted bastard as to let you freeze to death. Who the flaming hell leaves a baby in a manger outside like a damn sack of groceries?"

Like his previous questions, he did not have an answer, and probably never would.

He began to walk swiftly down the street, the foundling held in a gentle death grip inside his cloak, drooling and sniffling all over his arm.

He climbed the steps to his flat and spoke a soft Unlocking Charm. The door swung open and the young Potions Master and his unexpected Christmas guest went inside.  

The flat was cold and dark, he had not bothered to stoke the fire to burn all day, it was a waste of precious wood, especially when he wouldn’t be home to take advantage of it. Though as a wizard he could transfigure objects as needed, he found that after working a twelve hour shift brewing potions, his magical levels were depleted and anything extra he did with magic exhausted him. Unless it were small personal spells, like the Warming Charm he’d cast.

He flicked his wand at the lights and muttered “Lumos”, and the lightbulbs overhead, which had burnt out months ago, lit up. He had spelled them to do so, and all the spell required was the command word to activate it.

The flat was old and in need of repair, but the landlord was too lazy to fix the leaky kitchen faucet or the cracked linoleum in the bathroom. The little flat had come furnished, thank goodness, because Severus would have never been able to afford furniture on his meager salary, Smithers paid less than Ebenezer Scrooge. The furniture was worn and mismatched, but Snape didn’t care. The last of his savings from his mother’s vault had been used to pay for his fees to the Academy, and since then he had been living frugally. Very frugally.

He walked carefully into the living area, where a worn green upholstered couch rested in front of the fireplace, which was cold and filled with ashes. Severus’s breath hung in misty trails in the air. Beneath his cloak, the baby stirred.

Severus gently set the cloak wrapped baby down on the couch, removed his gloves, and quickly started a fire in the fireplace. In a corner on a table was a tiny fake pine tree decorated with what little ornaments he had saved from the attic after he had sold his childhood home at Spinner’s End. That had provided him with money to buy books and supplies at school plus room and board. He had gotten some of his fees waived due to his extraordinary performance on his NEWTS and entrance exam to the Academy, but even with that he had barely enough money to pay rent for four months on this flat once he had finished his schooling. His current job paid for food and clothes, utilities and rent and precious little else.

But then he was used to that. He had grown up poor and though he was better off now than he had been then, he knew he could have never supported a wife and children on his current salary. He rubbed his eyes and found that he was now wide awake and starving, he could not remember the last time he had eaten anything.

He moved over to the old iron stove and turned it on, grabbing a can of chicken noodle soup from his tiny pantry and putting it on to heat. He also found a tin of evaporated milk and put it on to heat also, figuring the baby could drink that and maybe eat a bit of soup.

He filled his battered coffee pot with water and put it on to perk, and then he went back to see to his houseguest.

All this time the baby had been still within the black cocoon of Snape’s cloak, slowly warming up and becoming more awake as the sleepy lassitude of pre-hypothermia faded. Now he began to sniffle and cough, his tiny nose running. To add to that discomfort he was very hungry having last eaten over six hours before, and wet also.

He soon began to cry, not very loudly, for he had learned that making too much noise meant getting scolded and smacked, but the distressed sound carried in the small flat and brought Severus to his side immediately.

“Okay. Stop that racket. Shhh!” He tried in vain to hush the child, then he gently unwrapped the baby from his cloak. This crying, he noticed was different from the hysterical wails of before, but it made his ears ring. “You know, I don’t even know what you are, a boy or a girl.”

He quickly undid the ties on the blue blanket and found the baby was dressed in some kind of strange smock, one that looked two sizes too big for the little tyke. Severus wrinkled his nose. “Child, you stink. Ugh! You need a new nappy.” He looked about the room, trying to see what he could spare, and saw one of his old Slytherin scarves. “That’ll do.” He quickly transfigured the scarf into a nappy, then went and got a mug of warm water and a soft cloth.

He considered conjuring a pair of nose plugs, then shook his head. He dealt with potions, and some of the ingredients he used smelled as acrid as this. He could deal with it.

The baby was squirming and bawling, and Severus muttered, “All right, give me a minute, I haven’t exactly done this before.” He grimaced and carefully undid the soiled nappy. “Well, now I know you’re a boy,” he remarked. “Don’t you dare pee on me,” he warned as he gently wiped the baby with the warm water. He swore under his breath, for the baby had developed a bad case of diaper rash. When was the last time somebody changed him? “Half a minute, tyke. Let me get some Rash Away salve. I know I’ve got some here.”

He went to the cabinet next to his bed, where he kept his private stock of potions and soon had located the salve. His hands tended to get chafed stirring over a hot cauldron all day and night, so he always kept some on hand. On the couch the baby was coughing and whimpering.

“Hush. Why don’t you practice being quiet?” he said to the baby. “It’s supposed to be a silent night as well as a holy one.” He removed the soiled nappy and then began to apply the salve, which soothed on contact. The baby stopped bawling and gave a sort of contented sigh. “Feel better? Stupid arseholes, to leave you like that all night. Now let’s see if I can put this on you.”

He managed to get the nappy under the baby’s bottom but just as he started to fold it over, something warm and wet hit him in the chest. “What the hell . . .? Ugh! You . . .you bloody great nuisance! How dare you relieve yourself on me? Didn’t I tell you not to do that?” He quickly cast a Cleaning charm over himself, frowning severely at the baby, who made a sound remarkably like a giggle.

Severus put his hands on his hips. “Oh, yes, I’m sure you think it’s funny. Go ahead and laugh, why don’t you? Wouldn’t be the first time.” He quickly went to finish putting the nappy on when the baby pulled his hair.

“Ouch! Now look here, that’s not allowed either. No pulling my hair!”

Instantly, the baby’s lower lip trembled and tears filled the green eyes at his too-sharp tone.

“All right, all right, I’m sorry I yelled at you,” the young man said hastily, wanting to forestall another crying jag. “I can’t believe I just apologized to a little wretch that urinated all over me not two minutes ago. I’m so sleep deprived.” He gently lifted the baby to pull down the long smock and examined the boy for the first time.

He was small for his age, though Snape did not know this, and he had, in addition to the brilliant evergreen eyes, a sweetly rounded little face with a shock of reddish-brown hair, nearly dark enough to be called auburn. “Hmm . . .someone in your family had red hair.” Severus mused, gently smoothing the hair away from the boy’s forehead.

It was then he saw the faint jagged scar.

“What in Merlin’s name?”

He leaned in closer to examine the baby, and saw it was a lightning bolt scar.

A lightning bolt scar. How very strange. Now where did I read something about that before?

He was almost certain he had read somewhere about a lightning bolt scar, but as he went to set the boy back on the couch, he felt the crackle of paper beneath his hand. He reached back and pulled it out and opened it.

In a hasty scrawl were written the following words:

My name is Harry.

Take me home.

Merry Christmas!

Severus stared at the paper and then he growled, “What a Goddamn nerve! Merry Christmas! They dump you in a manger and then say Merry Christmas! That’s just bloody ill!”

Then it hit him.

The baby’s name was Harry.

Just like Lily’s baby. And he had her eyes and hair that was similar, if several shades darker. No. Oh no. It can’t be. Where did I put that blasted copy of the Prophet? I saved it, it had a picture of Lily in it . . .He set the baby on the couch. “Stay here and don’t move. I mean it!”

Then he walked quickly over to his old school trunk and began rummaging through it. Where had he put it? It had to be here . . .

There! He carefully removed the faintly yellowed newspaper and looked at the front article. The headline read Potters Betrayed By Secret Keeper—Slain by He Who Must Not Be Named! Harry Potter Survives! He quickly scanned the rest of the article and found that the child had been marked by the Killing Curse . . .by a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. Further down the page was a picture of the Potter family, James standing behind Lily, who held a fat and happy baby in her arms who had her green eyes and hair that was a deep auburn.

The baby in the manger was Harry Potter.

Lily’s Harry.

Severus was thunderstruck. How had the most famous baby in the wizarding world come to be in a manger in the middle of London? He continued reading and there at the bottom of the article he found a statement saying that Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, had been sent to stay with relatives—Muggle relatives.

And they left him out in the cold to die. In the name of all that’s holy how could they do that? How could they just abandon their own flesh and blood that way? Then the cynical part of his mind spoke, Your own father would have abandoned or sold you for the price of a bottle of gin if he could have. Remember?

Tobias had been a drunk and always in need of ready cash. Only the fact that Eileen had been around prevented him from doing so. He had taken her pay instead, and then expected her to feed three on half of what she made.

He rose and stuffed the paper back inside his trunk and then went to see to the soup and the milk simmering over the stove.

The baby, uneasy because he was in unfamiliar surroundings, still congested and hungry, began to howl.

The sound grated on Severus’ sensitive ears, and because he was exhausted from work and upset from reading the article, he snapped irritably, “Do you ever do anything else but cry, dammit! You’re just like your father, impatient and demanding.”

Harry, frightened all the more by the harsh tone, just cried harder.

Severus wished he had earmuffs as he poured the soup into a small mug and did the same with the warm milk. He thought the child was old enough to drink from a cup, but supposed he’d have to feed him the soup. He placed the soup and the milk on the table and went over to the couch to pick up the howling nuisance.

To his surprise Harry actually held out his arms to him when Severus bent down to pick him up. “I don’t understand you. I just yelled at you and you still want me to hold you? Why?”

Harry couldn’t answer, but if he had been able to talk, he might have told the weary Potions Master that he was used to people shouting at him and never holding him for long, so having Severus return two or three times to pick him up in the space of an hour was wonderful. Especially because the tall man wasn’t rough when he picked him up. So Harry clung to the other’s robe, because it was warm and he was still cold and though the Tall One had a scary voice, his hands were gentle.

Awkwardly, Severus patted the little back. “Shhh. . . it’s early in the morning, you’ll wake everyone up.”

As if on cue, there came a sharp pounding on the ceiling, causing dust motes to fly through the air, and a very irate voice yelled down through the broken heating duct, “Oi, Snape! What’s the big idea? Shut that damn kid up before I come down and do it for ya! Ya hear?”

By now totally out of patience with screaming neighbors and toddlers, Severus snatched up the broom in the corner beside the window, not a magical one, but an ordinary one he used to sweep the floor, and banged the handle on the ceiling.

“Shut your mouth and go back to sleep, Theo! Just mind your own business! Or else!” He threatened.

He usually kept to himself, and his neighbors didn’t know anything about him, which was how he preferred it, since they were Muggles. But they did know that he had a reputation for being a nasty bugger and tended to avoid him, which was all to the good.

Then he turned to the still sobbing Harry and said, “Now you just hush, Potter! Right now!” He sat down on the single chair with the baby on his lap and tried to feed Harry the soup.

But Harry refused to open his mouth. He had never been fed with a spoon before, Petunia had always found it easier to just give him a bottle, and he had no idea what it was.

“Potter, open up!” Severus ordered. What was the matter with the blasted baby? Was he maybe simple? Severus immediately discarded that thought. It would have been mentioned in the papers and besides, though Potter could be the biggest idiot on the face of the earth, he was not technically learning disabled. And Lily was a brilliant witch, so it was to be hoped that her son had inherited her brains. “Come on, open! It tastes good,” he told the cranky toddler in what he hoped was an encouraging tone.

Harry started to howl and when he opened his mouth again, a desperate Severus popped the spoon with the soup in.

Of course the crying Harry was not expecting anything like that and began to sputter and choke.

Great! Now you’ve choked him to death! Severus scolded himself. He leaned the baby forward and patted his back.

Harry sputtered and gagged, then spit up all over Snape’s leg.

Severus longed to bang his head into a wall. By the time this night was over, he would probably need a new set of robes.

Gritting his teeth, he said, “Let’s try this again, Potter.”

He dredged up the last bit of patience he had stored away for the next twenty years and picked up the spoon and dipped it in the mug. “Okay, Potter, open wide.” He demonstrated by opening his own mouth, hoping the baby would mimic him. The other assistant who worked for Smithers was a mother and she was always going on about how her baby girl imitated everything she did.

Come to think of it, this one’s father had been a great imitator too. Of everyone and everything, the rotten prat!

Harry opened his mouth, but not to eat. Instead he spoke.

“Hawwy.”

Severus nearly choked. “Excuse me?”

“Hawwy. No Pot-er. Me Hawwy.”

Severus gaped. Of all the cheek! Telling me what he wants to be called. Like I care. Then he reasoned that maybe the little tyke would pay attention better if he called him by his first name. “Fine. Harry, open wide. Like this. Mmm.”

Severus spooned up soup and ate it. “Now you.”

Harry shook his head. “No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“It’s food. Eat it!” Or you can just go hungry, you brat!

“No.”

“Why?”

“Hot.”

“Oh.” Now Severus felt like an idiot. Had he really forgotten to blow on the soup before giving it to the eighteen-month-old? “Err . . .right.” He carefully blew on the soup in the spoon. “Now, open up. Not hot.”

Harry shook his head.

“You stubborn little . . .!” Frustrated, Severus longed to shake the brat. He took several deep breaths and then recited more potions ingredients under his breath. E is for Elecampine, F is for Foxglove, G is for Goldenrod, H is for Hotspur . . .Control, Severus. Keep it together. Then he got an idea. He dipped a finger into the soup mug and rubbed it across Harry’s lips.

Automatically, Harry licked his lips. “Mmm.”

“Good!” Severus dipped up a half-spoonful. This time Harry opened his mouth and Severus gently let the soup flow down the boy’s throat. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

* * * * * *

Twenty minutes later, Harry and Severus were covered with chicken soup, and Severus swore Harry was wearing more soup than he had eaten. If this was what it was like to feed a baby, no wonder parents looked so haggard. Severus helped Harry to hold the cup, the child attempted to suck the milk. “No, Po—Harry,” he corrected. “Drink it. You should be able to drink from a cup now.”

Harry grew frustrated, he wanted the milk but it wasn’t coming out. He started to whimper and cry.

“No. Oh no, we are not going through this again,” groaned Snape.

Tears spilled out of the child’s eyes, he wanted his bottle not this strange hard thing.

“What do you want?”

“Baba!”

“Baba? What the flaming hell is that?” Severus cried.

Harry wailed louder. “Baba-a-a!”

Think, Snape, think! He’s a baby, how many things can he know?

“Ba-a-a-ba-a-a!”

Suddenly, Harry spied a potions vial on a shelf next to the table. It was shaped almost like a bottle. He pointed to it. “Dere baba!”

“Huh?” Severus looked at what the child was pointing to. “My potion? You know about potions?”

“Baba!”

Suddenly it hit him. A bottle! Potter—Harry—wanted a bottle. Of course! Severus nearly smacked himself in the head. Snape, you dunderhead! Where’s your brain? Even exhausted you should have figured that out!

He pointed his wand and transfigured the spoon into a bottle and then poured in the milk and gave it to the child.

“Baba!” Harry exclaimed happily. He reached out with his chubby fingers and grasped the bottle and drank.

“Thank Merlin!” Severus sighed. He frowned, he was all splattered with soup. He needed to get changed, but how could he do so with the little imp clinging to him? He rose and set the baby on the couch, Harry was still sucking away. “Now you stay there and don’t move, got me? I need to change . . .and so do you.”

But Severus decided to wait before tackling that chore and went to the curtained partition which served as his “bedroom” next to the bathroom and quickly changed into a pair of comfortable lounge pants and a shirt. He then rummaged through his old clothes and found a soft Slytherin shirt and shrank it down to fit Harry.

It was now three-thirty in the morning and Severus was running on his last bit of energy. All he really wanted was to crash on the couch and sleep for half a day. But the unexpected guest sitting on his couch made that impossible.

“All right, boy. Let’s get this off you and put this one on.”

He managed to get the new shirt on Harry without too much fuss, but as he did so, he noticed that the boy was sniffling and his nose was running. He was sucking on the bottle, but every so often he would cough. Aww, hell! The kid’s got a cold. Probably from lying in the cold for so long. Now what?

Severus was not familiar with small children but as a Potions Master he was required to be able to brew potions for every age human and even some for animals like cats and dogs. He knew that there were different variations of potions for toddlers and children and knew that he needed to brew a Children’s PepperUp potion and a mild Cough Elixir.

The only problem was he was exhausted. So he needed to find an alternative.

I could dilute the adult versions of the drafts and mix them with water. That will serve until I’m more awake and can brew proper drafts.

After mixing up the required solutions, he approached the sick toddler.

Harry looked up at him curiously. Was he going to be put in the cupboard now? He clutched his bottle tighter. It was almost empty and now his tummy was full. He sneezed loudly, spraying Severus with mucus.

“You are really disgusting, you know that? First you urinate on me, then you spit soup all over and now this! You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth. Next time maybe I should wear a raincoat.”

If this was what it was like caring for a child, he was surprised parents ever had more than one.

Once again he cleaned himself off with a spell and sat down next to Harry. He gently removed the bottle from the baby’s mouth, and Harry hugged it. “Now, you need to take these potions, tyke, so just open your mouth and swallow.”

He placed the first vial against Harry’s mouth, he had transfigured it to resemble a bottle complete with a nipple.

Harry sucked it, expecting some more lovely milk.

What he got was . . .something utterly yucky!

“Blech!”

He spat the terrible tasting liquid out . . .all over himself and the Tall One.

Severus closed his eyes. He would not lose his temper. A toddler was not going to make him commit murder on Christmas. He felt a vein pulse in his temple. “Merlin help me to not strangle this child. Please!”

He began to count to ten. Over and over. Then he opened his eyes.

Baby Harry was staring at him uncertainly, as if afraid he was going to . . .start screaming or smacking or something.

The wary look in the child’s evergreen gaze told Severus more than words ever could about how he had lived before his relatives had dumped him in the manger. He breathed in and out and recited more ingredients.

“Look. You have to have this potion, I know it tastes terrible but we all have to take medicine we don’t like,” he began, repeating what his mother always said when he had refused to take medicine as a small child.

Once again he tried getting the potion down the reluctant baby’s throat.

He ended up wearing most of it, but he did manage to get Harry to swallow some by holding his mouth shut.

By the time the vials were empty, Severus was ready to start howling, but at least part of the mixtures were inside the cranky child. He cleaned himself and the baby up for the last time and Harry, exhausted, curled up on his lap and fell asleep.

“Thank you, Lord,” murmured Severus, and promptly fell asleep as well.

Only to be awakened some three hours later by Harry crying again.

Severus groaned and wondered if he were in hell. He peeled open one eye and glared at the wailing child. “What’s the problem now? I need sleep, is that too much to ask?”

Harry squirmed and Severus felt him over.

He was feverish and had diarrhea, as Severus discovered when he changed him.

Why me? Why do these things always happen to me? I don’t know how to care for a baby, especially a sick one. And I can’t afford to take him to a Healer. This is just my rotten luck. Other people get kittens and puppies for Christmas. What do I get? An abandoned sick baby that happens to be James Potter’s son! What irony!

He walked over and banged his head into the wall. Behind him a fretful wail rose in the air, disturbing the peaceful silence of Christmas morning. Joy to the world, a child is born, Snape thought sarcastically. Merry Christmas.

Severus had already drank six cups of coffee, three with sugar and milk and three black, because he wanted to save the milk he had left for the baby, by the time eight o’clock rolled around on Christmas morning. In other homes kids were just waking up and running from their beds to see what had been left for them under the tree or in their stockings, hung with care on the mantle or over chairs for those who didn’t have fireplaces. Children were jumping on top of their parents’ beds to wake them to join in the festivities and make breakfast. Severus could recall doing much the same as a child, even though his family had been struggling to make ends meet, he still had enjoyed that one day a year.

But this year, Christmas morning, which had become a single day where he could sleep in and not have to arise at dawn to go to work, had become a nightmare. Harry was cranky and fretful and cried almost nonstop, he was feverish, coughing, and everything Severus tried to feed him went right through him. The poor kid had gone through five nappies in three hours, and Severus was frightened he had caused the alarming digestive upset by giving Harry potions that were too strong for his system.

He had then tried giving the boy a bottle of chamomile tea infused with dandelion extract sweetened with sugar, and Harry seemed willing to take it. Severus knew that if Harry didn’t keep drinking liquids he would become dehydrated, but he didn’t know how to make sure he was drinking enough.

Right then, Harry was dozing half on his lap and half on the couch, while Severus gazed into the flickering flames and sipped his sixth mug of coffee. He was running on caffeine, he had gone beyond exhaustion to a hazy gray realm, and prayed that Harry would be able to finish the chamomile and sleep for awhile.

No rest for the wicked, Severus. Or newly made Potion Masters with a sick child, he reminded himself when Harry started to whimper. Severus looked down and saw that the child had stopped drinking the tea and he went to replace the bottle.

Harry shoved it away.

“Drink, please.”

The boy shook his head mutely.

“It’ll make you feel better.”

But again Harry refused.

Sighing, Severus removed the bottle and placed it on the floor. He touched the back of his wrist to Harry’s forehead and winced. “You’re burning up. And I don’t dare give you an adult strength Fever Reducer. I need to brew more potions but I’m so bloody tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, let alone work with precise measurements.”

He had learned the hard way to never brew while he was tired, because the slightest mistake might result in an exploded potion.

Harry curled up on his side, burrowing against Severus like a lost puppy. He felt terrible, but for the first time ever he could turn to another Tall One and be comforted. He drooled and sneezed all over the couch, and found his face wiped and a towel placed beneath his cheek.

Then a hand was rubbing his back and he sighed softly. This was the first time he could remember a Tall One doing that and it felt so very very good. He nestled closer to the young wizard, and his eyes closed.

Severus looked cautiously down at his charge and saw that he was finally asleep. He breathed a sincere sigh of relief and drained his coffee mug before sending it back to the sink with a wave of his hand. Merlin, but I’m so tired. I just need to sleep for a few hours and then I can brew. Stay asleep, Potter. For the sake of my sanity.

He drifted into a light doze, he had always been a light sleeper, used to keeping odd hours because of his profession.

He felt as if he had just closed his eyes when he was awakened by Harry bawling.

Struggling up from the mists of sleep, he forced his eyes open.

The small clock on the mantle chimed ten o’clock AM.

“God dammit, Potter!” he swore, then he immediately felt guilty, both for swearing on Christmas and for snapping at a sick baby who couldn’t help being fussy and cranky. “Okay, shhh. What’s the matter? Do you need to be changed again? Are you thirsty?”

He lifted the baby and discovered that Harry was hot and smelly.

“Ah, not again,” he groaned, and changed the baby for the sixth time, making sure to apply Rash Away to the little bottom again.

Harry wriggled and squirmed because even though Severus was gentle, he was still tender. “Owwie!”

“I know. Be still.” But Harry tried to move away and he was forced to hold him firmly while he finished the unpleasant task. “Stop moving! I have to do this, or else you’ll hurt worse. It’s for your own good. Understand?” Inwardly he called himself an idiot for speaking to a one-and-a-half year old like he was an adult. He tossed out the soiled nappy, thinking that his nose had by now become inured to the stench of a sick baby. “Come here. You need to drink some more.” At this rate he was going to run out of socks and have to buy more.

He took Harry on his lap and tried unsuccessfully to get him to finish the chamomile tea.

But Harry wouldn’t drink, he was hurting and congested, and he turned his head into Severus’ chest and cried.

Severus didn’t know what to do anymore. Nothing he did made the baby feel better and he was at his wits end. The thin wailing was starting to give him a headache and he feared he was going to start screaming himself in about two minutes. I can’t take this anymore. I really can’t.

“You know, this was not what I imagined when I picked you up from the manger. If I had known . . .never mind, I won’t even go there. I don’t know what I’m saying anymore.” He began to pat the baby’s back, figuring that had soothed him to sleep once before.

But Harry refused to calm, he was sick and just wanted someone to make it go away, and he cried because the Tall One holding him wasn’t able to do so.

“Please stop crying, Potter. Just stop. Please.” Severus said, rocking the screaming baby back and forth. “Before I go stark raving mad and run down the street screaming.”

He knew he shouldn’t blame the little boy for crying, knew that it wasn’t Harry’s fault he was sick, but he couldn’t help feeling irritated. He did feel sorry for the little one, it was a terrible thing to be sick like this, but the crying was a constant reminder that he had failed in his responsibility as a caretaker and Severus wasn’t used to failure. Frustrated and panicky, he rocked the child harder.

I never should have taken him. I should have brought him to Wizarding Child Services. What good am I to him? He’s just getting worse. Frantic, Severus decided to do something he should have done an hour ago, but he was not thinking straight. He was all foggy. “All right. Don’t cry. I’m going to get help.”

His first instinct was to call on Poppy Pomfrey, who was the medi-witch at Hogwarts and with whom he still talked to on occasion. But then he remembered it was a holiday and the witch was most likely at home celebrating Christmas with her family. She had a bevy of nieces and nephews, though she herself was unmarried.

Now what? Who do you call when you have a sick baby on Christmas day? He looked about and then he spied a half-crumpled pamphlet from St. Mungos, it was a list of potions they needed extra batches of, and he had meant to contact them after the holiday and see if he could earn some extra money brewing them on the side.

St. Mungos! Snape, they’ve got an Emergency Floo Network!

He stood up, cradling Harry in the crook of his arm and reached for a handful of Floo powder in the green jar resting on the mantle next to his clock.

He thrust his head into the green flames and shouted, “Hello! My name is Severus Snape and I have a very sick baby. I need some potions right away.”

The white robed intern on duty looked up from her chart and said, “One moment, sir, while I get a Pediatric Healer.” She tapped a small globe on the side of her desk and said, “Healer Faolin, I’ve got a call for you.”

A few moments later, a short plump woman Apparated into the room and knelt next to the fireplace. “Hello, what seems to be the problem?”

“I have a very sick baby and I need some potions for him.”

“Bring him on through then.”

Severus hesitated. He didn’t want anyone to know what baby he had rescued from the manger. If anyone discovered he had the Boy-Who-Lived, his life would become a media circus, and there would be all kinds of fuss and his solitary quiet existence would be shot to hell. Not to mention the fact that he rather liked the idea of looking after this last little bit of Lily . . .when Harry wasn’t screeching in his ear like a bloody banshee, that is.

“I’d rather not move him right now. He’s asleep. If I told you his symptoms, couldn’t you just prescribe a potion regimen for him?”

“Yes, I suppose so, but it’s really best if I examine him . . .” Healer Faolin began.

“I’m a Potions Master and I also have a second degree as a medic,” Severus explained. “I can brew any potions he needs, once I get some sleep.”

Healer Faolin peered hard at the young man’s face and saw that while his eyes were burned holes in his head and his skin pasty from being inside most of the time, he met her gaze squarely and seemed both concerned and determined to make his baby well. “Very well. This isn’t a usual procedure, but if you’re willing to do this and you believe you can give me an accurate diagnosis of his symptoms . . .”

“I can.” Severus began to describe Harry’s condition, explaining that this was his cousin’s child and had come to him with a cold and had later developed a fever and diarrhea. He even admitted how he had tried to dose the child himself using diluted PepperUp potion and asked if that might have caused Harry to become even sicker.

“No, he was probably showing signs before that, especially if you couldn’t get him to eat even though he seemed hungry. Usually these stomach flus come on quickly. I’m going to give you a Children’s Fever Reducer, to be given twice a day, a Decongestive Rub to put on his chest, it’s much easier than trying to get him to swallow a draft and works just as well to loosen up the phlegm in his chest and make him cough it out, a Baby Anti-Diarrhea Elixir, give him one dose now and the next after his next bowel movement, after that once a day for three days. Mix it in with this Nutrient Solution, it also has a Stomach Soother in it, he won’t mind the taste and feed him that plus warmed milk and broth.”

“Is it safe to give him a bath?”

“Yes, but lukewarm water only and dry him thoroughly.” She instructed. “Do you need anything else?” she asked, thinking that the poor guy looked like he was about to collapse.

“I . . .yes . . .I need some more nappies, my cousin didn’t give me enough to last with a sick child,” Severus admitted, flushing slightly.

“Here.” She snapped her fingers and a stack of fresh nappies appeared, neatly wrapped. “And here’s a baby medicine dropper, it’s much easier to give them potions that way, they swallow and don’t spit them up.” She added it to the nappies and then summoned the required potions. “There you go, Mr.—”

“Snape,” Severus replied. “I’m registered with the Society of Potions Masters if you need to check my credentials. Thank you.”

“Not a problem, Mr. Snape. If you need me to examine him later on or he gets worse, don’t hesitate to call me back.”

Severus reached a hand through the flames and picked up the items and then departed.

Harry was coughing and whining softly by then, making a “Mum-mum-muh,” sound. He was leaning his head on Severus’ shoulder, mouthing his shirt, his little hands gripping the back of the wizard’s shirt in a death grip.

“All right then, Po—Harry,” Severus caught himself. “Let’s get these down you so you can start feeling better. Before my patience totally evaporates.”

He returned to the couch and sat down, placing the cranky child upon his knee. “Hey. Look at me.” Severus ordered quietly.

Harry snuffled into his sleeve and Severus grimaced. What do I look like, Potter, your own private hanky? He gestured with his wand and the Nutrient Potion poured itself into the bottle and then Severus took the vial of Anti-Diarrhea Elixir and mixed it into the Nutrient Potion, shaking it briskly to make sure all was blended together well. “There. Want a bottle, imp?” He held the bottle out to Harry, who had now turned to look at him.

“Baba,” Harry cooed. It seemed to be his favorite word.

“Yes. Want it?”

Harry nodded and reached for it. He was now really thirsty and as soon as he had the bottle in his grip, he started to suck. This tasted good! He drank some more.

“Good job!” Severus told him, relieved that he was drinking at last and hoping the potion worked quickly. He ruffled Harry’s deep auburn hair.

Harry finished the bottle in record time and then burped. Severus waited about five minutes before reaching for the medicine dropper and the vial of Fever Reducer. “Now, open up and don’t give me a hard time, okay?” He filled the dropper and waited till Harry opened his mouth a bit before inserting the dropper and tilting the boy’s head back. “Bottom’s up. That’s it. Swallow.”

Harry grimaced, but he didn’t try to spit it out, mainly because it had already gone down his throat.

Then Severus laid him down on the couch and pulled up the shirt and rubbed the third potion all over the baby’s chest. It smelled of mint and a bit of camphor, but it was not unpleasant. Harry wriggled and gurgled, making an odd face at his caregiver.

It was a moment before Severus recognized that the baby was smiling at him. In the twenty-four or so hours since he’d brought the foundling home, Harry had been crying for over half of that time, and the young man had grown accustomed to seeing an expression of distress on the little face more often than not.

But this was definitely a smile, thought the astonished young wizard, as the smile grew broader. Harry was smiling.

At him.

Severus felt as if he had been handed the moon.

Tentatively, because he was not much accustomed to being joyful, Snape smiled back.

He gently tucked his shirt, which was more like a nightshirt, down and Harry sat up and held out his arms. “Hol’ Hawwy.”

For an instant, Severus froze, unable to believe that the little mite actually wanted to be held by him, especially after he had yelled at him and shoved nasty potions down his throat. But apparently the baby held no grudges and those pleading evergreen eyes caused a strange feeling to stir in his chest.

“You have your mother’s eyes, you know.” He told Lily’s son. “And her hair too.”

“Hol’.” Harry repeated, and then reached for Severus.

“Okay.” His long-fingered hands caught the baby and pulled him close.

Harry nestled beneath his chin, laying his head upon Severus’ chest, where he could hear the beating of the Potion Master’s heart. He was warm and feeling a bit better and sleepy, so he curled up, his knees to his chin and his bottom thrust out, breathing in the odor of the salve upon his chest, and went to sleep.

Severus looked down at the child snuggled against him and felt something he had never felt before.

Protective.

This child needed him like no one ever had before. It was a strange feeling, being responsible for another life, one so fragile, so dependent, so trusting.

He wasn’t sure if he liked it. The responsibility loomed before him like a black hole. He wasn’t sure if he could handle it.

But at the same time it felt good to be needed. Good to be wanted. He had not felt wanted since his mother had passed away three years ago.

Yawning, Severus leaned back against the couch and shut his eyes. There would be time later for introspection. Right now he just wanted one thing for Christmas.

A good night’s—or day’s—sleep.

* * * * * *

Harry and his new caretaker slept for eight strength-restoring hours and when they awoke, there was a dusting of snow outside and both felt immensely better now that they had gotten some much-needed sleep. After changing Harry again and giving him some more of the Fever Reducer and the second dose of the Anti-Diarrhea/Nutritive mixture, Severus felt like eating something.

So he took Harry into the kitchenette and fixed himself some coffee and a sandwich, which he devoured down to the last crumb. “I’ll need to go shopping tomorrow,” Severus said quietly, thinking that it was nice to have someone to talk to, even if the baby couldn’t talk back. “But first I’ll need some more potions. These will only last me until tomorrow.”

He looked down at Harry, knowing he couldn’t allow the baby to get too near his cauldron, but also not knowing where to put him so he would be safely out of the way. Finally, he decided to put Harry on the couch, with a Boundary Charm to keep him safely upon the furniture, and then he turned on the radio. Since it was a Muggle radio, Severus only got a few stations, but one of those was playing Christmas music.

“All right, Harry. I need to go and brew potions, so you just stay here and . . .sleep or play with your toes or whatever you do. Here’s a bottle of milk.” He gave the boy his bottle and hoped Harry would simply drink and go to sleep.

But Harry, while a bit sleepy, was not tired enough to fall asleep right then, and he wanted Severus to keep holding him.

He held out his arms. “Hol’!”

Severus shook his head. “I can’t. I’m busy. Lie down and drink your bottle.”

Harry repeated the gesture. “Hol’ Hawwy!”

“Later.” Snape turned and walked over to the far corner of the flat, where he had a very small but efficient potions lab set up, just large enough to brew his own personal stock.

Hurt, Harry watched the Tall One stride away and tried to climb off the couch, but found he was unable to do so. Frustrated, he began to cry.

Severus halted. He would never be able to brew with that awful bawling. He turned around and called, “Potter, stop that noise! I just need a half-an-hour. Now hush! Go to sleep, for heaven’s sake!”

Harry wailed, trapped on the couch, holding his arms out.

The radio began to play “Blue Christmas” sung by Elvis.

“Hol’ Hawwy!”

Aggravated, Snape marched back over to the couch. “I said later! Now quiet down before I—” he halted, for his words had been almost the same ones his father used to say to him when he cried as a child. Usually right before he delivered a slap to Severus’s face or backside. Inwardly, he cringed. He did not want to become like that man in any way shape or form. Not ever.

Harry wept, pinning him with his huge tear-filled mournful eyes.

“Ahh, damn your eyes, Potter!” the Potions Master cried, throwing up his hands. He simply had no resistance when Harry gazed at him that way. But at the same time he knew he needed to start brewing now, if he didn’t want to remain up all night. Good thing tomorrow was Sunday and the apothecary was closed for the holiday.

Harry held out his arms again.

Severus hit himself in the forehead. He was such a dunderhead! It was Christmas and what did all little children get for Christmas?

Toys.

Harry needed something to play with.

But Severus had long ago put away all childish things and had nothing to amuse a child. Especially not one that wanted to be held and snuggled by him of all people. What did little kids his age like to play with? Snape wondered. He thought for a moment, then snapped his fingers. He had recalled his co-worker, Amanda Truegood, telling him once that she had gotten a soft plush bear for her daughter and she slept with it each night.

Severus transfigured one of his extra pillows into a soft huggable bear that he wouldn’t have been seen dead with. It was a reddish brown and had bright button eyes and a pleasing expression. As a whimsical afterthought, he stuck a replica of his own black robes upon the bear and floated it over to Harry.

“Here. Play with Professor Hush-a-bye.” Snape did not where that name had come from, but supposed it might have had to do with the fact that he hoped the bear would hush the child’s crying and encourage Harry to sleep.

Harry stared at the soft bear for a long moment. He had never had anything of his own. Only Dudley had ever been allowed toys.

“Go on. Take it,” Severus urged impatiently. Honestly, one would think the boy had never played with a toy before. Then he recalled where he had found this child and suspected that if his relatives were the sort to leave a baby to freeze to death, they might have also never given him any kind of toy.

Slowly, Harry reached out and touched the soft bear. When he was not screamed at and thrown into a dark cupboard, he put his head on the bear. Then he brought his other arm around and hugged it. Again he paused, wondering if he was going to have it snatched away.

But no one yelled or pinched him and Harry dared to look up at the big man. “Hawwy’s?”

“Yes, Harry’s bear. Hold it and play with it.”

“Hawwy’s . . .bea . . .” Harry said blissfully. He hugged the bear for dear life.

“Merry Christmas.” Snape said quietly, and a smile tugged irresistibly at the corner of his mouth, watching the baby holding the plush toy. Could this be the first present the baby had ever received? From the way Potter reacted, it certainly seemed so.

Severus waited until Harry seemed absorbed with the bear then he slipped back to the corner of the room and began to brew.

* * * * * *

Half-an-hour later, Severus had brewed fresh batches of the Fever Reducer and the Baby Anti-Diarrhea Elixir. He would brew some more of the Decongestive Rub tomorrow, since the salve would not run out as quickly as the other potions. He also had some Nutrient Potion on hand and so could brew that later as well.

He returned to check up on Harry and found the child asleep, one hand curled about the bear and the other holding a half-empty bottle.

Asleep, Harry resembled a baby angel, his cheek soft and rosy, his lashes a dark smear against his porcelain-white skin, his lips working a bit even in sleep. His auburn hair gleamed with a copper light in the glow of the lamps above and Severus just stood there, looking at the child he had rescued, the son of both his only love and his bitter rival. The child he had saved once again from death’s eternal embrace.

He felt his heart swell with unfamiliar emotions. Affection, pity, and regret.

How could he begin to care for this child when he could barely afford to feed himself on his salary? How could he let him stay when he worked twelve hour shifts two days a week and eight the rest? Who could he get to watch him?

It’ll never work, Severus. You’ll have to . . .look for someone else to take him. An adoption agency or a foster home. He needs someone who can be with him most of the time, someone who can give him everything he needs and wants. And however much you want to, you can’t, his conscience reproved bleakly.

The logical part of his mind agreed with his conscience. But the other part of his mind, the emotional part, refused to listen to logical argument. That part argued that Harry might not be any better with a foster family, look at how his relatives had treated him. They had been worse than inhumane. Who’s to say that couldn’t happen again? How could I risk that?

He couldn’t. But barring a miracle, how could he keep a child on his meager salary? Finding another job right now was out of the question, since few apothecaries had need of another Potions Master and one who was fresh out of his apprenticeship besides. Smithers had been the only one willing to hire him, and Severus now knew why. His boss got cheap labor and someone to snipe at whenever business was bad, which wasn’t often.

“Maybe I’ll get lucky and Smithers will undergo a heart transplant and give me a raise for Christmas,” Severus muttered sarcastically. He snorted at his own ridiculous fancy. He had until tomorrow night to think about what to do about Harry.

It would be one of the hardest decisions he had ever made.

Sighing, Severus padded into the bathroom to take a shower. He would give Harry a bath when next he woke, but right then he needed hot water and soap desperately. He began to run the water, praying that Lily’s child would stay asleep while he cleaned up.

He could just hear the strains of “Blue Christmas” on the radio again. “I’ll have a blue Christmas without you . . .”

Severus thought ironically how true that statement was, if he did what his conscience suggested and turned Harry over to some wizarding adoption agency. It curdled his stomach just thinking about it. But what choice did he have? He had to do what was best for the child, didn’t he?

Ignoring the sudden pang of despair that stabbed him, Snape stepped into the shower and let the hot water pound down on him, unknotting all of his stiff muscles and relaxing them, the lyrics to “Blue Christmas” replaying themselves in his head. The water warmed his skin, but inside he felt cold.

Harry ended up sleeping for most of the rest of the night, waking only once because he was thirsty and wet and after that he fell asleep again immediately. Severus had decided to transfigure an old box into a small crib and placed it next to his bed. It wasn’t that he minded Harry sleeping next to him, but he didn’t want the baby to get used to doing that every night, because if he did give him to a foster care facility, he knew they would not be sleeping with him, and so Harry had to get used to sleeping by himself. He made sure the crib had a thick mattress and a warm blanket, since the flat tended to grow chilly sometimes and he put Professor Hush-a-bye in the crib with the little boy.

Harry had already grown so attached to the bear that he had whimpered when it was out of sight. It made Severus both happy and sad to see such devotion to a mere stuffed toy. Clearly, the child hadn’t known much happiness in his short life and it made him furious to even think about the wicked people who had put Harry in the manger. They must have had no hearts to be so cruel.

Tomorrow he would give the boy a bath, since even Freshen Up charms had limits and then he would have to start seriously thinking about Harry’s future. He also needed to go shopping, both for food, which he did in the Muggle supermarket, and for clothes, which he usually did in Diagon Alley, but which was closed due to the holiday break. So that meant he would look in the Muggle department stores for clothes for Harry. Perhaps they would have some sales after the holiday, he mused. He recalled hazily his mum always taking him shopping the day after a major holiday because that was when sales were on.

Right then, however, Severus wanted nothing so much as to curl up in bed with a good book, read a bit, and then fall asleep. So that was what he did, indulging himself for once.

* * * * * *

Harry awoke feeling much better the next morning, and after his morning round of potions, Severus fed him some chicken broth with a small bit of bread soaked in it and some more milk. Harry eagerly drank both the bottle and the broth, and now Severus understood what Healer Faolin had meant when she’d said Harry probably hadn’t been feeling well when he’d tried to feed him before. The new hungry Harry was a breeze to feed, he opened his mouth readily and looked about for more when the bowl was empty.

Severus carefully wiped his mouth with a cloth and said, “That’s enough for now. I can give you more later. You need a bath, little tyke. Badly.” He lifted Harry from his lap and carried him over to the sink, because the flat didn’t have a real bathtub.

The sink wasn’t very large, but it would serve as a bathtub for the child. Severus carefully lined it with an old soft towel before running the water and adding some mild soap, a sponge and a rubber duck he’d transfigured from a cork stopper.

He tested the water with a hand before undressing Harry and gently placing him in the water.

At first Harry whimpered and stiffened, because all the baths he could recall were very cold, but the warmth of the water and Severus’s hands holding him soon put him at ease. He splashed a hand down at the water, and discovered that it moved and also the soap swirled about on the top.

“Easy there, no splashing till I’m finished washing you,” warned his caretaker, as he gently lathered up a soft sponge (it was one he used to wash vials with, carefully cleaned) and began to wash the baby.

Harry giggled and blew bubbles while he scrubbed, discovering that the sponge felt great upon his skin, so unlike the rough washcloth Petunia had used to use on him. This was not scratchy, it did not make his tender skin hurt, and the soap smelled like almonds and honey.

Severus even washed the baby’s hair, using a mild shampoo and rinsing him off with a cup.

Harry remained still when that was over, until Severus stepped back a bit, thinking he could let the child play for a while. Severus had cast a Water Repellent charm over his clothes, and thought he was very clever. He was tired of having his clothes get wet.

Harry looked at him, unsure of what to do.

Severus pushed the rubber duckie over to him. “Here, Harry. Play with the duck.” He squeezed it and it quacked.

Harry’s eyes grew wide. “Quack quack?”

“Yes, that’s a duck. That’s what it says—quack quack. Play with it and have fun.”

“Fun?” Harry looked at him, puzzled.

Severus showed him how to make the duck “swim” and “dive”.

“Quack quack!” sang Harry, loudly.

“Duck!” corrected Snape.

“Quack quack!” his charge insisted stubbornly.

“Duck.” Severus pointed to the duck. “Look. This is a duck.”

“Quack quack!”

After two more times of this, Severus gave up and let Harry call the duck Quack Quack. At least it made sense and didn’t sound like utterly incomprehensible infant babble. He had noticed that Harry was very quick to pick up new words and comprehended a good deal more than he would have thought a year-and-a-half baby capable of. “You’re a bright boy, Harry. By the time you’re two I’d wager you’ll be talking in full sentences,” he told the child.

Harry looked up at him. “Quack quack ‘wim.” He made the duck move across the sink then clapped his hands and grinned.

“Yes, ducks swim. Very good.”

“Goo’ Hawwy.” The grin widened. Then he brought his hands down and splashed. Hard. Water flew all over, including onto Severus, who discovered that he might not be able to get his clothes wet but he had forgotten about his face.

“Ahh! My eyes!” Severus yelped, for the soapy water had gotten into them. He quickly grabbed a washcloth and ran it under the faucet, then carefully wiped his stinging eyes.

Harry watched, not understanding what had happened, except for the fact that Severus seemed hurt. His bottom lip trembled. He didn’t want the Tall One hurt. “Owwie?”

Severus lowered the washcloth and summoned some soothing eyedrops and put them in his eyes, they protected him from acrid fumes while brewing, and immediately his eyes stopped burning. “I’m fine, but don’t splash me, Potter.” He scolded mildly. “That’s bad.”

“Bad?” Now that word he did know. His eyes filled with tears.

Alarmed, Severus said, “What’s the matter? Did you get soap in your eyes too?” He went to wipe Harry’s eyes with the wet cloth and Harry began to cry. “Shh. I’ll fix it.” He tilted the boy’s head back and put a drop in each eye. “There.”

But Harry was still upset and thought Snape was going to punish him, and his eyes still leaked tears. “Hawwy bad.” He sniffled, waiting for a smack and to be taken from the bath and stuck in the dark place.

Snape just stared at the little boy. Then it hit him. Harry wasn’t crying because he’d gotten soap in his eyes. He was crying because Snape had called him bad. He knew that word and for him to recognize it meant one thing. He had been called it often. Severus winced, recalling the miserable days of his own childhood. Tobias had called him every derogatory name in the book, shredding his self-confidence to pieces by the time he was eight. It was something that to this day, he still had problems with.

Now he looked at the child sitting in his sink and thought suddenly that here was another much like himself, made to feel unwanted and a burden by people who should have loved and cared for him. Harry might be too young to wonder why his relatives treated him so badly, but he was old enough to feel upset over it. What did they do to you, those miserable excuses for human beings? Even if they didn’t want you, how could they deliberately mistreat a baby?

Large tears were still trickling down Harry’s face and Severus said quickly, “Don’t cry. You’re not bad. It was an accident.”

Harry’s face crinkled. “No bad?” he repeated.

“No.” Severus reassured. “Play with the duck,” he encouraged.

“Quack quack pway!” Harry shouted, and grabbed the duck and splashed it down. “Fun!”

“Yes, fun. For you.” Severus bit back a groan and resigned himself to having a flood all over his kitchen for ten minutes while he let the child amuse himself. It was a good thing he was a wizard, so cleaning up messes wasn’t the chore it would have been otherwise.

Finally, he took him out and dried him off with a Drying Charm, putting on the Rash Away salve and the Decongestion Rub and then dressing him in a shrunken set of his trousers and shirt and a pair of socks. “Now, I need something to carry you in,” the Potions Master mused. “Because I can hardly shop while carrying you on my hip.”

He looked about and spied an old backpack that he used to carry potions and enlarged it so it would fit a toddler. He then lined it with sheepskin and cast a Warming charm on it. “There! Let’s try it out.”

He put Harry inside and the baby cooed and snuggled inside. Then he looked around and called, “Bea! Hawwy’s bea!”

“Right.” Severus summoned the bear and gave it to Harry, placing it in the back pack as well and slinging it over his back. Harry squealed with delight, he had never been carried like this before and it was fun.

Severus slipped off the straps and cleaned up the kitchenette with a quick charm then tugged on his coat and readjusted the straps on the pack. “Well, shall we go shopping, imp?” He called over his shoulder.

Harry clapped his hands. “Yay!”

* * * * * *

Four outfits and three bags of groceries later, Harry was asleep, and Severus was considering Apparating to visit the closest Wizarding Child Foster Home, he had read an ad for donations in the Prophet that morning, one of the few things he got delivered by owl post except for his potions. The home was called Angel Haven, and sounded like it might be a good place, but first he wished to check it out.

He returned briefly to the flat to drop off the groceries and to dress the sleeping Harry in one of his new outfits, a small pair of gray trousers and a soft green pullover with a snowman, plus matching socks and tiny white and green striped trainers. Then he quickly put the baby back inside the enlarged backpack, which he had received several comments on as he had shopped, many of the women thought he was clever to have thought of such a thing, as it kept the baby right next to him and left his hands free to carry things without having to push a cumbersome stroller or pram. All of them had commented on how adorable Harry was, and how Severus must be such a proud father.

Severus had been at a loss as to what to say, and so he had simply looked away shyly. A part of him had been shocked that anyone could consider the sleeping Harry Potter his son, and another part wistfully wished that it were so. Then he Apparated to the wizarding side of London, where the Angel Haven Foster Home was located, and once he had arrived, he made himself invisible and approached the front entrance.

The foster center was a large old style Georgian house, that had clearly been remodeled and renovated at some point. It had gently peaked gray slate roof tiles, the front was red brick with black shutters and large columns flanked the front entryway. Three stone steps curved about the front entrance, bringing you to the oaken double doors with an angel’s face and wings done in brass. Below the angel’s face was a brass ring, clearly a door knocker.

Severus walked about the house before he tried to enter, carefully observing the grounds, the house was set back a ways and there was a bit of lawn out back with some child-sized playground equipment, like a swing set, slide, teeter-totter, and monkey bars. Some children, ranging from about age five to twelve, were playing outside, watched over by a slightly sour-faced matron in a gray dress.

Severus noted that the children all had properly warm clothing, jackets, hats, mittens, and boots, though most of it was obviously secondhand. Still, it was more than Severus had sometimes when he was growing up, and the kids seemed healthy and were running around, laughing and throwing small snowballs at each other. There seemed to be more girls than boys.

Severus observed for a few moments before going into the ajar back door.

Inside, he saw a long hallway and followed it down to a large corridor that branched both east and west and there was a large room that appeared to be a kitchen. Some older boys and girls were inside, helping to prepare lunch, along with one or two house elves.

Today seemed to be sandwich and soup day, with the elves stirring the soup and the five girls and boys making ham and cheese sandwiches. One boy was pouring what looked like milk into a row of plastic cups. Another girl was washing up some dishes in the sink.

The place looked orderly and clean, none of the children seemed particularly upset about working in the kitchen, and Severus moved on.

Down the left side were dormitories, those he saw contained a bed and a chest of drawers and an armoire built into the wall. Six children shared a room and they were organized by colors and ages. Severus saw that there were only one or two children three and under, the others were older than Harry.

He wondered if that were because most people couldn’t resist a little baby, so they were the first adopted.

Down the right side was a kind of rec room, where the children played with toys and wizard chess and Exploding Snap. Severus followed this hallway around and found it brought him to the main entrance and a large staircase that faced the front doors. He crept up the stairs, grateful that Harry was still asleep, and spotted a door marked, Gina Sullivan, Director.

The door was ajar and he could see a tall middle-aged woman with her brown hair in a bun dressed in sable robes sitting behind a desk speaking to a rather harried looking younger woman with blond hair and a long neck dressed in blue robes. Severus tilted his head and listened to their conversation.

“ . . .this year we haven’t gotten the donations from people that we have in the past, Sharon, so I’m afraid we will have to tighten our budget this year and make do.” Gina Sullivan was saying, shaking her head sadly. She was looking down at a large leatherbound book that was probably a ledger. A quill and ink rested next to her elbow.

“So that means we can’t really take on any new candidates, now can we?” Sharon queried.

“I’m afraid not. You know how space is severely limited until we place some more of the older ones, and you and I know that there’s precious few families willing to take on a ten or eleven year old knowing they’d have to pay school fees besides, even if Professor Dumbledore has agreed to admit them on half tuition.”

“I know. Plus most families don’t want an older child, they think the child is too set in their ways and all,” Sharon sighed. “It’s sad, really, for all they really want is a place to belong and a chance to have a family, same as the little ‘uns. I had a call just yesterday, there was a fire down at Cheapside and someone found a little girl about three wandering about, didn’t remember anything, and they think she was the only one who made it out alive. They wanted to give her to us, but I told them I had to talk to you first.”

“I would love to take her, but you know we don’t have the staff to oversee any more kids. You might recommend he try the Society of Merlin, though I just spoke to Michael Ambrose the day before yesterday and he’s having the same problems we are, low on funds, low on staff and overcrowded with children.”

The blond bit her lip and looked unhappy.

Severus withdrew from the door, and crept back down the stairs. Having overheard that conversation made his decision both better and worse. Better because he now had an excuse to not leave Harry with them, since if they couldn’t handle the orphans they now had, they wouldn’t be able to take Harry, nor would Severus leave him in a place where he might be overlooked and not taken care of properly.

But it was worse because he didn’t know how on earth he could care for a toddler with his current job. Smithers would have no pity upon his newest employee and Severus sighed again and Apparated back to his home. He put the still asleep Harry into his crib and went to go through his desk again, where he kept some interesting collectibles and things his mother had given him. If worse came to worse, he could sell some of the rare ingredients and so pay for a sitter for Harry that way. But he hated doing that, for those grimoires and ingredients had been Eileen’s only legacy to her son, and he did not like to part with them.

Tomorrow I go back to work and I don’t know if I could find anyone before then, plus he’s still sick and needs potions. I suppose I could always call in sick tomorrow, that would give me more time to figure things out.

As he flipped through a worn leather portfolio, he saw a letter in an envelope written in his mother’s elegant hand, addressed to him. He removed it and saw that it was in among the papers he had gotten for the sale of Spinner’s End and carefully opened it, wondering how he could have missed it.

Inside was a single sheet of parchment.

Dear Severus,

If you are reading this then I have most likely passed away. I regret leaving you so suddenly, but I have tried to make sure that in the event of my death, you will have someone else to go to instead of staying with your father, assuming he’s not dead or in jail by this time.

You know that my father, Augustus Prince, disapproved of my decision to marry Tobias. He considered it marrying beneath me and refused to acknowledge him or me as a member of the Prince family so long as I remained his wife. But I did manage to get him to agree to acknowledge any issue I might have as his family.

What that means is that if you are ever in need financially or otherwise, you may contact your grandfather and he will provide you with whatever you require, he believes strongly in family obligation, and as he is the last of the Prince line save for yourself, my sister having died without children, he will not turn you away. He lives in an old part of North Yorkshire, off the Lonely Moor, at Foxfire Hall, it’s been in the family for generations, going back to before Arthur and Merlin, when the Princes were once wizard kings, before giving up their title and becoming part of the new Ministry of Magic some thousand or so years ago.

I used to love it there when I was a girl, and sometimes I still dream about it still. It’s tucked back in the wild hills and you can only reach it if you are given a Port Key by my father. That was a safeguard built into the land’s defenses centuries ago and to this day no one visits Foxfire Hall without the permission and knowledge of its current lord or lady.

Your grandfather is very well-off, he inherited a goodly sum of money upon the death of his father and made more working for Gringotts as a consultant and also as a battle mage back when Grindelwald tried to take over the Ministry. He was Captain of the Advance Guard that protected the Minister and his parliament, and the bane of any dark wizard who attempted to kill his employer. He has since retired and now oversees other ventures, but his name is still spoken of with respect in certain circles.

Go to him if you have need, Severus. He is your blood and he will help you, he has promised me on his honor and his honor is above reproach. He has even agreed to sign a document pledging his aid to any offspring of mine and your own, it is witnessed by his solicitor Aubrey Marlowe. It has been placed in the Ministry, under the Prince family records.

Remember that I shall always love you, my son, and shall be watching from beyond the Veil as an angel. Take care and grow up to be all that you can be.

Your loving mother,

Eileen Estrella Prince

March 15, 1976

The letter was dated a year before her actual death.

Severus re-read the parchment once more before placing it upon his desk. His mother had never mentioned his grandfather to him when she was alive, and he had always assumed his grandparents were deceased due to that lack of speaking about them. He now suspected it might have been resentment or maybe even sorrow that had kept her mute.

Be that as it may, he now had something to grasp at. He was not the sort to go begging handouts from anyone, rich relation, promise or not. But this time he couldn’t afford to turn away any chance, no matter how slim, that might allow him to keep Harry. If Augustus Prince were as rich as Eileen had claimed, surely he could advance Severus a loan, enough to ensure that Harry remained with him and he could hire a sitter while he was at work.

He decided to write the old wizard a letter and see if he responded to it, make sure that he was still alive, since the letter had been dated four years ago.

He pulled out a clean piece of parchment and began to write.

* * * * * *

The next morning, Severus Floo-called the apothecary and informed Smithers he was very ill and could not come in to work that day.

Smithers was lean and bony, with hair that stuck up in tufts from his head, and he wore a deep purple robe embroidered in gold thread that made him look like a scarecrow king. He had pale amber eyes that could skewer a person at a hundred paces and an attitude that made Scrooge look like an angel.

“Sick? What do you mean, you’re sick?” he growled, fixing the coughing Severus with one of his famous glares.

Severus sneezed and managed to say hoarsely, “Sorry, sir . . .but I really can’t . . .cough, cough . . .brew today like this . . .”

“You’re not allowed to be sick, Snape!” barked Smithers.

Severus commenced coughing fit to hack up a lung. His eyes streamed and he looked as though he were on the verge of passing out.

Smithers eyed him balefully. “Fine! But you can only be out for today. Tomorrow, you’ll be here, or else I’ll sack you! And you’re doing double brewing tomorrow to make up for the day you’ve missed, clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Severus wheezed. Then he withdrew his head from the flames.

Once back on his side of the Floo Network, he carefully wiped his streaming eyes and nose with a towel and silently thanked the Marauders, who had once been the bane of his existence in school, for teaching him the benefits of Cold Mimicking Powder. It was probably the only thing he was grateful for that they had invented.

Good thing the effects wore off in about ten minutes.

He heard Harry calling from the other room and was just about to go and get him when a tapping noise came from the window in the kitchen. He rushed to the window and opened it, letting the owl inside.

It was a beautiful Great Horned owl and it landed atop the counter and held out the letter in its talon imperiously.

Severus took it and fed the owl a bit of bacon he had been frying for breakfast. The owl took it fastidiously, then bowed and flew back out the window and away.

Severus peered at the letter he now held.

It was addressed to one Mr. Severus Snape, 14A Cottage Way, London. The return address was A. Prince, Lord Thornton, Foxfire Hall.

For one instant, Severus could not breathe and the room swam hazily before him.

He had not really dared to hope that his grandfather, whom he had never seen or spoken to in his whole life, would actually respond to his request to meet with him. He had not even known if the man were still alive.

But now he held a letter in his hand and knew one thing. Augustus Prince was indeed alive and had taken the time to respond to him.

With trembling fingers, he broke the seal upon the letter, which was of a leopard rampant.

He started to unfold the letter when Harry’s voice interrupted him insistently. “Hawwy get out! Nap all done!”

Severus didn’t know it, but that was what Harry had always heard Dudley say when he wanted to be taken out of his crib after a nap. So, for the first time ever, he repeated it and then waited to see what happened.

“Just a minute,” Severus called, then he set the letter down and walked slowly over to the curtained “bedroom”.

Harry was standing in the crib, looking across the room expectantly. “Hawwy out now,” he said to the Tall One.

Severus came and stood before him. “Please,” he said firmly. He didn’t know if Harry was too young to learn manners, but he was determined to not become a slave to the youngster. “Please let me out now.”

The green eyes blinked. He held out his arms to his caretaker. “Nap all done! Hawwy come out.”

“Please,” Severus repeated.

Harry tilted his head. Plainly the Tall One wanted something from him first. Tentatively, he said, “Pwease?”

“Yes. Very good!” Severus said. “Now you may come out.”

He gently lifted the boy out of the crib.

Harry snuggled against him for a moment before turning and trying to grab his plushie. “Bea . . .come out!”

“All right, calm down.” Severus grabbed Professor Hush-a-bye from the crib and handed him to Harry. “Happy now?” he asked, somewhat sarcastically.

Harry gave him a grin. “Hawwy hungwy.”

Severus carried him into the kitchen, he wasn’t surprised the boy was hungry, he must be getting his appetite back. He placed a cushion on the chair and sat Harry on it. Then he gave the child some banana cut into pieces and some dry cereal, as well as a bottle of milk. “There, eat your snack while I read this, Mr. Impatience.”

Harry began to eat eagerly, cramming some cereal into his mouth.

He carefully unfolded the parchment, noting that it was of the best quality, creamy and heavy and stamped with the rampant leopard crest. Written in bright black ink was the following message.

To my grandson Severus,

I take pen in hand to reply to your letter, which I had just received yesterday. It was one of my deepest regrets that I never spoke with Eileen before she died. She did, however, share with me the occasion of your birth and your acceptance to Hogwarts. You are obviously finished with school now and from the sound of things seem to be in financial difficulty. I am not surprised, since Britain has always undervalued its Potions Masters. In that regard, things have changed very little since my day.

People value least what they need most. Such is the way of the world. Without Potions Masters, we would be in sorry straits with regard to medicine and healing and many other things as well. Yet a Quidditch player is paid more and given more recognition. Humph!

Still, you ought to be proud of yourself for achieving a Mastery at such a young age, you are, I believe, only twenty-one years of age? Most wizards and witches take a full five to six years to complete an apprenticeship. It would seem you have inherited the Prince magical genius in full, and escaped the mediocrity of your Muggle father, whom I had pegged as an opportunist from the moment I laid eyes upon him. Alas, my daughter was too stubborn and foolish to listen to me, and her defiance cost her dearly. But that is in the past, and I have decided to let bygones be bygones and start anew. Life is too short to let old quarrels come between family members.

And you also have a small child to look after. My great-grandson, I presume.

I would like for you both to come to Foxfire Hall, sometime this week if it is convenient for you to do so, that I may meet you and your son.

Doubtless you may wonder why I never issued an invitation before this, and I can only say that I allowed pride and old grudges and my temper to dictate my actions.

You are my last living descendant and I wish to discuss your situation before giving you a loan, as you put it. I have a few suggestions you might wish to hear.

Enclosed is a Port Key to give you access to Foxfire Hall, without it you shall never find it, since it is Unplottable and warded. Long ago it was dangerous to be a member of the Prince family and my ancestors made certain we had a safe haven to come to should there be need.

I look forward to meeting with you, grandson.

Sincerely,

Your grandfather,

Augustus Prince, Lord of Foxfire Hall

At the end of the parchment was taped a round disk carved with a fox’s head.

That must be the Port Key.

Severus bit his lip nervously. From the way his grandfather had composed the letter, it would seem that he was favorably disposed towards him and that relieved him immensely. But at the same time he could tell that the elder wizard was a stern man and set in his ways and that was why he had lied and not bothered to explain that Harry was not his son, but a child he had found in a manger by following a star and the sound of a baby crying. Clearly Augustus Prince valued blood ties, as did most purebloods, and Severus feared that if Augustus learned that Harry were not blood, he might reject him. Or if he learned that Harry was The-Boy-Who-Lived, he might insist that Severus turn him over to Albus Dumbledore or the Ministry instead, because of his celebrity status.

James Potter must be turning over in his grave to learn that his son has become a Snape, even if it is in name only. But I don’t care. The child needs me, his relatives threw him out like a pile of rubbish and what kind of life will he have as the wizarding world’s great celebrity? He will be treated like a king, most likely, but every move he makes will be scrutinized and commented on, and he’ll become inflated with his own importance, an arrogant twit like his father. That is not the life I think Lily would want for him. Nor the life he deserves. He deserves to grow up a normal boy, like everyone else, not to be used as a pawn in some old wizard’s power game. And I can give him that. Or I will be able to once I have met with my grandfather.

He paused and looked at his charge, who was sucking down a bottle of milk greedily, and wondered when it was that he had started to truly care for the baby and think of the child as his own. He supposed it must have been sometime during that endless night and day of Christmas, or perhaps it was because the child had been so sick and he had managed to cure him, or maybe it was because the boy looked so much like his best friend and his only love. Whatever it was, he could not now even think of giving up the baby, not to anyone, for any reason.

So, though he disliked lying to his grandfather, Severus concluded it was a necessary deception.

And to further it, he carefully placed a minor Disguise Charm upon the baby’s forehead, hiding the telltale scar. There were plenty of auburn-haired green-eyed wizards in the world, but only one bore that identifying scar.

Until now.

Severus gazed at the newest member of his family and whispered, “You’re mine now, child. My son, Harry Snape.”

Harry coughed a little and turned to stare at Severus. “All gone,” he announced, pointing to his empty plate. “Wan’ more.”

“I want more, please.” Severus corrected.

Harry dutifully repeated the sentence. “Wan’ more, pwease.”

“Good.” Snape praised. “I suppose we ought to eat supper before going to visit your great-grandfather. I think I’ll have a hamburger and chips and you can eat one of those baby meals I picked up.”

He found a jar of beef macaroni for toddlers in the pantry and heated it up with a quickly spoken Warming charm, before turning to cook his hamburger and chips. He speed cooked the burger and chips using a magical spell then carried it to the table, transfiguring a stick into another chair so he could sit next to Harry.

He carefully spooned the macaroni into Harry’s plate and began to feed the child.

“Mmm . . .” Harry said, opening his mouth for more.

Severus fed him almost the whole jar, happy to see him eating normally, then he changed him into a fresh outfit and dressed himself in his best pair of robes and a good shirt and trousers. He made sure Harry had taken the rest of his potions for the night, then put a coat and hat on him and his shoes before tucking the baby into his backpack along with Professor Hush-a-bye.

“Go out?” Harry asked, having learned that the backpack meant they were going to leave the flat.

“Yes, we’ll be going out. Just in a different manner,” Severus explained, putting Harry on his back. He grasped the Port Key on the bottom of the letter and whispered, “Portus!”

He felt a rather hard tug and then the world spun around and around.

He felt as if he was falling a long way through a dark tunnel, but the sensation lasted barely three heartbeats before he found himself floating down to land upon a large expanse of well trimmed green lawn, which led up to a grand old stone house set back upon a hill, its gables twinkling with faint wisps of light that faded in and out, which had given the hall its name centuries before, because the lights resembled that phenomenon of moor and marsh known as a will-o-the-wisp, or foxfire.

Severus immediately glanced back to see how Harry was doing. A Port Key normally was a safe and friendly method of travel for young children, but he wanted to make sure Harry had not suffered any ill effects.

Harry was sucking his thumb and grinning like a Cheshire cat. He had enjoyed the wild ride and now peered about him curiously.

The sky was dark and billions of stars twinkled overhead, able to be seen clearly upon this night because this was in the country and had no smog or petrol fumes to clog the air. The air was crisp and clean and smelled faintly of apples and woodsmoke.

Severus began to walk across the lawn, his right hand clutching his letter and the Port Key. He found himself humming the melody to the old Christmas song, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear.”

In his backpack, Harry hugged his bear and babbled happily to himself.

Finally Severus stood before the massive double doors and knocked sharply with the brass knocker in the shape of a leopard’s head.

Then he quickly wiped his sweaty palms upon his robes and waited.

A few moments later, the doors swung open and he saw a house elf standing before him.

But unlike most house elves, this one was dressed in what looked like black and gold livery, tights and a tunic with the same leopard crest and even a jaunty cap was set over one pointed ear. The elf had long curling hair and bowed and said, “Welcome, Master Severus Snape, to Foxfire Hall. I am Hotspur, milord’s major domo. He’s expecting you, please step inside while I call him.”

The elf stepped backwards so Severus and Harry could enter, then he vanished with a curious popping sound.

Harry gasped. “Where it go?”

“To call Lord Thornton,” a portrait of a stately wizard in red robes holding a scepter replied. The portrait was hung to the right of the doors and could therefore see everyone who happened to enter or leave the house. “Greetings. I am Valiar Prince, your many times great-great grandfather.”

Severus turned to address the portrait when the house elf returned. “This way, Master Snape, if you please. Milord will see you in his study.”

Harry giggled at the sight of the odd creature. “What dat?” He turned until he was peering over Snape’s shoulder and pointed.

Hotspur beamed at the little wizard. “How marvelous! Foxfire Hall hasn’t seen a baby since little Miss Eileen! Hello, young man! My name is Hotspur. What’s your name?”

“Hawwy.”

“Ah, a fine name. You must be proud to have such a fine son, Master Severus.”

“Yes,” was all Severus replied.

“And you, little one, are lucky to have such a good papa.”

“Papa,” Harry repeated, finding that easier to pronounce than the other name the elf had called his new guardian. He finally had a name to call the Tall One. “Papa. Papa.”

Severus had to fight to keep his composure, though he supposed it was only natural that Harry call him some form of the word for father. And if he wished his deception to succeed he had to get used to being addressed that way, despite the part of his mind that was gibbering You’re too young to be a father. Your career is just beginning. He sternly told that part of his mind to shut up and get a grip. Then he turned his head and replied, “Yes, Harry? What’s wrong?”

“Hawwy get down.”

“Not yet. Soon,” Severus told him, following Hotspur up a long winding staircase.

All along the staircase were more family portraits, all of which were looking at the newcomers curiously and some chuckled or smiled at Harry.

“Aww! Look at the little tyke! Isn’t he adorable?” gushed one matron wearing a violet silk gown.

“Absolutely charming!”

“Hello, sweet thing! My, but you’re gonna be a heartbreaker when you grow up,” cooed a younger woman with her hair piled atop her head wearing a low cut rose gown.

“Mmm . . .must take after his papa,” giggled another.

Now Severus did blush, for he knew quite well that he wasn’t anything to look at, not compared to Potter or his kind. It was one reason, he supposed, that Lily had tired of him. Why would she want to wake up to his thin face and hawk nose everyday when she could have the bloody handsome James Potter, Quidditch star? Then he shook his head. He refused to dwell on the past. This was a new beginning, hopefully.

Hotspur reached the landing and then made a sharp right and tapped lightly upon a heavy oaken door.

“Enter,” came a soft baritone.

Hotspur pushed open the door and bowed, announcing the two visitors. “Master Severus Snape and his son Master Harry to see you, my lord.”

“Thank you, Hotspur. You may go.”

Hotspur blinked away, leaving Severus standing before a huge mahogany and ebony carved desk. The desk contained various tomes and behind it was seated a tall thin man with black hair cut neatly and penetrating brown eyes. At one time he must have also been, as the portrait had remarked of Harry, a heartbreaker. He looked no more than fifty or sixty, though Severus was certain he was much older. Wizards did not age like Muggles. His face was set in a rather stern mien though it seemed that his expression softened a tad when he beheld his daughter’s child and grandchild. He wore long gray robes with a silver and midnight blue trim and a large silver chain with a green stone pendant suspended from it.

Uncertain of what to do, Severus gave a brief bow, and said, “Sir, I’m Severus and this is my . . .son, Harry.”

Augustus held up a hand and rose. “Do not bow to me, you are family, not a retainer. Subservience does not become a Prince.” He moved about the desk until he was standing a few feet away from Severus. He was slightly taller than the younger man, but not enough that his height gave him an advantage. “You have Eileen’s coloring about you. And the Prince height.” He nodded in satisfaction, though he frowned when he saw that Severus’ hair was longer than it had appeared, pulled back with a thong. Hmm . . .something will have to be done about that. “Welcome to Foxfire Hall.” He gave the younger wizard a quiet smile, then not quite knowing what else to do to break the rather awkward silence, cleared his throat and gestured to a comfortable plaid armchair off to the side near the fireplace. “Please be seated.”

Severus slipped off the straps of the backpack and took Harry out. The toddler immediately looked at Augustus and asked, “Who you?”

Augustus found himself starting to smile again, which was something he had not done since the death of his two daughters years ago. “Hello, child. So you are my great-grandson. Henry, is it?”

“Hawwy.”

Augustus raised an eyebrow. “I detest pet names. Henry will do. A strong name. How old is he?”

“He’s eighteen months,” replied Severus. “He was born in July.”

“Takes after his mother, does he?”

“Yes . . .Grandfather,” Severus said, trying out the title for the first time. It felt a bit strange but at the same time it also felt good to acknowledge a family member again, even if he was a stranger. “His mother had dark red hair and green eyes. Harry resembles her greatly.”

“Hmm . . .and where is she, this wife with red hair and evergreen eyes? Was she one of us?”

“She died recently,” Severus said, his voice suddenly going hoarse. “Her name was Lily. And she was the most brilliant witch I have ever known.”

“My condolences on your loss,” Augustus said simply, but Severus heard the rough sympathy in the other’s tone. “Losing one’s wife can be . . .traumatic, even if you are prepared for it. I take it was sudden?”

Severus nodded, looking away, and hoping his grandfather would ask no more questions about Lily. He had no wish to discuss her death. It was still too painful.

“Ah. I see. Please, sit down.”

Severus did so, putting Harry on his lap.

“Who you?” the toddler repeated.

“I am your great-grandfather,” Augustus answered. “But that is perhaps too much of a mouthful for such a little tyke, so you may call me . . .er. . .Grandpa.”

Harry frowned. He had never tried out that particular combination of sounds before. “Drampa,” he managed at last.

“Not bad.” Augustus acknowledged. “You’re a bright boy, Henry. Runs in the family.” He returned to sit behind his desk again. “Given your financial situation, Severus, as you stated in your letter, one thing puzzled me. Why did you wait to contact me? You could have done so after the funeral. Or did your father prevent you?” He grimaced. “Forgive me, but I never could stand that man.”

“I never really liked him either,” Severus muttered. “But no, he couldn’t prevent me, sir. Because he was already dead and gone. Alcohol poisoning. I never knew about you until I found this letter in among the papers from the sale of Spinner’s End, which was the house I grew up in. Somehow it got overlooked and misplaced.”

Harry wriggled to get down. “Papa, down.”

Severus hesitated, he didn’t want Harry to get into mischief, and he was certain the child could walk, despite wanting to be carried all over since he had found him. The sound of the little voice calling him ‘papa’ gave him an odd sort of thrill and contentment. “Stay right here next to me,” he ordered, setting Harry down by his feet with his bear.

Harry was quite happy to play on the floor and look around as he did so.

Severus continued. “Even so, sir, I never would have asked you for help if it weren’t for him,” he indicated the baby. “I was managing all right until Lily died and then . . .well, it’s hard to work twelve hour shifts with a baby attached to you.”

Augustus nodded. “You should have come to me before. I made a promise to Eileen that I would never turn away any of my blood. Even without the promise, however, I would have done so. I am an honorable man and family takes care of family. I would have helped Eileen, but she refused my offers.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “She told me that you refused to acknowledge her as your daughter once she married Tobias.”

Augustus sighed heavily. “That is so. I disapproved of her choice, but not because, as you may have thought, he was a Muggle. I disapproved because he was unworthy of her, I could never warm to the man, he was a good looking scorpion, but she was in love with him and far beyond the age when I could forbid her to do something and she would obey. But I did not want him to think he could get his grubby hands on my money and so I cut her off . . .in name only.”

“I don’t blame you. My father was trash, I’ve always known that,” his grandson said sharply. “But I’m not like him, sir. It’s not for myself I came to you, but for Harry, as I said before. If you would advance me a loan, I promise I shall pay you back, every Knut. I’m not asking for charity, Grandfather.” There was a proud light in the dark eyes, like an eagle, and determination as well.

Augustus recognized the quiet pride in the other’s face, it reminded him of himself as a young man. This one was not his father’s son, and the old wizard regretted not getting to know him sooner, for he was a Prince through and through. It was then that an idea came to him. It’s a fool’s hope, but then I am old enough to make a fool out of myself, he thought wryly. I have nothing to lose now and all to gain. He cleared his throat. “I would gladly lend you whatever you need, Severus, for I would never see a member of my family go begging. But I have a proposal for you of a different kind, if you will hear me out?”

“Go on,” Severus urged, sitting with his hands clasped on his knee.

“I am nearly ninety-five years old and there is not much left in my life that I regret, except the chance to tell my daughter that I was wrong, I should not have stayed away from her for so many years, my pride was not worth it. You say you wish a loan from me? What if I were to offer you more? I inherited much of what you see before you, but I also worked hard to keep it up, I was once a battle mage and a consultant for Gringotts in my youth. Now I have retired, but I still run a few small ventures. One of those is an experimental potions lab, staffed by some of the brightest Potions Masters and Mistresses I could find. They research and experiment with new types of potions for healing and some for war as well, because I don’t believe we have seen the last of that upstart Voldemort.”

Severus was shocked. “You . . .you said his name!”

“So? Don’t tell me you’ve bought into that nonsense that you shouldn’t speak his name? Bah! He is naught but another dark wizard, like Asmodean in my grandfather’s time, and Grindelwald after him. I fear very few things in this world, boy, and he is not one of them! Unmask the mystery of the dark and there is naught to fear. He was not as all powerful as he thought, if a mere baby could defeat him. But because there was no body, he might not be altogether dead.”

“What do you mean, Grandfather?”

“A dark wizard has many ways of preserving himself, ways that are twisted and cruel, but I could see him employing them. So it is best to be prepared, which is why I have some of my potion makers working on war potions. But also we work on improving existing drafts and creating new ones. I have seen for myself that you are the youngest to ever gain a Mastery in your field in Britain, and I wish for you to put that formidable intelligence to use. To put it bluntly, I wish to offer you a position as my Potions Master. I will pay you a salary equivalent to what my other Masters make, and you may live here at the hall with young Henry, who can be supervised by Hotspur and Lina, my house elves. I will also see to it that the little tyke gets whatever he needs and pay his school fees as well.”

“That is . . .very generous, Grandfather,” Severus said, amazed. He had never dared to hope for this much. “But please, take Harry’s expenses out of my wages.”

Augustus opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. He knew he would only butt heads with his stubborn grandson over this, and there was more than one way to skin a dragon. He would simply raise the young wizard’s salary and so whatever he “took out” would not impact upon the original sum he paid Severus. He smiled inwardly at his own cleverness. You may be a Slytherin, my boy, but I have been an old snake longer than you. “Very well. I shall take out a sum each week, if you insist. I take it you accept my offer then?”

“Yes. I do.” Severus agreed. He would have been a fool not to.

“Excellent! When would you like to move in?”

“I . . .uh . . .I need to pack up my things,” Severus said, still a bit dazed at this sudden reversal of fortune.

“I will send over Hotspur if you need it.”

“I also need to give notice to my employer and my landlord,” Severus added, and smirked inwardly at the joy that would bring him. “Then Harry and I will be able to move in with you.”

“Tomorrow, perhaps?”

“Yes. Thank you, Grandfather. I cannot . . .I don’t . . .”

“No need to thank me, Severus. It is the least I can do. Think of it, if you wish, as my atonement for ignoring your mother for so many years. I cannot change that, but perhaps I may make amends to her son and grandson. We are the last of the Prince line and it is only fitting that we should be together.”

Snape gave him a small smile in return. For the first time since he had rescued Harry from the manger, he felt a sense of extreme relief sweep through him. He looked down when he felt a tug on his robes.

“Papa? Pway now wif Hawwy?”

He lifted his son in his arms. “Soon. Right now we need to get home, it’s almost bedtime for you.”

Harry shook his head stubbornly. “No! No bed!”

“Say goodbye to your Grandpa,” Severus said hastily.

“Bye, Drampa,” Harry said, then to their astonishment, he held out his arms to Augustus.

Augustus held the child against him, marveling at how light and yet how solid the child was. Harry clung to him and he patted the baby on the back, murmuring, “You’ll see me again soon, little one. Goodbye and behave for your papa.” He then handed Harry back to Severus, who placed him in his backpack along with his bear.

“Hotspur!” the master of Foxfire Hall called.

Hotspur appeared in a flash. “You called, my lord?”

“Escort my grandson and great-grandson out, oh and have Lina prepare rooms for them, they will be living here permanently by tomorrow evening.”

“Very good, milord.” Hotspur bowed to Augustus and then beckoned to Severus and Harry. “This way, sirs.”

Once outside, Severus used the Port Key to return home, elated and yet apprehensive at this new turn of events. He prayed that Augustus never discovered his deception concerning Harry.

Harry was fussy, tired but not wanting to admit it, even after his bottle he was reluctant to sleep. It took Severus a good ten minutes of holding and patting the squirming whiny baby firmly on his shoulder before Harry gave in and fell asleep.

Snape laid him down, gently pulling the blanket over him. “Good night, imp. Tomorrow is the beginning of a new day and a new life for both of us.”

* * * * * *

Severus woke at six o’clock in the morning, knowing full well that he had to get up and go to work. He slowly opened one eye and groaned. Then he recalled that he no longer had to work for Smithers the Miserable Scarecrow any longer, and he promptly turned over and buried his face in the pillow and fell back to sleep.

Only to be wakened an hour later by Harry, who needed to be changed and fed.

Later, he took Harry with him as he walked the three blocks to where Smithers Apothecary was sandwiched inbetween two Muggle buildings and quickly worked a spell to admit him to Diagon Alley. Then he entered the shop, and came face to face with his angry employer.

“Snape! What do you mean, coming in late? I thought I told you to be here on time! Are you deaf? Do you think you’re irreplaceable just because you scored higher than anyone ever has on your Mastery tests? Because you’re not!”

Smithers’ face was very red and his hair stuck out in all directions, as if he had become electrocuted.

Severus drew himself up for the first time and looked the irascible man in the eye. “Mr. Smithers, I would like to give you my notice.”

“Notice? Of what? That you’re a lazy good-for-nothing shirker? Thanks, but I already knew that! Don’t give me any excuses either. I expect you here, on time, everyday, I don’t care how sick you are!”

“Sir—”

“Don’t whine, Snape! Can’t abide it! You’re fired.” Smithers declared, his eyes glinting in satisfaction. He waited for the young man to protest.

Severus glared at him. “You can’t fire me. I quit!”

Smithers’ smile slid off his face like a melted icicle off a hot tin roof. “You what? You quit?”

“Yes. I quit,” Severus repeated. “I came to tell you that I have found other employment.”

Smithers went red and sputtered, “How dare you?”

“How dare I what? How dare I find a place which treats their employers like human beings, instead of dirt to be scraped off their boots? How dare I find a job that pays me more than Twelve Sickles an hour and overtime?”

“You impudent whelp, you would have starved but for me!”

“I would have rather starved than put up with you!” Severus snarled. “Give me my two weeks pay, Smithers, and then I’ll leave.”

Smithers spun about and looked over at his secretary, who was watching the confrontation with wide eyes. Eyes that contained admiration and glee. But she quickly lowered them when her boss glared at her. “Give him his pay, Baxter, and good riddance!”

“Yes, sir.” She rose and took a key from her drawer and went into the vault where Smithers kept the money to pay his employees and drew out Severus’ two weeks plus bonus pay. She felt bad the young man was leaving, for he was a brilliant potion maker, but she was glad he had found a better job. “Here, Mr. Snape.”

She handed Snape the money he was owed, cooing over baby Harry as she did so.

Severus took it, ignoring Smithers’ dire muttering. “Thank you, Alicia. Goodbye.”

He turned about, and Harry stuck his head out of the backpack.

“What’s this?” Smithers sneered. “Got some witch knocked up and now she’s left your brat for you to take care of? Figures. I always knew you were a good-for-nothing, Snape! You’ll be back one day, crawling on your hands and knees for me to take you back . . .mark my words!”

Severus kept walking. “In your dreams, you nasty bugger!”

Harry scowled at the skinny man and then he blew a raspberry at him.

Smithers nearly had apoplexy.

Severus shut the door, a hand over his mouth to stop the unprofessional giggles that were threatening to emerge. Oh, Harry! Thank you for that! He leaned against a signpost, laughing helplessly, along with his mischievous son, before finally straightening and heading off to Gringotts to deposit his earnings.

Then he went back to the flat to finish packing up his meager belongings and giving the landlord his notice before returning to Foxfire Hall and the new family that awaited him and Harry.

One year later

Dec 15, 1982:

Harry was covered in flour and cinnamon sugar, his hands sticky from trying to make gingerbread men, girls, dogs, and any other shape he saw fit to cut out with a cookie cutter. He was standing upon a small stool, happily sprinkling colored sugar on the ones that Lina, the Prince house elf, had just made. “Mmm!” he said, sticking a finger in his mouth and eating the sugar.

Lina smiled at him tolerantly. She was dressed in a sensible blue dress with gold trim, over which an apron was worn, and a small mobcap over her head with holes cut in it for her ears. She had long dirty-blond hair that fell almost to her back in a tangle of curls and huge blue-green eyes that danced and sparkled, especially when she played with the newest member of the Prince household. Both she and her husband Hotspur adored Harry, who since coming to live at Foxfire Hall, had thrived and blossomed into a happy and healthy youngster.

With the constant affection of not only the two elves, but also of Severus and Augustus, Harry had managed to forget much of the Dursleys’ abuse, and soon the image of the dark cupboard and Vernon’s red-faced mouth bellowing and Petunia’s disapproving face and her hands that pinched and smacked were barely a memory. And it was fading more and more each day, replaced by two tall dark-haired men who hugged and indulged him and gave him his own room with plenty of toys.

“What shape would you like to make next, young master?” asked Lina, expertly moving her finished gingerbread men to a cookie sheet and putting them into the oven to bake.

“Umm . . .dis . .this one!” he corrected himself, recalling Severus’s lessons on speaking clearly. Harry pointed to a cauldron-shaped cutter. “It a tauldron like Papa uses.”

“Oh, that one’s lovely, Master Harry!” Lina said, rolling out more dough for him to use. “Your papa will like that one very much!”

Harry clapped his hands and pressed the cutter down. It made a perfect cauldron, and then Lina brushed it with milk and let Harry decorate it with sugar sprinkles. He put on plenty of green and red and showed Lina. “For Papa! C’n we bake it now, Lina? It a s’prise.”

“Yes, of course! It’s wonderful!”

She cut out some more gingerbread boys and girls and also some Christmas trees and added them to the sheet where the cauldron was and slid it into the great oven behind her, which was built into the wall.

“Make more?” Harry asked, pointing to the counter, which was empty of dough.

“Yes. Would you like to put down the flour?” asked the elf.

“Uh huh.” Harry said, nodding. He scooped some flour out of the large container on the counter with a small plastic scoop and scattered it all over the counter. Of course some got on him and also on Lina, who just rubbed it off her nose with a wet cloth.

“Very good, little one!” she said, having called Harry that name since he had come to live at the manor.

It was then that Severus entered the kitchen, looking for his small son. “Harry? Are you down here?” The kitchen was on the ground floor, below the entrance of the manor. “Time for you to take your potion, son.”

He was still giving Harry a Nutrient Potion mixed in milk every week, because the Dursleys neglect had caused the child’s growth to be retarded, but the potion was correcting that gradually. But that was also a cover for the other potion he gave Harry, one that slowly erased the lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The Scar Dissolving Cream was Severus’ own invention, one that he had first invented when going to work in Augustus’ private lab, as a way to reduce the scars left by burns from fire and potions accidents. Applied every other day to a scar it would slowly reduce the appearance of it and then make it vanish entirely. At least it worked upon burned tissue. Harry’s scar, being magical in nature, took longer to fade, but it was slowly doing so, thus reducing the need for Disguise charms. Severus was determined to keep Harry’s true origins a secret, and in the year that had passed, was relieved to note that no one in the wizarding world seemed to realize that Harry Potter was not still living with his Muggle relatives, further proof that he had been right to take the child in.

He carried a familiar bottle in one hand, and was dressed in his normal attire, a pair of gray slacks and a green shirt, having hung his black robes up in his room. He wore them mostly at the lab where he worked and was happy to take them off when he arrived home.

“Papa!” Harry shrilled when he caught sight of the Potions Master, nearly falling off his stool. “Lookit! We’s makin’ gingerbread men! See? See?”

“I see you’re all over with flour, imp,” teased the other wizard, his dark eyes glowing with pride and delight as he looked upon his auburn haired little boy.

Harry shrugged. He didn’t mind getting dirty. “Come n’ help?” he inquired. Then he added, remembering his manners. “Ple-e-ze?”

“Me? Help bake gingerbread men?” Severus raised an eyebrow.

“Yup!”

“Oh, Master Harry!” Lina chuckled. “Master Sev is all grown up and grown men don’t bake gingerbread men.”

Severus was relieved at Lina’s quick thinking.

Harry’s little face fell into a pout. “Oh.” Then he gazed at his father and said winsomely, “Please, Papa? Please?”

“I . . .well . . .I . . .” Severus fumbled for a good excuse, but he knew he was already snared by those brilliant emerald eyes. “Just this once, mind.” Snape, you’ve gone soft! You don’t know how to bake. You’re insane! But how could he bear to disappoint the adorable little imp?

He removed an apron from a hook upon the wall and rolled up his sleeves. “All right. Where do we start?”

“Like d-this, Papa. With the flour.” Harry instructed, his little face serious. “First you put the flour down an’ then Lina makes the dough all flat with the rolly-pin.”

“The rolly-pin?” Severus repeated, trying to hide a smile.

Harry nodded. “Lina says it called that.”

Lina began to roll out the dough, and Harry clapped his hands excitedly. “Lookit!”

“I see. Now quit jumping up and down, Harry. You’ll fall off,” Severus told him, coming up behind the little boy and holding his shoulders.

When Lina had the dough just right, she asked Harry, “How’s that?”

“It good!” Harry grinned. “Now we’s c’n cut out the shapes.” He showed Severus the different cutters. “Pick one, Papa!”

Severus pretended to study the cutters, at last choosing one shaped like a potion bottle. “This one!” He picked it up, dipped it in the flour, and then asked Harry, “Now what?”

“Now you put it down. Like this.” His small hand guided Severus’ larger one to the middle of the rolled dough and pushed it down firmly.

Then he picked it up and cheered. “You did it! An’ now you put sugar on it.”

“But first you brush it with milk,” Lina reminded, doing so.

“You choose the sugar, Harry,” Severus said, not wanting to leave his son out.

Harry chose blue and yellow sprinkles of sugar. He sprinkled it all over the potion bottle gingerbread. “I did it!”

“Very nice!” Severus praised.

“My turn!” Harry sang and chose a wizard hat next.

The two spent the rest of an hour making gingerbread, supervised by Lina, who thought it very sweet of Master Harry’s papa to spend time like this with the little boy.

By the time they were finished, both of them were smeared with flour and Severus had also fed Harry the Nutrient potion along with some milk. Harry had also eaten a gingerbread boy and crumbs were clinging to his chin.

“You’re a mess,” Severus observed ruefully.

“So are you, Master Sev!” Lina giggled, indicating Severus’s flour spattered front.

Severus looked down. Bloody hell! You look like the baker’s apprentice, Severus!

Harry laughed. “Messy Papa!”

Severus tweaked his nose. “You need a bath, child.”

“Aww! Not now!” Harry groaned. “Wanna make more!”

“Later, little one,” Severus said firmly. “Bath first, then dessert.”

He picked up Harry, who knew it was useless to argue when Severus used that tone. “Say thank you to Lina for teaching you to make gingerbread.”

“Thank you, Lina!” warbled Harry, waving over his father’s shoulder as Severus took him away to the promised bath and another application of the special cream.

Lina waved, then went back to her baking, humming happily. She knew she was very lucky to work at Foxfire Hall for the Prince family.

* * * * *

After Harry had been scrubbed and was squeaky clean, Severus showered himself and then dressed them both in clean clothes. Augustus insisted upon both his grandson and great-grandson being neat in appearance most of the time. For the most part, Severus made an effort to comply with that requirement, at least at dinnertime and at work.

One of Augustus’ first arguments with Severus had been over the other’s long hair. Though long hair had been the fashion for men during Augustus’ day, he had never liked the idea, and preferred the short sensible military style. “You’ll need to cut your hair, Severus, before starting work on Monday,” he had told his grandson crisply over dinner their second night together.

“My hair? Why?”

“Because my grandson should look respectable, that’s why,” Augustus said bluntly.

“I like my hair long,” Severus said evenly, but there was a stubborn glint in his eye that told the old man that he was not going to back down without a fight. “I look terrible with short hair.”

“Humph! I beg to differ. As my grandson, I insist you look respectable, the way a Prince should, and long hair looks slovenly.”

Severus set his jaw. He knew he shouldn’t quarrel with the old wizard, who had given him a decent job and a roof over his head and Harry’s, but it went against the grain to allow the old battleaxe to dictate hygiene to him. “Not if I keep it pulled back and washed and combed.”

“Are you . . .quarreling with me?” Augustus asked, astonished.

“No, sir. Merely expressing a difference of opinion.” Severus met his eyes squarely. “I respect your opinion, Grandfather, but I can’t comply with it. It’s a matter of personal preference.”

Augustus had opened his mouth to argue further, but then he abruptly shut it. He didn’t want to quarrel over something so trivial with his grandson, and perhaps make him wish he had never come to live there. He had mellowed during the lonely years after his wife and children had died and he could allow Severus this one concession. He was not quite the strict inflexible man he had once been.

“Very well. Mind you keep it trimmed and combed, however.”

“Of course, sir.” Severus said stiffly, thinking that he was grown well beyond the age when he needed an elder’s supervision on his appearance. He did not realize that he had won a considerable battle. Augustus was old and set in his ways and not the kind to bend easily. But Augustus wasn’t half as bad as Smithers.

In the year that had followed, Severus had learned to respect and to allow the older wizard his little idiocincrasies. Augustus was a proud man and set great store by propriety and honesty and manners. He had lived his life by a war wizard’s code of honor and yet he was willing to unbend for the sake of his newly found grandson and great-grandson.

Harry had been a well-behaved little thing for over six months, before he finally adjusted to his new home and family. Now he was a bundle of energy, and curious as a cat. In the beginning he had clung to Severus and hardly allowed the other out of his sight. Now, however, he wandered all over the manor, or at least all over the upstairs and main floor.

He scurried out the door while Severus was combing his hair and spotted Augustus’ familiar, the black cat Mystic, who turned tail and fled upon sight of the inquisitive toddler. Harry ran after him. “Miss-stick! Come here!” the child ordered.

But the cat was far too wise to ever put himself within the child’s reach, and risk getting his tail pulled or being hugged and held with his paws dragging on the floor in such an undignified fashion.

He ran around a corner and down the stairs, Harry in hot pursuit, all the way into the large dining room.

The little boy ran smack into a pair of legs, and fell down on his bottom. “Ow!”

“Are you all right, child?” asked his great-grandfather, reaching out and helping the boy up. “Not hurt, are you?”

“No.” Harry said, wanting to be brave. Then he rubbed his bottom.

“You’ll live. Where were you going in such a hurry, lad?”

Harry heaved a sigh. “Drandpa, Miss-stick not cummin’! I tol’ him to come an’ he wouldn’t! He don’ lissen!”

Augustus bit back a chuckle. “Ah, Henry. How many times have I told you that Mystic is a cat? And no cat ever listens to any human, unless they want to. They’re not like dogs. A cat marches to his own tune, child. They always have.”

“Why?”

“That’s just the way they are. They’re very independent.”

“But I wanna pet him, Drandpa.”

“Not pull his tail as you did last time?”

Harry shook his head. “No. Last time was an . . .acc . . aki . . .a mistake.” He would never do that again, since after doing so, the very annoyed feline had scratched his hand.

“It was. You can pet Mystic later. Now it’s time for dinner.” He bent and picked up the little boy, who smelled of apples and faintly of cinnamon.

“All wight!” Harry sighed, wishing he was big so then he could do whatever he wanted.

“R-ight. R-r-r-r,” Augustus enunciated, growling deep in his throat. Not speaking properly and slurring words was a pet peeve of his and he was determined to teach Harry to speak clearly.

“R-r-r-r!” Harry repeated. “R-r-r-ow-rr! The monster-r game!”

“Co-r-r—rect!” Augustus rolled his r’s. “Now repeat after me. R-r-udolph the R-r-r-ed-nosed R-r-reindeer r-r-r-an away.” One day Harry had returned from a shopping trip in Yorkshire with Severus prattling on and on about some red-nosed reindeer nonsense and singing a song he had heard several children from America singing as they walked along the street.

Harry dutifully repeated the sentence, concentrating on making the ‘R’ sound, then added mischievously. “An’ then the monster-r-r ate him! R-r-r-owrr!”

“You think that’s scary?” Augustus inquired, abandoning his reserve for once. He cleared his throat and concentrated, once he had been a perfect mimic of animal noises, which drove his teachers crazy at school. Then he roared like a dragon.

Harry squealed and jumped in delight. “Ahhh! You’s ver-ry scar-r-y, Drandpa!”

“Merlin, what the hell was that?” Severus cried, rushing down the stairs with his wand drawn, only to skid to a stop when he saw Harry and Augustus.

“Err . . .I was giving young Henry an elocution lesson,” the older Prince coughed guiltily. But there was a sly twinkle in his dark eyes. Looks like I haven’t lost my touch. And had I been in school I’d have gotten a good couple of smacks with a ruler for being disruptive and scaring the blazes out of my classmates and my teacher.

“Oh. For a minute there I thought we were under attack,” Severus sheepishly put his wand away.

“That was r-eally scary, huh, Papa?” Harry asked innocently, his eyes wide.

“A little.” He turned to go into the dining room, embarrassed at how he had overreacted.

Augustus winked at Harry, who smirked, then carried him to his special seat inbetween them. Usually the three men managed to eat breakfast and tea together on the weekends, and lunch was occasionally eaten alone or with one or the other and Harry, but dinner they always ate as a family.

As they ate the leg of lamb with mint sauce and new potatoes Lina had cooked, Augustus asked Severus how his day had gone over at Prince Labs. “Have you managed to perfect that burn cream you’ve been working on?”

“Yes, sir,” Severus answered, washing down his last mouthful of lamb with some wine. He rarely drank wine, except occasionally during the holiday at mealtimes, and this was a special vintage, grown here from Augustus’ own vineyard, called Frosted Sunset. “I intend to ask the Burn Ward at St. Mungos if I may borrow a few volunteers to test the potion’s efficacy.”

“That sounds like a good idea. I shall speak to the Head of the Magical Injuries Ward, if you’d like?”

“Please do. They might be more willing to allow it if you did so, rather than a virtually unknown Potions Master like myself.” Severus conceded.

“Papa,” Harry cried, tugging urgently upon Severus’s sleeve.

“One moment, Harry. I’m talking with Grandpa.”

“But Papa, I has to go potty!” the two-and-a-half year old whimpered. He squirmed on his chair.

“All right. Thank you for telling me, Harry.” Severus started to rise when Hotspur popped into view.

“I shall take him, Master Severus.”

“Would you? Thank you,” Severus said gratefully. “Go with Hotspur, son.” He then resumed his conversation with Augustus while Hotspur took his son to the bathroom. Harry had just begun to use the toilet a few months ago and Severus knew it was important to encourage him, as he had read in several parenting books.

Harry returned after a few moments. “I’s all done!” he announced loudly.

“Good job, Harry, but next time don’t announce it to the whole world,” Severus said wryly.

“Can I have a sticker now, Papa? An’ a treat?”

“You may. After dinner we shall put a sticker on your chart and you can have a treat.” He had gotten that idea from Annamaria Zabini, who had a son, Blaise, who was almost Harry’s age. She and her husband Marco both worked for Prince Labs as apothecaries. She was a few years older than Severus and had given him many valuable tips on child rearing, as Blaise was her third child after her firstborn twins, Alina and Alexander.

He was proud of himself for creating that new potion, but he had had an ulterior motive behind it, a way to hide Harry’s scar forever and thus prevent anyone from recognizing him. He did not want to lose the boy to well-meaning wizards who wanted a child savior and would push Harry into becoming a sacrificial hero, like in the old tales. He believed, as did Augustus, that wars and mad wizards should be fought by adults and prophecy was true only if you believed in it. And Severus thought it merely a convenient tool of manipulative old wizards who wished they were living back in the days of Arthur and Merlin. How could a child, any child, be expected to fight the likes of Voldemort, should he rise again?

Once Lina had come in and cleared the plates away, and Severus had stuck a gold star sticker on Harry’s chart and given him a lollipop as a reward, the three retired to the drawing room to decorate the seven-foot tall evergreen tree.

The tree was alive, having been transplanted into a huge bucket of perpetually damp soil and when Christmas was over, Augustus would use his magic to return it to the plot of earth where it had originally grown. Here at Foxfire Hall, they had no need to chop down trees like Muggles for Christmas.

With a gesture, Augustus put an entire string of magical fairy lights on the tree. The lights twinkled and blinked and would continue to do so all of the holiday, until the enchantment faded after New Years. Then he pulled up a footstool and sat down in the recliner in front of the roaring fire with his feet up and looked abominably pleased with himself.

“There. I’ve helped decorate the tree.”

His grandson raised an eyebrow. “What about the rest of it? The ornaments, the star, the tinsel?”

“That, my young Potions Master, is for you and little Henry to do. Put you in the Christmas spirit.”

“I already am,” groaned Severus. “I spent all day yesterday shopping for presents.”

“For me, Papa? For me?” asked a tiny little voice.

Severus knelt down so he was eye to eye with his intrepid toddler. “Maybe. If you behave yourself and be a good boy. Then you’ll get gifts from me and Grandpa and Father Christmas. Remember what we talked about last night?”

“Uh huh. You said I has to be good an’ don’ scream an’ cry or throw my toys and use the potty an’ lissen to you an’ Drandpa an’ Lina an’ Hotspur an’ then Father Kistmas would come an’ leave me toys unner the tree an’ in my sock. R-r-ight?” he asked, rolling his R’s like Augustus.

Severus chuckled at the blatant imitation. “Very good, imp. Do you think you can do it?”

“Uh . . .I’ll twy. But it’s r-r-eally hard. Do I has to be good all the time till Kistmas, Papa? That’s a long time.”

Severus ruffled the auburn hair fondly. “I know. But you try your best and come Christmas morning you’ll see if Father Christmas left you anything. Okay? Now let’s decorate the tree.”

“Okay. I will,” the child promised solemnly. “Papa, what’s dek-rate mean?”

“Decorating means that you put shiny ornaments and tinsel on the tree to make it look nice.” Severus explained. “Where are the ornaments, Grandfather?”

Augustus looked up from his contemplation of the fire. He had nearly dozed off from the warmth. “Hmm? Oh, the ornaments. They’re up in the attic, I believe. I haven’t decorated a tree since your grandmother died, Severus. Just ask Hotspur.”

As if summoned, Hotspur appeared at Augustus’ elbow. “You called, milord?”

“Yes. Please fetch the ornaments down from the attic for Severus and Henry.”

“At once, milord.” Hotspur vanished.

He reappeared several minutes later, a large cardboard box floating in front of him. Secretly he was pleased that the ornaments were going to be used again, his master had been too much alone these last years, brooding and lonely, mourning those who were long gone. ‘Twill be good for you to celebrate Christmas again, my lord. You need your family, you were always miserable alone. Let the little one and your grandson remind you of the happiness of the holiday.

“Here they are!” he gestured to the box with a flourish. “Have fun, sirs! I shall be back in an hour or so with some tea and cocoa and gingerbread.”

“The ones I baked, Hotspur?” asked Harry.

“Just so, Little One.” Hotspur smiled at him and then blinked away.

Severus began going through the huge box, which had all the ornaments wrapped in cloth. Some were quite fragile and others made of wood, still others were of glass and brightly colored paper. He found one in a delicate box made of balsa wood and removed a gorgeous snowflake encapsulated in a glass globe. It hung from a twisted silver wire and seemed to sparkle and glow even in the enchanted light globes overhead.

“This is a beautiful ornament,” Severus murmured, turning it about to admire it. “It almost looks . . .real.”

Augustus looked up . . .and his breath caught. “That’s because it is.” He said very softly. “Your grandmother, my wife Drusilla, made that for me the first year of our marriage, over fifty-five years ago.”

“Made it with magic?”

“That’s a real snowflake preserved in there,” Augustus said wistfully. “Did your mother never tell you that your grandmother was a Stormcaller? No? She was, a very strong one. She could call up storms, all kinds, with a mere twitch of a finger. Most grown wizards were petrified of her, Drusilla Stormbringer, they called her.”

“But not you?”

Augustus smirked. “Oh, sometimes she scared me too, when she was furious. But I loved her and she would have never used her magic to hurt me, no matter how angry I made her. Sometimes, especially when she was carrying, she could be moody, blow hot and cold like the weather, but it always passed. She was quite pretty, she had dark golden hair and eyes the color of a winter morning, blue and gray and green all together. No one ever had eyes like that except a Stormcaller. She made that after she had called down a little blizzard when we had first moved in here. She wanted a white Christmas, but the weather wasn’t cooperating. So she tweaked it and there was snow for awhile. She caught a snowflake on her fingertip and blew on it, and the air turned to glass, and then she conjured some silver wire and strung it and gave it to me. “For you, my love, to remember our first Christmas.” And that was the first ornament we hung upon the tree that year.”

The elder wizard’s eyes were far away, remembering his fair haired wife, his first and only love, who had brightened all of his days and warmed his night until she had died, upon Christmas Day over fifteen years ago.

Severus cupped the snowflake ornament reverently in his hand.

“Can I see, Papa? Can I?” Harry jumped up and down.

Severus knelt. “Look, but don’t touch, young man,” he instructed.

Harry put his hands behind his back the way his papa had taught him. “Oooh! Pretty!”

“Yes. Let’s put it on the tree.” Severus rose and placed the snowflake in the globe upon a high branch near the top of the tree, where the lights caught it and made it shimmer.

Then he turned back to the box and said quietly, “I heard from Marco Zabini that you were no slouch with elements yourself when you were young, Grandfather.”

Augustus blinked, coming out of his reverie. Drusilla had always loved Christmas, he thought wistfully, one reason why he had stopped celebrating after she had gone. The holiday didn’t seem the same without her, and all the meaning it had once had seemed to vanish. “What? Sorry, I dozed off.”

Severus repeated what he had said.

Augustus snorted. “Oh, he did, did he? What new rumors have they added to my reputation?” Mystic reappeared and jumped upon his lap, kneading his robe with his claws and purring. Augustus stroked the old cat, who was nearly twenty-five.

“Oh, Marco said that once you were known as . . .the Unleasher of Earthquakes.”

“Once, yes. I’m an Elemental Master, you know.” An Elemental Master was a wizard who had an affinity for all four elements and could use them at will, commanding the powers of wind, water, earth, and fire. It was that talent that had made Augustus so formidable as a battle mage. It had also caused him considerable grief as an adolescent, for his emotions fueled his talent, and having a storm blow up every time he grew frustrated or a fire start when he lost his temper was not a good thing. But eventually, through months of hard work he had at last learned control over his wild talent and that control had become legend among his peers. “Unleasher of Earthquakes . . .they called me that long ago, when I used my power to take down a group of Grindelwald’s assassins who tried to kill the Minister. I made the earth open up and swallow them. It was not something I wished to do, but they gave me no choice. And after that, the Minister had me train a crack group of Aurors to fight dark wizards. I trained young Alastor Moody and that sticky-fingered Mundungus Fletcher . . .many’s the time I threatened to chop off that one’s fingers for touching other people’s belongings, the bloody klepto. We never did get on, but well, you don’t with every apprentice. . . that was how I met Drusilla, as a matter of fact, she was a weather liaison to the Department back then . . .”

He lapsed back into silence then, his heart aching when he thought of his wife.

Severus took another ornament from the box, this one was a pretty carved bird of maple. “This looks handmade too.”

Augustus nodded. “It is. Your aunt Grace made it. My eldest. She was a woodcarver, could make just about anything with wood and make it last. She was the one who planted the orchards and the gardens you see on the north side of the estate. She became an Herbologist when she grew up, always had a green thumb, could make any plant grow. But the one thing she couldn’t have was a child. Or at least carry one to term.” Augustus’ expression darkened. “She died giving birth to a stillborn daughter. Her loss drove her husband Ethan mad too and he followed her within the year. That was the year before you were born, Severus.”

“Oh.” Severus felt awkward, he could see in the older man’s eyes what it had cost him to relive those memories. “Did Mum . . .did she go to the funeral?”

“Yes, of course. She wasn’t really cast out from the family and she was told of her sister’s death and came to the service. It was then she told us that she was pregnant with you, I believe. It made us smile, even on that horrid day.”

Severus carefully placed it on the tree. Then he took several more glassblown colored balls and such and hung them up as well. Harry he allowed to hang the ornaments made of yarn and soft fabric upon the lower branches.

He discovered a small golden cauldron with the words Eileen Estrella Prince Christmas 1958 etched into it. When he cupped it in his hands, the cauldron became warm and multi-colored sparkles and bubbles shot out of it.

Harry clapped his hands and screamed, “Wow!”

“Like that one, do you?” his great-grandfather chuckled. “Eileen made that as present for me the year she finished school. She was a brilliant potion maker, you take after her, Severus. There wasn’t a potion she couldn’t brew. She out-performed her professor on her NEWTS.” There was pride now in the old man’s voice. “I remember when she got the scores, she nearly fell down the stairs, she was so shocked. I threw a big party to celebrate, Drusilla and I were so proud . . .”

He shut his eyes, the better to recall his youngest daughter, who had been his pet, smiling and laughing, her dark eyes glowing with triumph, her dark hair blowing about her, she had always reminded him of a young willow tree, tall and upright and able to survive the fiercest storm. Suddenly, he missed them all something fierce . . .All of them gone . . .my wife, my children, all of them gone away and left me behind . . .to face the years empty and alone, with only Mystic and my faithful elves for comfort . . .once this hall rang with laughter and light, once but no more . . .Now they live only in my memory . . .

He felt a strange pressure squeezing his chest and he knew it was his heart, breaking all over again. This was why he couldn’t stand to celebrate Christmas, why he preferred the holiday to come and go, because the ones he loved most were not there and the memories hurt . . .they hurt so much . . .

Severus had turned about to ask Augustus something about Eileen, and saw to his horror that tears were silently falling down the old man’s face.

“Grandfather . . .”

Augustus opened his eyes, but did not bother to wipe away the tears, he found where once he would have been mortified to show such weakness to anyone, now he did not care. “Forgive me, I grow maudlin in my old age, and Christmas reminds me of those I have lost. They are all gone and here I still sit, surrounded by ghosts, alone . . .”

Severus took a step forward, tentatively reaching a hand out to clasp his grandfather’s in his own. “Sir . . .you’re not alone. You have me now . . .and Harry . . .”

Harry, hearing his name, looked up from beneath the tree, and saw his father looking at his grandfather sadly. It bothered him, and so he toddled over to them to see what was wrong. The tears upon Augustus’ face scared him, for grown-ups weren’t supposed to cry. “Don’ cry,” he whispered, crawling into Augustus’s lap and hugging him. “You is not ‘post to cry on Kistmas. You is post t’ be happy, Drandpa.”

Suddenly, Augustus wiped his eyes and hugged his small grandchild to him. “You’re right, Henry. Thank you for reminding me. And you too, Severus. I had forgotten that Christmas was a time of joy as well as sorrow.” He squeezed Severus’ hand in his own. This time with his grandson and Harry was precious and he had to enjoy it while he still could, for he didn’t know how many years he had left to him.

“Are you sad still?” asked Harry, concerned.

“I . . .no, little one. Not now,” said his grandfather. “Come, let me help you finish the tree.”

Then he rose and set Harry on his feet and went to kneel beside the ornament box. There were so many memories here, and stories to tell, he mused. As he removed each ornament from the box, he slowly began to speak of the history behind each one, some of which had been in the family for time out of mind.

By the time Hotspur had returned with the cocoa, tea, and gingerbread, the tree was all decorated.

They all stood back and admired it, so tall and proud, shimmering with light and hung with ornaments that captured all of the Prince history in its branches.

“The star, Papa!” Harry reminded.

Severus picked up the little boy and Augustus handed him the star. “Put it on the top, Harry.”

And Harry did, where it shone down brightly, tinting the green branches a faint golden color.

“Yay!” Harry cheered, then did a little impromptu dance about the tree, his eyes shining.

The two adults laughed to see such exuberant innocence, it made them recall the days of their own childhood, when all was new and bright, and Christmas was the season of hope and of being together with family.

Harry stopped dancing abruptly and looked back at the two wizards.

“Where’s the gifts?”

“You’ll see them on Christmas Day, child. So long as you behave,” Augustus, said, wagging a finger at him.

“Oh.” Harry’s face fell. But then he saw his gingerbread upon the tray. “Lookit, Drandpa. I made the tauldron one for Papa an’ this one for you!” He held out a wizard hat to Augustus.

“Thank you, little one,” the Unleasher of Earthquakes said gravely, then he took the gingerbread and his great-grandson in his arms and hugged him.

Severus watched, smiling, then he snitched Harry’s “tauldron” off the platter and ate it. It tasted just as good as the ones Eileen used to make, when he was small.

December 22, 1982

Foxfire Hall:

“Whatcha doing, Hotspur?” asked Harry, watching the elf twine holly loaded with red berries about the large banister and balcony of the upstairs landing. This had been a tradition in the Prince residence since Hotspur was a little elfkin, and the holly was picked from the estate grounds. It was wound with red velvet ribbon and pretty gold balls.

“I am twining this holly and ivy about the landing, young master,” replied the elf, never ceasing his twisting motion. Because his hands were so small, he could twine the ribbon quite tightly and rearrange the greenery to fall in a pleasing manner and not have to worry too much about getting stuck with the prickly holly leaves. “See? It makes the hallway look festive and we elves have been doing this for over a hundred years.”

Harry’s eyes widened. “Wow! That’s . . .I can’t count that high. It’s bigger than seven, right?”

Hotspur chuckled. “Much bigger, little one.”

“Can I help?”

Hotspur hesitated. He had a system for decorating the halls and wasn’t sure if Harry would be more of a hindrance than a help. But he didn’t want the little boy’s feelings to be hurt, so he said, “Why don’t you decorate the hall upon the left side there, near your room?”

“Okay!” Harry said, excited. He loved helping out like a grown-up. “ Can I have some stuff? The holly n’ ivy?”

“Yes, child. Take those over there,” the elf pointed to several ribbons with holly and ivy already wound upon them. Then he began to hum the tune to the old carol “Deck the Halls”.

Harry quickly took the ribbons and dragged them along behind him as he went over to the left side of the hallway, closest to his and his papa’s room. The wall was bare and Harry thought it looked . . .boring. He stood on tiptoe and tried to drape the long string along the wall, finding that it was harder than it looked.

A lot harder.

He managed to put up one end of the ribbon, it was magicked to stick to the wall when it was pressed there. Then he tried to make the holly and ivy swirl about like Hotspur and found it wouldn’t cooperate. But Harry was stubborn and wouldn’t give up easily. Finally, he had the first ribbon up and went to put the other one down the hall.

It took him ten minutes to get the longer ribbon stuck up and then he looked at the hallway. It looked . . .like it needed something else. Harry thought and thought. Then he had an idea. What if he drew a picture on the wall, to go with the holly and ivy? In all his Christmas books, they always had birds with the holly and the tree.

But Harry didn’t know how to draw a bird, and he decided to look outside for one to draw. He scurried past Hotspur, who called, “Finished already, little one?”

“Yes. I’m goin’ into the garden, Hotspur,” Harry informed the elf, because Severus had impressed upon him the need to tell someone in the manor when he left it and where he was going.

“Okay, Master Harry,” the elf called, finishing up his task.

Harry slipped down the stairs, they were long and windy and he slid halfway down on his bottom because it was faster that way. His legs were small and he always got tired halfway down and besides it was fun to slide, since the stairs had a runner of green carpet going down the middle. The wood was also free of splinters from being walked on for so many years.

The garden that Harry was allowed into was attached to the conservatory, which was a large room with tall glass windows and had several hothouse plants and a fountain in it, as well as several chairs to sit and relax in. Harry quickly went through it and out the small screened in door to a low walled garden, filled with roses and rhododendrons and tulips. Because Drusilla had been a Stormcaller, she had managed to tweak the weather and temperature in the garden, allowing the roses to bloom year round. So the birds always came there to sing and fly among the fragrant blooms. In addition to the roses, Drusilla had planted a large hedge of holly along the side closest to the house, where it was protected from wind and too much sun. The holly was now blooming, with large clusters of bright red berries.

Harry walked out along the flagstone path to a small stone bench and sat there for awhile, watching the birds, mostly small sparrows and finches and once a bright red-breasted robin going to and fro among the holly hedge, nibbling and eating the berries.

They reminded Harry of cranberries, because they were round and red in color.

He watched for a moment or two longer before getting chilled and deciding to go back inside and finish decorating the hallway upstairs.

By the time he got upstairs again, he was hot and tired and hungry. It was nearly lunchtime, a fact that his tummy was reminding him of loudly. He wanted to call Lina and ask her if he could have a snack, but first he wanted to finish the hallway so he could surprise his papa and grandpa. He liked decorating for Christmas. The hallway and landing was empty, since Hotspur had moved on to attend to some other task in the manor.

He found a small pot of ink sitting on top of his papa’s desk in his bedroom, which was unlocked for once. Severus had been in a hurry to get to work that morning and forgot to lock the door as he usually did. So Harry went in and saw a pot of ink and a spare quill on Severus’ desk.

Oh good! Now I can draw the birds! Harry thought happily, climbing up on the chair and taking the items.

He had seen his papa and grandpa use a quill many times and he dipped it and began to draw a bird flying underneath each of his ribbons of holly and ivy. This took him a long time, since the quill kept dripping ink on the floor, but finally he was satisfied.

He couldn’t wait for his father and grandfather to see how he had “decked the halls”.

But just then his tummy grumbled again.

He stared up at the bright red berries hanging just in front of his nose. The birds had seemed to like them and they looked an awful lot like the cranberries Lina had put in the stuffing the night before. Harry had been allowed to eat some and they had tasted a bit tart and sweet. His mouth watered and he plucked a holly berry from the wall and smelled it.

It smelled pretty good, and he was hungry. It was small though, and so he picked five more and stuffed them into his mouth. They tasted quite tart but there was enough sweetness to them that Harry didn’t spit them out. He swallowed them, wondering as he did so why the birds seemed to like them so much. They didn’t taste half as good as cranberries.

A few moments later he heard Lina calling for him to come and eat lunch with Severus and Augustus and he quickly scuttled down the stairs. His tummy was still rumbling and it felt strange.

Today they were having soup and chicken salad sandwiches for lunch. Harry ate most of what he was given, and afterwards Severus asked him how his day had gone.

“It was good.” Harry told him. “I helped Hotspur dek-rate the halls, Papa.”

“Ah. Sounds like fun,” Severus said.

“Wanna see it?” Harry asked.

“Sorry, I can’t. You can show me later. I have to get back to work now, but I’ll be home in a few hours,” Severus said, ruffling the child’s hair, which had become a shade darker over the past year.

Harry looked disappointed, but cheered up when Severus suggested going into the playroom and playing while he was gone.

Once he made sure Harry was occupied so he wouldn’t cause a fuss when he left, the Potions Master Apparated back to his work station at Prince Labs, where he was working on an improved Boil Cure potion, one that both cured and prevented boils at the same time.

Some ten minutes later, just as he was decanting his finished product into a beaker, he received a frantic Floo-call from Augustus—Harry was very ill, stomachache, vomiting, and diarrhea.

“I don’t think it’s a virus, Severus,” Augustus said. “I think he ate something he shouldn’t have. Something toxic.”

Severus left the beaker half full and Apparated home immediately.

When he arrived, he found Harry crying on Augustus’ lap. “Harry, what’s wrong?”

“Sick, Papa. My tummy hurts real bad.” He was clutching his belly and groaning. Augustus had a plastic bucket sitting next to them on the floor.

Severus took the sobbing child into his arms and asked, “Harry, what did you eat today? Can you remember?”

“I ate lunch with you an’ then I felt yucky.”

“Before lunch did you have anything to eat?”

“Uh huh. I ate the berries in the hall. Like the birds did.”

“You ate what berries? Where?” Severus cried, frantic.

“The-the holly berries!” Harry wailed, and then he retched again, violently.

Severus held him over the bucket, rubbing his back, his heart frozen and cold in his chest. He knew, as did all Potions Masters, that holly berries were toxic in small children, and Harry was not a large toddler. How long ago was this? Maybe a half an hour or an hour? How many berries did he eat? Dear sweet Merlin, but I need to get him to St. Mungos! His heart was thudding wildly in his chest, he was utterly terrified the way he had never been in all of his life.

When Harry was through, Severus wiped his mouth with a cloth and held him. “Shh, it’s going to be okay. Papa’s going to bring you to a Healer and they’ll fix you.”

Harry just nodded and buried his head in the crook of Severus’ neck. He felt terrible but he was sure his papa would make him feel better, like always.

Severus went to Floo over to St. Mungos and Augustus followed, unwilling to leave his two grandsons alone at the hospital.

* * * * * *

The emergency room was crowded with people when they arrived, but Augustus rushed over to the desk and informed the receptionist on duty that his grandson had been poisoned and they were immediately rushed into a treatment room. Severus sat upon the exam table with Harry in his lap and looked like he was about to fall apart, his eyes were glazed and he kept murmuring softly to his child, who was sobbing and starting to grow weak and sleepy from the vomiting and the poisoning.

An intern in a blue coat followed them in with a piece of parchment and a quill. “I need some information on the child, Mr.—?”

“Prince,” Augustus interjected smoothly. “I’m Augustus Prince and that’s my great-grandson, Henry. He needs a physician right away,” he barked.

The intern flinched at the stinging tone. “One is on the way, sir.” She wrote Henry Prince upon the chart. “How old is he?”

“Two and a half.”

“How much does he weigh?”

“Uh . . .twenty-five pounds, I think.”

The quill wrote rapidly as she queried the older man about Harry’s symptoms and what he had eaten.

By the time she had done that, Harry had vomited again, into a basin Severus had conjured, and by then Severus was ready to climb the wall. “Where the hell is your Healer, damn it?” he snapped. “This is an emergency, not a routine exam!”

Just then a rather rotund Healer with brown hair and blue eyes came into the room, she was wearing a white robe and looked to be about thirty. “Hello. I’m Healer Faolin. What seems to be the problem?”

“My son has swallowed some holly berries,” Severus said.

“Ah. A common occurrence around the holidays with kids his age,” the Healer said, reading the chart and then waving her wand over Harry. “Poor thing! He’s suffering from a rather acute case of holly poisoning plus an allergic reaction as well to the berries. How many times has he vomited?”

“Twice while I’ve had him,” Severus answered.

“Three times before that,” Augustus answered.

“Five times.” She paused to examine the contents of the basin. “How long ago did the symptoms start?”

Once she had all the information she needed, Healer Faolin spelled an Anti-Nausea potion directly into Harry’s stomach. Then she knelt down and asked Harry, “Sweetie, can you tell me how many berries you ate?”

“Uh . . .don’t know . . .” Harry whined, he was still feeling sick despite the potion.

“Was it more than three?” the Healer asked patiently.

“Try and remember, Harry,” Severus encouraged, brushing the hair back from Harry’s forehead, which was sheened with sweat.

Harry tried. “Yes, I think . . .I ate six.”

“Six?” Severus was horrified.

“Three will produce mild nausea and vomiting, but since he took double the dose, his symptoms are worse,” Faolin mused. “But don’t panic, Mr. Prince, holly poisoning is rarely fatal. We can treat the little guy with potions and he should be fine in a day or two. He doesn’t seem to have ingested much of the berries, because he ate food afterwards that slowed down the absorption process and the vomiting made him expel most of the berries, which is good.”

“If that’s so, why is he so ill?” asked Severus.

“His reaction is allergic in nature.” The Healer replied. “I think it best if you leave him overnight so we can monitor him, sir.”

“Fine, but I’m staying with him,” Severus said firmly. He didn’t bother to correct the mistake with Harry’s name or his own. He remembered this Healer now. She had been on call that Christmas Day when he had first found Harry and she had provided the potions for him to give the baby. But she apparently didn’t recall him, then again, she saw so many people a day that it was probably impossible for her to recall one particular face in over a thousand, especially if it were only for a few moments. Then too, he had not been at his best either, exhausted and drawn. But it was a relief that she did not remember him. And since she had never seen Harry, she wouldn’t connect him with the Boy Who Lived either.

“Of course, sir.”

“What potions will you give him?” Severus queried.

“A spoonful of a very mild Detox Elixir, formulated for his height and weight and age,” she answered. “A Pain Reliever, some Anti-Itch Solution as well, I think because of his allergy he may break out in hives, and a Stomach Soother. I’m going to put you in a private room in the Children’s Ward, Mr. Prince, one with a connecting bathroom. Is he potty trained?”

“Just starting.”

“Well, you may want to put him in a nappy for overnight, since the Detox potion might give him the runs.”

“All right.” Severus agreed.

“Follow me then,” she beckoned him out of the exam room and up a set of stairs.

Once in the room, she and Severus managed to get the cranky toddler to take most of the potions he needed, and when he started to refuse, Healer Faolin simply spelled them into him by placing her wand on Harry’s stomach.

She then Transfigured Harry’s clothing into a small set of hospital pajamas and a nappy. “There, now you’ll be more comfortable, won’t you, sweet thing?” she smiled at Harry.

Harry pouted unhappily. “Can I go home now?”

“Not yet. First you need to stay here for a bit,” she told him. “Just until we can make sure you’re better, Harry. Do you feel a little better now?”

He nodded. “I . . .I wan’ ‘fessor Hush-a-bye.”

Augustus promptly summoned the bear dressed in black robes for Harry to hold. It was his favorite toy still and he always slept with it at night.

Harry clutched the bear to him, burying his face in the soft fur. His face was blotchy from crying.

Severus felt unaccountably guilty. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice he was sick, maybe I could have . . .” he began.

“Don’t blame yourself. It was an accident. Were you at home when he ate the berries?” asked the Healer sympathetically.

“No, I was at work. But I never thought to warn him about not eating the holly. . .”

“Children his age are into everything, as I know since I have one his age at home myself. She swallowed a button while I was right beside her, ripped it off my shirt, so don’t feel bad, either of you,” she added, for Augustus looked guilty and regretful too. “Tis the season. The important thing is you didn’t panic and you identified the substance right away and brought him in as soon as you could. He’s going to be fine. I’ll see you later.”

She departed, leaving the three alone.

Harry shifted uncomfortably. “Gotta go potty.”

Severus took him, though Harry kicked up a fuss at having to wear a nappy afterwards.

“I is a big boy!”

“I know, but you’re sick, son, and you don’t want to have an accident,” he told him, refastening the nappy.

Harry cried, not understanding, and Severus hushed him, holding him until he fell asleep. Then he went to put him down in the small bed and afterwards turned to Augustus and said, “ Grandfather, you don’t have to stay, I can manage him on my own now.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Severus. I’m not going anywhere. I should have been watching him more closely instead of relying on the elves to mind him, I know what mischief little children get into . . .”

“Grandfather, please. The Healer was right, these things happen. It could have been worse. He could have eaten more than six berries.” Severus patted the older wizard on the shoulder, suppressing a shudder. Twenty berries was a fatal dose for a child. I should have remembered the holly looks tempting to a child and told him not to eat it. I’m a terrible parent for forgetting that. He nearly died because of my oversight.

Harry slept and dusk fell. Augustus dozed while Severus watched both of them sleep, mentally flogging himself and vowing to go and burn all the holly in the manor. Until he realized how stupid that sounded and woke up Augustus. He persuaded the old wizard to go back home and reassure the elves Harry was all right and sleep in his own bed.

Severus then Transfigured the chair he’d been sitting in to a bed and fell asleep for a time, until Harry woke him, he was thirsty, hot, and scratchy.

Snape summoned some water in a cup and some magical salve to rub on the toddler’s irritated skin, for Harry had broken out in hives on his stomach and thighs.

“Don’t scratch.”

“Itchy,” whined his son, trying to scratch through his shirt.

“Stop. You’ll make it worse,” Severus ordered, holding the small hand firmly.

He applied the salve, then sat with his sick child till he quit squirming and went back to sleep.

Somewhere around the wee small hours of the morning, Snape allowed himself to sleep as well.

* * * * * *

Harry woke to the sun streaming into his eyes and sat up. He felt loads better, his tummy no longer hurt and he was no longer hot and scratchy. He looked around at the oddly papered room with its theme of colorful rabbits and smiley faces and he wondered where he was. Then he remembered—he was at the Healer place with his papa because he had eaten those yucky berries that weren’t cranberries. He would never make that mistake again. He looked over and saw his father sleeping in the bed next to him.

Harry still felt a little woozy, but he also needed to use the bathroom, so he wriggled off the bed and walked quickly into the bathroom, the hem of his hospital robe flapping.

Severus woke to the sound of the toilet flushing and quickly sat up, looking over to his son’s bed.

Finding it empty, he almost panicked.

Until he saw Harry walk out of the bathroom, bare-arsed, having removed the hated nappy, the hospital robe not being long enough to cover him. “Harry, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you wait for me?”

The little boy shrugged. “You was sleepin’. An’ I don’t wear nappies anymore! That’s for babies!” He scowled up at his father.

“Oh, Harry!” groaned his father. Still, he couldn’t blame the child for his attitude. He quickly conjured a set of underpants. “Come here and put these on, imp, before some nurse walks in here and sees your bare bottom.”

Harry obliged, letting Severus put the pants on him, then he crawled into the other’s lap.

“How are you feeling? Better?”

“Uh-huh. I’m hungry. When’s bweakfast?”

“Soon.” The familiar question sent a wave of relief through him, because it meant his beloved child was truly on the road to recovery. Mingled with the relief, however, was anger because Harry had scared him half to death. “Son, don’t you ever eat anything from a tree or a bush or a plant, anything, without telling me first. Or if not me, your grandpa. You could have died, Harry. Those berries were poisonous, son. That’s why you got so sick. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I’s never gonna eat them again.” He hung his head. “Sorry, Papa. Am I in twouble?” He sniffled, looking pathetic.

“Not this time, I think you’ve learned your lesson. Don’t ever scare me like that again!” he scolded, then he hugged his precious son to him, silent tears of relief and anxiety slipping down his face to fall into Harry’s messy auburn mop, which was sticking up like crazy. He couldn’t remember the last time he had cried, not since he was a small child after one of Tobias’ many beatings, but his emotions had been on a tilt-a-whirl since yesterday, ranging from terror to guilt to anger and everything inbetween, and the pressure had built and built within him before at last finding an outlet in the tears he now shed. He buried his face in the child’s hair, breathing in his scent and thanking God that his son had been spared. He didn’t even want to think about what he would have felt if Harry had been taken from him. It would have been intolerable.

Harry started to cry too, thinking Severus was angry with him. “I’m sowwy, Papa! I didn’ mean to ’care you! I’m sowwy I was bad an’ now I won’t get pwesents from Father Kistmas.” He began to bawl rather loudly.

Severus froze, stunned that Harry would jump to that conclusion, and for a moment was robbed of his voice. Then he found it again and said, somewhat hoarsely, “Harry, hush up and listen to me. You’re not bad for eating the holly, son. Just . . .well, it was a mistake. Stop crying now.” He began to rock the child gently and pat his bottom. “Shh, son. It’s all right. I forgive you.” Harry continued to sob, sounding as if he were being skinned alive. “Merlin, child, if you don’t stop crying like I’ve beaten you, the Healers are going to come in here and have me arrested and locked away.”

Abruptly, Harry stopped. “No!” he gulped hard. “They can’t do that! Nobody locks up my papa!” He lifted his tear-stained face and looked at Severus. “You isn’t mad?”

“No. I forgive you. And Father Christmas will still leave you presents under the tree, don’t worry. Why did you think he wouldn’t?”

“’Cause . . .’cause I was bad an’ ate the berries for deckin’ the halls after I drawed the birds on the wall.” He told his father in a small ashamed voice.

“Harry, I told you that was an accident—what do you mean you drew birds on the wall?” Severus exclaimed sharply. “How many times have I told you, young man, drawing is to be done on parchment or paper, not the wall? What did you draw with and where?”

“Upstairs, near my room. I . . .I took your quill n’ink from your room.”

“Henry Snape . . .!” Severus growled. “Your grandfather is going to skin you and me both! You know better, I know you do.”

“I forgot.”

“Humph! Well, when we get home, you can scrub the wall and maybe that’ll remind you to draw on parchment next time and to keep your sticky fingers out of my desk, clear?”

“Yes, sir. Do I . . .get pwesents still?”

Severus groaned. “Maybe. If you behave from now till Christmas morning. That’s . . .two days from now.”

“I’ll be good!” Harry promised.

Severus prayed for that miracle. Lately, Harry’s middle name had become Trouble, but then again, it wasn’t called “the terrible twos” for nothing, and he supposed he would just have to get used to it. He gave his son a light spank on the bottom and sat him on his lap to wait for the Healer to come in and check Harry over. He had a feeling this was only the beginning of his son’s mischief making ways, given who his father had been. Merlin grant me strength and patience, because I think I’m going to need every bit of it to keep from going out of my mind. Then again, I’m thankful the little imp is still around to raise hell. He hugged Harry again, making the child squeak in protest.

“Not so hard, Papa!”

Severus loosened his hold, and that was how Healer Faolin found them a few minutes later.

Fifteen minutes later, Harry and Severus had returned home, Healer Faolin had declared he was back to normal, and was greeted with open arms by Augustus and the two elves, until they learned of Harry’s drawing spree. Augustus scolded the child briefly, then sent him upstairs to clean off the wall with some Magical Ink Remover, supervised by the entire household.

“I’m sorry, Grandfather,” Severus apologized, knowing how Augustus hated messes. “I just don’t know what gets into him.”

Augustus snorted. “It’s the age, Severus. Get used to it, because it could last for another year, and then he’ll get older and just move on to greater mischief, like all children.”

“Bloody hell!” Snape hissed under his breath, ignoring Augustus’ knowing smirk. Sometimes the old man was positively diabolical in his predictions. Then he glared at his grandfather. “You needn’t look so smug!”

Augustus didn’t answer, he was too busy smothering a wicked chuckle. Poor Severus didn’t know what he was up against.

Foxfire Hall

January 15, 1983:

Severus was not having a very good morning. Which was not too surprising as he hadn’t been having a very good week. He was working upon an experimental draft over at the lab to try and reduce the effects of Auto Immune Syndrome in wizards and slow down the progression of the disease so those who had it didn’t die quickly. Most of the wizards and witches who had that disease tended to die in their early fifties and sixties or sooner, since their magical core became burnt out trying to boost their failing immune system against all the various diseases.

It was a very ambitious project, some of his coworkers would have said too ambitious, despite Severus’ status as the youngest and most brilliant Potions Master of his time, according to an article in Potions Weekly. While Severus didn’t mind the recognition, he would have preferred to be kept out of the public eye. People written about in papers tended to be scrutinized and that was the last thing Severus wanted. His reasons for attempting the cure of AIS were personal, as his mother had died from that disease, or rather the case of double pneumonia that she had contracted and been unable to fight off.

He had vowed that someday he would find a cure for the disease, and he meant to keep that promise. Except his research wasn’t cooperating and this was his fifth attempt at making a draft in three days, only to have it fail. He hated it when he couldn’t get a potion right the first time, it irked him to no end. His analytical brain was always searching for solutions and he knew he could solve this dilemma, but right then he was grumpy because it was proving knotty and he was stuck.

And the weather was also adding to his grumpiness. It had snowed cauldrons last night and the estate was wrapped in a blanket of snow, covered in a white cloak, save for right near the house and Drusilla’s garden. Now Severus liked snow in moderate amounts, but this had been a blizzard, one of the worst those in the North could remember, and it was accompanied by a whipping wind and frigid temperatures for most of the night. The morning showed sun, but it did little except cause the snow to sparkle invitingly. Severus hated the cold.

So he remained quiet and surly that Saturday morning, eating his breakfast just to fuel his body and not out of enjoyment, though he normally enjoyed Lina’s ham and cheese omelet with fried potatoes.

Next to him, three-an-a-half year old Harry babbled away to Augustus about snowmen who came to life, like in the Christmas song “Frosty the Snowman”, which Harry had heard about a hundred times over the Christmas holidays when he had gone shopping with Severus in Muggle London that year. That had proven quite an experience for both of them, they had eaten at a café, gone into a small shop of curiosities to purchase a gift for Augustus, since he had a fondness for Muggle objects, and then Harry had spotted the toy store.

Severus had taken him inside and allowed him to pick out a small toy and visit with the store’s Father Christmas. But Harry had become enraptured with the life-sized snowman they had in the front of the store, which was animated and greeted customers with a loud, “Come on in! It’s warm inside and welcome to our store! Hope you enjoy shopping, my name is Buttons.”

The toddler had insisted on going back to visit the snowman and when it was time to leave, had pitched a major fit, the worst Severus had ever had to deal with in public. He had wanted to buy the snowman and when Severus tried to explain why he couldn’t, had thrown himself on the floor and proceeded to bawl his lungs out.

“I WANNA TAKE HOME THE ‘NOWMAN! NOW, PAPA!”

Severus had been mortified, though he really should have expected it, since Harry had been growing tired and cranky, as he’d missed his afternoon nap. And lately, the little imp had been testing him and Augustus by whining and throwing tantrums. At home, Severus would have simply walked away, or picked the child up and put him in time out to cool down, and then given the stubborn child a scolding after he’d stopped howling. Here, though, people were watching him and he feared that if he tried to drag Harry out of the store, someone might think he was kidnapping him, because when he had tried to lift the little terror, Harry had screeched,” LEAVE ME ‘LONE! I NOT GO! GO AWAY! YOU’S NOT MY PAPA!”

He had gotten several dirty looks from an elderly woman and her daughter and had wished the earth could open up and swallow him. He had wondered if perhaps Augustus and he had spoiled the boy, he hadn’t thought so, Harry didn’t get everything he wanted and never when he shouted at them or demanded it, but here he was throwing the biggest fit of his life right in the middle of Christmas shopping.

Severus had knelt down and glared at his screaming terror and snapped, “Harry Snape, if you don’t stop it right now, you’re getting nothing from Father Christmas at all except coal. Do you hear me? Nothing!”

Harry continued to wail about the snowman, ignoring the dire threat.

Severus longed, for the first time ever, to cast a Silencing Charm on his son and give him a spanking. He had always thought kids who threw tantrums must be spoiled brats without any sense of discipline and yet here was Harry doing the exact same thing! He was sure everyone on the street could hear his son screaming. Over a fake department store snowman.

Severus could feel himself start to grow red behind the ears and his frustration continued to mount. He began reciting potion ingredients super quick, struggling to contain his temper. H is for holly, I is for ice dragon talon, J is for jabberwocky skin, K is for kitsune fur, L is for lobelia, M is for manticore stingers . . .why does this have to happen to me now, in front of everyone in London? You couldn’t wait till we were home to pitch a fit, you blasted brat? Right now you’re just like your father, who never missed a chance to humiliate me in public at school, he thought resentfully.

Then he got a brainstorm, and he prayed it would work. He stood up and pointed to the bawling, red-faced, flailing boy and said, loud enough to be heard over the banshee shrieking, “Everyone take a look at Henry! Look at him, having a tantrum like a baby! See? Everyone come and watch him acting like a whiny little baby!”

People did start to come over and one young woman with two of her own said, “My, that big boy really has become a little baby!” to her children, who were gaping at Harry in awe. Then she winked at Severus.

Her son, a tow-headed little boy looking slightly older than Harry, pointed and said, “Mummy, he really is a big baby!”

Suddenly Harry stopped screaming and sat up, his eyes wide. “No, I is not! You are!”

“Nuh-uh! Crybaby!” cried the other boy.

“No! Don’t see me!” Harry hid his face in his hands, he was now embarrassed and ashamed.

“Such a shame, to see a big boy acting like a baby,” muttered an old woman disapprovingly as she pushed her cart by.

“No, I’m not a baby!” Harry cried, and he went to hide behind the snowman.

Severus lifted him up before he could do so. “We’re going home, young man. You need a nap and maybe a bottle too, you naughty little imp.”

“No! I’m not tired!” Harry sobbed. “Bottles is for babies, Papa! And I’m big! I don’ wanna nap! I wanna 'nowman like Buttons!”

Severus began to hastily walk to the exit, Harry held firmly over his shoulder. “Little boys who act like babies and throw tantrums don’t get snowmen. All they get is time out, naps, and bottles.”

“Papa, I’m three-an-a-half! That’s not a baby!”

“No? I couldn’t tell from the way you’ve been acting, young man,” Severus told him bluntly, striding rapidly down the pavement, searching for a place he could step out of view and Apparate from. “Only babies throw fits like that. I’m very disappointed in you.”

Harry began to cry again, quietly, his head pressed into Severus’s shoulder. He hated when his papa used that tone and those words. And he didn’t want people to think he was a baby! He could talk almost as good as a growed-up now and used the potty and walked and could put on his own shirt. Babies couldn’t do that.

When they arrived back at the hall, Severus sent Harry to put his nose in the corner for four minutes and Hotspur took his packages upstairs to be wrapped later, shaking his head sadly at the young master’s misbehavior. Augustus was taking a nap, leaving Severus time to deal with his son, and after a sound scolding, he managed to put Harry down for a nap as well. Then he had time to himself for a bit to wrap presents and wonder how long Harry would continue to drive him to drink.

The holiday came and went, and all was peaceful at the manor, Severus’ birthday came and they celebrated it with a dinner and a cake Lina had baked and handmade cards and drawings from Harry, as well as a brand new expensive self-stirring cauldron from Augustus, plus new enchanted robes from Harry, since after three years the enchantments wore off and you had to buy new ones, because the spells had to be woven directly into the cloth and not applied afterwards, one reason why Potions Masters preferred somber colors, because the darker colors took the spelled cloth better and showed less spills. And black was always dignified.

Harry hadn’t mentioned snowmen since the incident at the store, and Severus thought he had forgotten about them, until the snow fell. Then Harry remembered the snowman, and was now gabbling away to Augustus about living snowmen while Severus nursed his third cup of coffee and tried to stave off a headache.

“Grandpa, can you come an’ make a ‘nowman with me?” Harry was now asking Augustus, who looked flabbergasted. His speech patterns and vocabulary had improved dramatically over the last year and a half, and he was frightfully smart for his age. He loved books and being read to, would sit still for two hours and listen to his grandfather read or tell him stories. Severus had taught him the alphabet and how to write his name and count to forty and to recognize simple potion ingredients and plants, mindful of what had happened with the holly berries a year and a half previous.

“Henry, lad, I’m a bit too old to go out and make snowmen with you,” laughed the other wizard. “My knees ache something fierce in weather like this and my old bones aren’t what they used to be. Maybe some other time.”

Harry sighed. He so wanted to play in the snow and build a snowman just like the one he had seen in the toy store. He turned to Severus who had been silent all through breakfast. “Papa, will you come n’make a ‘nowman with me? Please?”

Severus groaned inwardly, he had known that was coming. And what could he say, that he was cross and sulky and didn’t feel like it? He bit his lip. “Go and ask Lina to help you get your snow clothes on, Harry, and let me finish my last cup of coffee.”

Harry jumped off his little booster chair. “Yay!” he shrilled, and took off running towards the stairs, yelling, “Lina, c’mere! I needs you to help me find my ‘now stuff!”

“Please,” Severus reminded sharply. “Manners, Harry.”

“Oops. Please help me, Lina!” the little imp corrected himself.

“Of course, Little One,” Lina said, popping into view with Harry’s winter coat, hat, mittens, and boots, as well as a pair of insulated leggings. All of the clothes were spelled to keep the little boy warm in the coldest weather. His winter gear was colored blue and green, bright colors so you could see him in the snow.

While Severus finished his coffee and mentally steeled himself to go out in the bloody cold, Harry prattled to Lina about Frosty and how he came to life with a magic hat.

“Oh my, young master. A magic hat?”

“Yup. Do we have a magic hat somewhere, Lina?”

The elf giggled. “Ah, we might. This is a wizard’s house after all.”

She tweaked his nose and then pulled his cap down over his ears. Harry still resembled his mother in his coloring, though the shape of his face was a bit like James’ and he seemed to have inherited his father’s penchant for mischief and intrepid manner, a fact that dismayed Severus, and which he tried to curb as much as he could.

“Can you look for one, Lina? Please?” he added, giving the elf his most winsome smile, one that never failed to make her heart melt.

“Harry, Lina doesn’t have time to go looking for a magic hat,” Severus snapped. “A snowman can be made without one.”

“But Papa,” whined the toddler. “Without the magic hat, the ‘nowman can’t come to life.”

“Harry, snowmen don’t come to life. That’s just a silly song. Make-believe.”

“No, it’s not,” Harry answered back. “The ‘nowman in the toy store came alive an’ said hello to me.”

“Mind that tone, young man,” Augustus reproved before Severus could open his mouth. There was nothing the elder Prince hated more than a disrespectful child.

Harry heaved an exasperated sigh. “Sorry, sir,” he muttered. “But it’s true!” he added stubbornly. “You saw it, Papa!”

“Harry, that wasn’t a living snowman, just a Muggle toy,” Severus told him.

Harry shook his head. He couldn’t understand why his father didn’t believe him. He had touched the snowman in the store and it had felt warm, like a person, not cold like snow. It had been alive. But he sensed he wasn’t going to win this argument and rather that get into trouble, he stopped pressing the issue.

He was just happy he was going outside to play in the snow with his papa, who had been rather short-tempered and grumpy of late. Maybe building the snowman would cheer him up, he reasoned.

Lina finished dressing him and then Harry called, “Papa, I’m all ready! C’mon!”

Severus drained his coffee cup and rose reluctantly, his mouth twisting into a frown. He was looking forward to relaxing in front of the fire with a good journal or something, not going out into the freezing cold to build a snow sculpture. Bloody hell, how do I get talked into these things? Why can’t I just learn to say no? I hate the winter. It’s the eyes. Lily almost always could persuade me to do anything with her beautiful eyes. Blast and damn it, Snape, but you’re a pushover. Why couldn’t he have inherited Potter’s eyes?

Grumbling under his breath about how he’d rather have undergone nose surgery rather than go out and freeze his arse off building some stupid snowman, Severus pulled on his coat and gloves and hat and his warmest pair of boots.

“All right, Harry. Let’s go and get this over with.”

“Yay! Now we’ll have some fun!”

“Oh, joy,” Severus rolled his eyes. “Whoever invented snowmen was cracked in the head.”

Harry laughed. “Papa, nobody invented ‘nowmen. They was always there.”

“Oh really?” said Severus skeptically. “How do you know?”

“The ‘nowman at the store tol’ me,” his son replied smugly. Then he took off through the foyer, whooping.

“Impudent rascal,” chuckled Augustus. “Got an answer for everything. Eileen was like that.”

Severus sighed. “Lucky you. Using your “old age” as an excuse to avoid going outside.”

Augustus smirked. “Why, Severus, show some respect. I am ninety-six.”

“And fitter than a man half your age, you sly fox!” his grandson snorted. “You’re an Elemental Master, I’m sure you can keep yourself toasty warm with your command of fire and build a snowman at the same time.”

The elder Slytherin tapped the bridge of his nose. “Age hath its privileges, young man. Off with you now, and have fun. You’re too young to be a mope.”

“Ha! Look who’s talking!” Severus shot back. Then he followed his son out into the chilly wilderness.

* * * * * *

After half-an-hour of rolling a large snowball around and around, Severus decided that the Vikings had been right when they said hell was a place of eternal dark and cold, ice, and snow. He was certain he was somehow in it, being tormented by a demonic cherub who enjoyed pelting him with snow and deliberately tripping him and laughing as he fell face-first into a snowdrift. The snow was up to Severus’s knees, which made it difficult to walk through, and still quite powdery, which made it hard to form a good compact snowball.

Until he cheated and used magic to harden the snow somewhat, enough so he could manage to form three decent balls of snow and Harry helped stack them. Then Harry called for Hotspur to come and bring carrots and buttons and a scarf and ripped off two sticks off a rhododendron to use for arms.

“Here, young master,” Hotspur handed a carrot, an old Slytherin scarf, and a bag of buttons to Harry. “And this is for you, sir. Hot apple cider with a bit of brandy. Warms the blood.”

Severus took the steaming mug and said gratefully, “You’ve earned a raise, Hotspur. Thank you very much.”

The elf smiled. “Not at all, Master Sev. Always a pleasure to serve you.” He bowed and vanished.

Severus sipped the cider and watched as Harry placed the carrot in the middle of the face, along with black buttons for the eyes and mouth, plus a row down the middle. “Very nice.”

Harry beamed, his cheeks reddened from the cold.

“Now all’s we need is a magic hat.”

“Merlin’s beard, Harry! How many times do I have to go through this?” Severus growled irritably. “There is no such thing as a live snowman.”

Harry pouted. “Is too!”

“Now that’s enough.” Severus said sternly. “Come inside and get warmed up, and no more talk about snowmen coming to life.”

But Harry wouldn’t. “Not yet. We haven’t made him a dog.”

“A dog? What does a snowman need with a dog?”

“A dog’s man’s best friend, Papa,” Harry said in a don’t-you-know-anything tone.

Severus gritted his teeth. “You’re really pushing it, tyke.” He waved his wand and a snow dog appeared beside the snowman. “There. Happy now, or do we need to make a whole bloody snow family?”

“Can you do that?” Harry asked.

“No. I’m tired and freezing,” grumbled the Potions Master. “I’ve had enough of the snow for one day.”

“Aww!” Harry groaned. “I don’t wanna come inside. I wanna play in the snow!”

“You’ll be frozen to death.”

“Nuh-uh. I’m warm ‘nough.”

“Brat!” Severus scowled, and tossed a snowball at Harry’s face.

But the little boy just laughed and brushed it off. He loved the snow. “Can I stay, Papa?”

“Fine. But only for another half-an-hour. Then you come in and get warmed up, no arguments.”

“Okay.” Harry agreed.

Severus quickly drew a Boundary Charm in the snow, so Harry wouldn’t be tempted to wander off and go exploring, extending it some ten feet about the place where the snowman and the snow dog were. Then he Apparated back inside, and asked Hotspur to remind him when a half-an-hour was up so he could go out and fetch his son.

Augustus looked up when Severus reappeared near the fireplace in the drawing room. “Having fun in the snow, Severus?”

“It’s bloody wonderful, Grandfather. Can’t you tell?” he drawled sarcastically.

“Don’t be a grouch, Severus Snape,” he scolded, smothering a laugh.

“I hate the cold.” Severus hissed, stripping off his wet outerwear and handing it to a waiting Lina to hang up on the coat rack in the front hall.

“Where’s the little tyke?”

“Still outside, playing. He must have snow in his veins or something.”

“He probably takes after Drusilla. She was never cold in the deepest heart of winter and never hot even in the tropics. One of the advantages of being a Stormcaller.” Augustus said, eying his grandson shrewdly. He knew that there was a secret Severus was keeping from him, something that had to do with Harry, but as yet he could not put a finger on what it was. But eventually he would figure it out. He did not like unsolved mysteries, especially concerning members of his family, and while he respected Severus’ privacy, he did not like suspecting that his grandson had lied to him deliberately. He was hoping that eventually Severus would come to trust him enough to reveal whatever it was about Harry to him and not make him pry.

Severus nodded, then sat down on the sofa in front of the fire and drank some more of the brandied cider. “I wish I had half the energy the little imp does.”

“So do I,” Augustus chuckled. “Oh, to be young again and innocent.”

“I find it hard to imagine you ever being young.”

Augustus snorted. “I could say the same about you sometimes.”

Severus scowled. “Just because I don’t enjoy playing in the snow . . .” he trailed off because he knew his grandfather was correct. The only time he had ever been permitted to be a child had been in those stolen hours with Lily. Living with an abusive alcoholic father had forced him to grow up too fast and too hard. His childhood had been brief and not one that he wished to remember.

Augustus, sensing he had struck a nerve, said apologetically, “But you’re a good father and a responsible one, Severus. The little tyke needs that.”

Severus smiled, pleased that his grandfather had noticed.

Meanwhile, Harry was trying to make his snowman and snow dog come to life like the one he had seen at the toy store. He didn’t have a magic hat, so he’d given the snowman his own, and put his scarf about the snow dog’s neck. But so far nothing was happening.

The three-and-a-half-year-old scowled at the snowy figures. “Why don’t you come to life? I know you can. I saw you in the store. Come on, Frosty. You can do it.”

Then he looked at the snow dog. “C’mon, Snowflake. You gots my dad’s special scarf on. Come alive! I really really wanna play with you, it’s so boring out here all by myself.”

He glared hotly at the snow dog, until he felt a funny feeling in his chest and something hot and tight behind his eyes, almost like a headache. I wish . . .I wish . . .you’d come to life . . . He scrunched his eyes shut tight and pushed at the funny hot feeling behind his eyes, pulling it up from his chest and shoving it out through his hands. His hands grew warm for an instant, then he felt an odd tingle in his fingertips.

He rubbed them together and opened his eyes.

The snow dog was moving!

It still resembled a snow sculpture, but it was blinking its eyes and panting and wagging its tail. It shook its floppy ears and barked joyously.

“Whoo-hoo! I knew you’d come to life!” Harry cried in delight. “C’mere, boy!”

The snow dog raced over to him and jumped up on him, giving him a frosty lick before getting down and racing about him in circles, barking. The scarf trailed on the ground. He seemed to shimmer and glow from within.

Harry ran after him, but found he could hardly run as quickly on top of the snow, and kept falling down. Whenever that happened, the snow dog would come and lick him.

Harry played tag and catch snowballs with the dog for a few minutes before he decided to go into the house and show his doubting father that he had been right—snow dogs really did come to life. “C’mere, Snowflake!” he called and unlike Mystic, the snow dog came when called.

Harry held open the screened in door to the conservatory, and the snow dog shot through the door, leaving snowy wet footprints all over the freshly scrubbed floor.

Harry ran to catch up, but Snowflake was quicker than he thought and raced out the conservatory doorway and into the hall.

Just then, Mystic happened to be crossing the hallway, on his way to the kitchen to beg tidbits from a soft-hearted Lina.

Snowflake, being a dog, immediately gave chase.

Mystic looked up in horror at the snowy monstrosity coming at him, arched his back, hissed, and fled.

Snowflake barked and tore off after the cat.

“No! Snowflake, stop!” Harry yelled. “Musn’t chase Grandpa’s kitty!”

But the snow dog, like any real dog, was hot on the scent, and paid no attention to the little human shouting at him. Snowflake chased poor Mystic right up on top of a tall indoor fig tree, and the cat perched awkwardly in the top branch, hissing and yowling.

The snow dog yelped and wagged its tail, and snow flew everywhere as he shook himself.

“What on earth is going on out here?” Augustus demanded, cross from having been woken from his nap. “Sounds like the London zoo has taken up residence in my house.”

“No! Bad puppy!” Harry was yelling.

He tried to drag Snowflake away by the scarf.

“Blessed Merlin!” exclaimed Augustus upon seeing the odd tableau before him. “Is that a . . .snow dog?”

“Hi, Grandpa! Look at my new friend. His name’s Snowflake an’ he just came to life.”

“Came to life?”

“Uh-huh. See, I tol’ Papa that happens.”

“What happens?” Severus demanded. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourself into now?” Then he gaped at the snow dog dripping all over the floor. “Great Merlin!”

“See, Papa! I was right! They really do come to life.” Harry said triumphantly.

Severus stood there gaping like he had been slammed in the jaw. “But . . .how is this possible? Snowmen . . .I mean dogs . . .can’t come to life.”

“Can too!” Harry sang maddeningly. “I wished for him to come alive an’ then he did.”

“Wished for . . .Merlin’s beard! You performed accidental magic!” Severus exclaimed.

“Huh?”

He turned to Augustus. “Grandfather, he’s had his first bout of accidental magic. And he’s only three. That means he’ll be a powerful wizard someday.” Severus sounded pleased as punch.

“Yes, I see that.” Augustus was amazed that his great-grandson had manifested such talent at such an age too, but he was less than pleased at the trail of icy water the snowy dog was leaving all over his floor, which was made from expensive heart-of-oak wood.

The snow dog jumped up at Mystic, who yowled crossly, swiped at the dog’s chilly nose, then jumped off the tree and landed right on Augustus’ shoulder, digging his claws into the wizard’s robes.

“Ouch! Mystic, for heaven’s sake, watch the claws,” Augustus cried, trying to remove the terrified cat from his shoulder.

Snowflake rushed at the old man, upset at having his fun ruined and attempted to climb Augustus, making the old man yelp, for the snow dog’s body was wickedly cold and yet it was starting to melt and the icy water went right through his robes. Now it was the elder Prince’s turn to bellow grumpily, “Henry, get this blasted animal out of here! It’s making a mess all over and it’s freezing me.”

Harry hung his head. “But Grandpa, he just wants to play. He’s my friend!”

“Dogs, especially snow dogs, belong outside.” Augustus pointed a finger back to the conservatory. Then a gust of wind lifted the snow dog and sent it flying through the air and back out into the yard. “Especially ones that are melting away.”

Harry stamped a foot on the floor. “You’re mean, Grandpa!”

“Mean am I?” the older wizard glowered at Harry, cradling a distraught Mystic in his arms. “Child, you don’t know what mean is.”

But Harry had turned and ran after the snow dog, upset and angry.

Severus followed, wondering how long the accidental magic would last. He was surprised it had lasted this long.

Sure enough, he found Harry crouched on the ground, hugging what remained of the dog, which had collapsed into a pile of snow the minute it had been taken from Harry’s side.

“Papa, Snowflake’s . . .all melted!” Harry wailed. “Why? Why didn’t he stay alive?”

Severus knelt in the snow and gently pried the toddler’s hands away from the snow. “Harry, the snow dog . . .he could only come to life for a little while and then he becomes snow again.”

“No-o-o! I wanted him to be my friend forever!” He kicked out at the snow.

Severus hoisted the bawling toddler on his hip and brought him inside, Apparating into the large bathroom attached to his bedroom, where he started running a hot bath. Harry’s little hands and feet must be near frozen from being out too long in the snow.

“It’s no fair!” the boy sobbed.

Severus tugged his coat off. “Harry, listen to me. Snowflake needed to go back to where he came from. To the land of ice and snow and snowmen. He could only come and play with you for a little while and then he needed to go home.”

“Why?”

“Because he had a family that missed him.” Severus improvised, undressing the little imp, who had started to shiver. “Maybe someday he’ll come back and play with you again.”

“When? Tomorrow?” sniffled Harry.

“Maybe,” Severus said, handing him a tissue. “Now, let’s get you in this bath, you’re chilled to the bone.”

Harry allowed him to put him in the tub, which felt good after so long in the snow and the toddler played with a bunch of bath toys, including the rubber duck Severus had first made for him. “I wish he could have stayed longer,” he said wistfully.

“Ah, Harry. When you’re older, maybe I can convince your grandfather to let you get a kitten or an owl for a pet,” Severus said.

“A kitten like Mystic? For me?”

“Yes, but first you have to be a bit bigger,” Severus said.

“Like how much?”

“Six,” said Severus.

“But that’s too long!”

“Five, then.”

“Why not now?”

“Because you’re too little to help take care of a kitten.”

Harry sulked. “How come I’m always too little?”

“Harry, someday you’ll look back on this and thank me. I know it may seem like we never let you do anything, son, but you just have to learn patience. Remember, good things come to those who wait. Enjoy the age that you are, because the older you get, the bigger problems you’ll have.”

“But I hate waiting.” He crossed his little arms over his chest just the way Severus did at times.

Severus bit back a chuckle at the way his son looked. “Harry, sometimes we all have to do things we don’t like. That’s life.”

“Life sucks.”

“Harry Snape, where did you hear that?” Severus demanded.

Harry shrugged. “A kid said it when we was shoppin’.”

“Figures. Don’t say it again.”

“Is it a bad word?” he asked worriedly. “Are you gonna wash out my mouth?”

“No, unless you say it again. It’s not a good thing to say and I don’t want you to get in the habit of repeating things you hear other kids say. Clear?”

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good. Now lean your head back and close your eyes so I can wash your hair,” Severus ordered, lathering up the auburn hair with a mild shampoo. The things this child came out with! He was like a parrot, repeating everything he heard, and that was why Severus tried hard not to swear in front of him, though sometimes he forgot.

As he gently scrubbed his son’s hair, Severus thought about how his son was growing up so quickly and almost wished there was a spell to stop time for awhile. Because despite Harry’s tantrums and stubbornness, he was also a sweet inquisitive little boy, and Severus cherished those moments with him. Soon enough, he knew Harry wouldn’t need him to take a bath or be snuggled and hugged and tucked in at night with a cup of honeyed milk and a bedtime story. I know it’s normal for all little children to want to grow up, but I wish you could be my little one awhile longer. Just awhile.

Then he rinsed his son’s hair off and said, “Finished, now you can play for a bit before you get dressed again. Do you feel better? Not cold anymore, are you?”

“Nope. Papa, is Grandpa mad at me for letting Snowflake in the house?”

“No, son. I think he was more surprised than angry. Don’t worry about him. Most times, his bark is worse than his bite.”

Harry giggled at that saying. “You’re silly, Papa.”

“Are you making fun of me?” Severus mock-growled.

“Yes!”

His eyes narrowed in pretend anger. “Do you know what happens to bad little boys who make fun of their fathers?”

Harry giggled again and splashed Severus.

“Oh, now you’re in for it!” And he reached out quick as lightning and tickled his son under the arms and along the ribs.

“Ahhh! The tickle monster’s comin’!” Harry shrieked, overcome with laughter. They had played this game before and he loved it.

“Wretched brat! Now I can tickle you to death!” growled Severus, tickling him without mercy.

“Stop! Stop!”

“What for?”

“B’cause . . .b’cause I’m gonna pee in the tub!”

Severus stopped.

Harry gave him a smug grin. “Only foolin’.”

“Why, you little rascal!” cried his father. Then he grabbed his son’s foot and tickled it till he howled. “That’ll teach you.”

Once Harry stopped laughing, he began to play in the water, watching the soap bubbles change color, and dreaming of the day when he would be big enough to have his own pet that would stay with him forever and never have to go back to the land of ice and snow ever again.

“Papa?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“How come only the snow dog came alive when I wished for it and not Frosty?”

“Well, Harry, what you did was magic, a small bit of magic.”

“Like you n’ Grandpa?”

“Yes, son. You’re a wizard, Harry. And when you’re small you perform what we call accidental magic. Like today.”

“Really? Wow!”

“Indeed. And someday you’ll be a powerful wizard.”

“Like you? ‘Cause I want to be jus’ like you when I grow up, Papa.”

“Oh, Harry,” was all Severus said, thinking sadly, You wouldn’t want to live my life, child. I was a miserable bugger till I found you. You were my saving grace, Harry Potter. In saving you I think I saved myself.

Foxfire Hall

December 20th, 1984:

Harry helped himself to another piece of bacon from the platter in the center of the table, ate it, then looked at his father, who was sipping some kind of odd potion from a tall glass and asked the same question he had asked countless times in the past week. “Papa, when’s Christmas coming?”

Severus ran out of patience. He was a bit hung over from last night’s banquet the Society of Potioneers had thrown for him, since he had won the prestigious Best All-Around Potion Master in Britain and Europe for his creation of the Auto Immunity Defense Elixir, the potion which increased a weakened witch or wizard’s failing immune system due to Auto Immune Syndrome. After a year of exhausting research and countless trial and error, he had finally done it. His potion was lauded as the best medical breakthrough to come out since the invention of the Nerve Repair Elixir.

I never should have drank that last toast, he thought blearily, nursing a pounding head. That was why he was sipping a Hangover Cure, which Augustus had brewed for him. “Normally, I’d let you suffer the consequences of overindulgence, but seeing as how this was a justifiable celebration and I am very proud of you, Severus, I’ll brew you up something that’ll rid you of your sore head,” the lord of Foxfire Hall had told him magnanimously.

But Harry knew nothing of this, he had been asleep when Severus had left for the banquet last night, and was his usual bouncy self that morning. And he was also into the “frightful fours” where he was constantly asking a zillion questions, sometimes over and over, and had the energy of a rambunctious Labrador retriever on steroids.

That morning, Severus just couldn’t deal with it.

“Papa, when’s Christmas coming?” his mischievous imp repeated.

He lifted his head and glared at the four-and-a-half year old dangerously. “Harry Snape, if you ask me when Christmas is coming one more time, it’s not coming at all! There won’t be a Christmas! Got me?”

Harry shrank back a little, for his father looked like hell, his eyes bloodshot and stubble on his cheeks, as he had not shaved yet. But then his inherent courage reared its head and he asked, softly, “Why? There’s always Christmas.”

“If you don’t stop pestering me with questions about it, there won’t be, because we’ll skip it,” he threatened silkily.

Harry looked horrified. “No! We can’t!” He turned to Augustus, who was hiding a smile behind his napkin. “Grandpa, we can’t skip Christmas! It’s against the law!”

“It is? Who says?” asked the elder wizard, his lips quivering.

“I do!” answered Harry. Then he added, if that were not enough, “And so does every other kid.”

“I see. Did you know that once, many hundreds of years ago, it was against the law to celebrate Christmas?” inquired his grandfather wryly.

Harry gaped. “No way! You’re makin’ that up.”

“Upon my honor, young Henry, I am not.” Augustus said solemnly.

“But why’d anyone make Christmas against the law? That’s . . .dumb!”

Augustus smirked. “Yes, it was, but then the Puritans believed that Christmas wasn’t necessary. And when they ruled England, they banned Christmas. No one was allowed to celebrate it, and if you were caught doing so, they put you in jail.”

“That’s really stupid!” Harry declared. “I think they was tetched in the head.”

“Mmm . . .I agree with you,” chuckled his great-grandfather.

“When’s Christmas coming, Grandpa?”

Severus rolled his eyes. His son really did have a one-track mind.

Augustus summoned a calendar from his desk and laid it down on the table. “Look here, Henry. Here’s today . . .the 20th . . .and here’s the 25th, Christmas. Now, how many days is that?”

Harry counted carefully. “One, two, three, four, five . . .Five days!”

“Good! Now you know when Christmas is coming, you can stop pestering us,” Augustus said.

Severus heaved a sigh of relief. He sincerely hoped that would be the case. At least for this morning. Just then Warlocke, Augustus’ owl, flew down and delivered the paper to the elder wizard, who stroked him and fed him pieces of bacon.

“Thank you, my lad. Now go and get some sleep, I know you’re tired from being out all night with the ladies,” the suave Elemental Master said, his eyes lit up with a roguish twinkle.

Warlocke gently preened Augustus’ hair for a moment before flying back to his perch in the conservatory and settling down for the day.

Augustus opened the paper while sipping his morning cup of Chai tea. He always read at least the front page in the morning. His eyes widened as he read the cover story. “Great Merlin’s beard!”

Severus lifted his head from his contemplation of the threads in the tablecloth. “Anything interesting, Grandfather?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Here, read for yourself,” he handed the paper to Severus.

Severus scanned it and his breath caught. Screaming in bright red ink across the front page was the headline: BOY-WHO-LIVED MISSING—PRESUMED DEAD! Harry Potter kidnapped by Muggle child slaver, all attempts to locate the missing celebrity have failed!

Severus raised an eyebrow. That was a new one. He began to skim the article, nearly laughing aloud when it stated that Harry’s Muggle aunt, Petunia Dursley, was “beside herself”. I’m sure she is, all flustered and afraid she’ll be found out. She never cared at all for the boy, else she would have never done what she did. I remember her as a child, she was always jealous of Lily and I because we had magic and she didn’t. She tried to act all high and mighty, but then we found the letter she’d written to Dumbledore, asking if she could come to Hogwarts too, and I think it was then that her resentment turned to a kind of hatred. And she passed that resentment and hatred down to Lily’s son. Wicked bint! The article went on to say that Petunia had been out shopping with her son and nephew and had glanced away for a moment only to check a price when a tall masked man “came out of nowhere” and snatched away Harry. There had been a rash of child abductions going on in that area, according to local Muggle police, and this one had yet to be caught. It had been a week since the abduction and there had been no ransom note and though the Aurors had tried to locate the boy themselves with their tracking spells and mirrors, they had turned up nothing. Which had led them to believe that the boy was dead.

Severus had to admit, if only to himself, that he was relieved. It meant there would be no one looking for Harry Potter any longer, and it also meant that the Prince protections upon Foxfire Hall were second to none, proof that the old magics sometimes were the best ones. Severus doubted if any wizard now alive could have cast such thorough wards and had them last so long. “What a tragedy,” he murmured, but there was an odd note in his voice that puzzled Augustus, because it sounded suspiciously like relief, and that did not make sense at all, since a missing child was a parent’s worst nightmare. “Dumbledore made the biggest mistake of his life, I’d say, placing him with those Muggles.” Now there was a note of savagery in Severus’s tone, and that was more like what Augustus thought should be there.

“Hmm . . .I’d have to agree with you. I still don’t understand why he would do such a thing, when there were plenty of willing families who would have taken in the child. A wizard such as he was supposed to be belongs with wizards, not Muggles who have no comprehension of how to raise a magical child.”

“You are right, Grandfather. There are some people who simply can’t accept us and our world. Petunia Dursley is one of them.”

“You know the woman?”

“Knew of her, she was the sister of one of my schoolmates,” Severus hastily improvised. “Who said once that wizards and witches were all freaks of nature.”

Augustus frowned. “It seems to me that Albus Dumbledore ought to have done his homework before placing the Boy-Who-Lived with them. One should always do reconnaissance before venturing into unknown territory. Then again, Gryffindors are known for rushing into danger like a beheaded chicken and thinking about it later, if at all. I suppose he figured they were the boy’s only living relatives and should bear the responsibility of raising him, which would normally be the case, but he should have made certain they were willing to take him in, instead of “dumping him on our doorstep” as the woman says.”

Severus nodded, thinking that he wouldn’t have trusted Petunia to raise a goldfish, much less Lily’s child. “We have tried to raise him as best we could since he was dumped upon our doorstep all those years ago . . .” she was quoted as telling a reporter. Ha! What a crock! You rid yourself of him at the first opportunity, you inhuman harpy. If it hadn’t been for me, that headline would have come true. If I didn’t think the risk too great, I would expose you for what you truly are.

For one instant he contemplated revealing all, but he swiftly rejected that idea. According to magical law, if a child’s blood relatives proved to be unfit guardians, the child then became a ward of the Ministry, and was placed with a family of the Minister’s choosing. Severus did not trust Cornelius Fudge, who was easily influenced by people like the charming cobra Lucius Malfoy and well-meaning yet manipulative Albus Dumbledore. Fudge would not have Harry’s best interests at heart, he would seek to use the child for his own ends, as a political tool.

All of them would use him for their own ends—to help their public career, to use as a pawn to defeat a dark wizard, none of them would care for Harry as a person, though they claim they have the child’s best interests at heart. And he deserves better than that. He deserves to live an ordinary life and to be a child, not a child savior.

“Now they reap what they have sown,” Severus said darkly. “I suppose that makes the prophecy null and void now that the Boy-Who-Lived is gone.”

“Indeed. What bitter irony,” remarked the elder Prince. “He survived Voldemort only to be undone by a Muggle criminal.”

“Yes,” was all Severus said. Grandfather, I’m sorry, but I must keep my secret a bit longer. I hope someday you will understand and forgive me. He handed the paper back to Augustus.

Augustus took it and peered at the somewhat grainy photo of a young Harry Potter below the article and thought that the boy looked like a sweet child, and it was a shame he had such a brief life. He reminded him a bit of his great-grandson, with similar coloring. But there are lots of boys with Henry’s coloring, and besides, anyone would know The-Boy-Who-Lived by his scar. And Henry has none, he reminded himself, looking at the little boy sharply.

Harry had just gotten his first pair of glasses, they were wire-rimmed bifocals and made him look like a little owl. The Occular Specialist who had examined him said that when he was much older, around thirteen, he might be eligible for corrective spell surgery, but until then he would need to wear glasses all the time. Luckily, Harry didn’t care, he thought the glasses were neat. Severus was relieved, it could have been something more serious, and though wearing the glasses reminded him of the child’s real father, it was better than letting Harry go blind.

The conversation between the two adults had gone on right over his head, he usually tuned them out when they spoke of things he didn’t know about. Right then his top priority was Christmas and presents. Namely if Father Christmas had gotten his list or not. He had a special request this year and he hoped that the wizard or whatever he was could fulfill it.

“Papa, do you think Father Christmas got my list yet?” he asked, eating a piece of toast.

“Harry, chew with your mouth closed,” Severus ordered. “I don’t need to see your half-eaten breakfast. Yes, Father Christmas probably has gotten your list by now. Why? Was there a particular toy you wished to get the most?”

He always asked some form of this question during the weeks leading up to Christmas, so he could figure out what to get Harry for Christmas and not ruin the magic of the holiday. Harry usually received around four gifts from him and two from Augustus and five from Father Christmas. Eventually he would increase the amount to twelve presents, but had determined to never go beyond that amount. He didn’t want Harry to become a spoiled brat by getting too many gifts. Twelve was plenty, he had been lucky to get five when he was growing up. Also, Harry almost never got everything on his list for the same reason.

Harry nodded eagerly. “’Member that time we went for ice cream at Di’gon Alley, Papa?”

“Two weeks ago?” Severus clarified.

“Uh-huh. When we went past the Quidditch store I saw it.”

“Saw what? A broom?” Severus prayed it wasn’t that. He didn’t think Harry was old enough to have a broom yet, even a training one. He didn’t want the boy to become Quidditch-obsessed too soon, and Harry was already impulsive enough on the ground, Severus feared he would break an arm or worse if he let him fly at such a young age. Six was plenty young enough to get a training broom.

“No. I saw Josef Wronski—the action figure, Papa!”

“Who?” Severus looked blank. He didn’t really follow Quidditch, it just wasn’t his thing.

“The Seeker, Papa! He’s really cool! He flies and dives and you can move him and he says six different things. All the kids were outside the store and they all were gonna ask Father Christmas for him for Christmas. And I did too. I really hope he brings me him, Papa. It’s all I really want this year.”

Severus could feel his headache returning. A Quidditch action figure, Merlin help him! Harry didn’t even watch Quidditch matches on a regular basis, though Augustus had taken him to see one or two this year as a reward for doing well with his studies, but local teams, nothing major. Augustus was not a big fan of the sport either, he preferred botany and horseback riding. Severus supposed Harry wanted the figure because all the other kids wanted it. He was easily influenced by older children at this age and the toy did sound interesting.

Looks like I’ll be braving the insane masses at Diagon Alley this year, Severus thought with a silent shudder. I just hope this toy won’t prove impossible to find. He’s been making a real effort to behave this year, a few tantrums notwithstanding, and I’d hate to disappoint him by not getting that one present. It won’t be the end of the world if he doesn’t get it, but still . . .I remember wanting a certain set of books when I was little and never getting them because my mother couldn’t afford them, most likely, they were an entire collection of Merlin’s Adventures in Avalon, and every year I’d put them on my list and every year keep hoping they’d be under the tree when I woke up Christmas morning, and each year I’d be disappointed, until I was too old to believe anymore and understood that some things were too expensive for an apothecary’s assistant who was married to an abusive drunk.

He didn’t want Harry to feel that way, though, not if he could help it. So he resigned himself to mingling with crowds of last minute, hyper, pushy, rude shoppers, and go to Quality Quidditch Supplies tomorrow and see if he couldn’t get this Wronski whoever figure.

“Well, son, if you’ve behaved as best you can this year, maybe Father Christmas will bring you it.” Severus told him. Then he helped himself to a piece of toast and some fruit. “Drink your milk, Harry, so you’ll grow up big and strong.”

“’Kay, Papa,” his son said, and obediently drank his cup of chocolate milk. Then he ate another piece of bacon and some eggs. He couldn’t wait till Christmas came and he found the Wronski figure under the tree. He really hoped it would be there because he had tried so hard to behave this year, and he hadn’t gotten time out as much as he had last year since he had not really thrown any tantrums . . .well, except the one over eating his broccoli. He really hated broccoli. But surely Father Christmas would understand, right? Harry didn’t think any kid liked broccoli. That was stuff only grown-ups ate and made their kids eat ‘cause it was good for them. Only Harry could never figure out just what was good about the stuff. It tasted nasty. Even smothered in cheddar cheese.

He made a face and crunched his bacon. Hurry up, Christmas. I wanna play with the Super Seeker!

* * * * * *

The next morning, Severus rose early and dressed in his warmest clothes and winter cloak spelled with a permanent Warmth Charm. He left Harry asleep and ate a quick breakfast of cereal and coffee before Flooing to Diagon Alley, since Apparating such a distance was bound to give him another headache and he didn’t want to spend the morning nursing another one like yesterday.

Even at eight o’clock in the morning, the streets were crowded with shoppers, trying to buy or find that last minute Christmas gift. They all wore expressions of determination, despair, hope, and annoyance, because Merlin only knew that shopping at this time of the year was hazardous to one’s mental and physical health. It was a known fact that someone usually got into a fistfight or worse every year over someone shoving their way onto a line or taking the last self-brewing kid’s cauldron on the shelf when the sales clerk had promised it to Miss Whoever first. And there was always the inevitable shouting match over which broomstick was better, or how much powdered longhorn was worth, and someone always ended up hysterical over some gift they just couldn’t find that year and had to have or else their darling Bibbykins was going to just die!

Severus plastered his most forbidding scowl on his face and glided through the streets, his black cloak billowing behind him like dragon wings. Pedestrians took one look at the young man and hastily moved to the other side of the street. There was an aura about the wizard, despite his youthful appearance, that screamed danger and beware, and people found themselves moving away before they were quite aware of why they were doing so.

Severus was pleased, until he thought he might be channeling Tobias, and then he wished he hadn’t learned to be quite so . . .intimidating. Then he realized how quickly he had gotten to the Quidditch store and changed his mind. Sometimes intimidation was a good thing.

But the queue was around the building, and Severus knew a mere look wasn’t going to help in this situation. He heaved a martyred sigh and went to stand at the back of the line.

A friendly witch with bushy red hair turned about and smiled at him. “Let me guess, you’re here to buy that Wronski figure too, aren’t you?”

“Yes. My son told me it’s all he really wants for Christmas this year.”

“Mine too! Practically begged me on his hands and knees to get him one. He’s twelve.”

“Mine is four-going-on-forty,” Severus said proudly. It was the truth. Harry continued to astound him with his intelligence.

She chuckled. “I know what you mean. So smart, it’s scary.”

“Exactly. That’s why I’m here. I don’t even know how much this toy is going to cost.”

“It should run about 20 Sickles and a Knut, I think. Not too overpriced, considering its popularity. It’s the hot new item this year, and every child who plays Quidditch wants one.”

“What makes this figure so special?”

“You mean besides the fact that it talks and flies? It’s a limited edition and the card that comes with it is signed by Josef Wronski himself.”

“I see,” said Severus, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. All this fuss over a signature and a toy! If you think it’s so ridiculous, then why are you here? demanded his conscience. He told his conscience to shut up and then said, “That’s probably why children all want it this year. For the autograph.”

“Oh yes. The great Wronski signature is something every Quidditch fanatic must have,” the witch said wryly.

While they were talking, the line had moved a total of two inches closer to the store entrance.

“I just hope they don’t run out before I get in there,” she said worriedly. “They weren’t taking reservations, because the store manager said they couldn’t guarantee how many figures they were going to get from the supplier. So it’s first come, first serve.”

“Wonderful,” Severus muttered. With his luck, they’d probably run out just before him and poor Harry would have to make do with some other action figure for Christmas.

“You don’t sound too thrilled. You mean, you aren’t a die-hard follower?”

Severus made a face. “I can’t stand the sport or the players who strut about thinking they’re God’s gift to the universe.” Like James bloody Potter used to do. “The only reason I’m here is because of my son.”

She grinned. “I sympathize with you totally.”

Severus checked his watch. They had been standing there for fifteen minutes and the line hadn’t moved at more than a snail’s pace. “Is this the only shop that sells it? Maybe we could go somewhere else to find it?”

“I’m afraid not. It’s a QQS exclusive.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Just then the line moved another two feet and Severus started to hope that he might be able to get what he needed and be home before dinnertime.

Until a well-dressed man in a dashing black cape carrying a silver snake-headed walking stick walked up and tapped the witch on the shoulder. He had long flowing blond hair and carried himself like a lord. “Excuse me, madam, but I seem to have dropped something.”

“Oh? Where?”

“My ring, it’s an old family crest, and quite valuable to me,” said the wizard smoothly, and he knelt down before her to search the ground.

The witch backed away a bit to give him room.

With a start, Severus recognized Lucius Malfoy, his old prefect of Slytherin House. He hadn’t seen Lucius since he had rejected his offer to join Voldemort’s supporters back in school, and had been glad of it. Now here he was, like a fake Knut, turning up where he was least expected or wanted. Up to your old tricks, eh, Lucius? If you dropped a ring on the ground, I’ll eat my boots, you conniving viper!

Sure enough, Lucius stood up a moment later, pretending to slide something on his finger.

“Did you find it?” asked the witch.

“Yes, I did.” Then he turned and faced the opposite way, now two positions ahead on line.

The witch frowned. “Sir, you need to go to the back of the line. I was here first.”

“Were you?” drawled Lucius. “But you stepped out of line, madam, and so your place is now forfeit. Oh, don’t look so shocked. I’m sure there will be other figures to buy besides the Wronski if I get the last one.”

“But that’s not fair, sir!”

Lucius merely smirked smugly and turned away, clearly finished with the conversation.

Severus’ blood boiled. He never could stand those like Lucius, who used their position and power to take advantage of those less fortunate, Lily had been dead wrong when she thought he would ever support those kinds of people . . .people like Tobias . . .he despised them.

“Allow me,” he murmured to the now angry witch.

“Be my guest,” she hissed.

“Malfoy,” Severus drawled in his best patrician tones. “Fancy meeting you here after all this time.”

Lucius turned. “Snape! Well, well. I see you’ve made a name for yourself as a Potions Master since school.”

Severus snorted. “Obviously. And you’ve made a name for yourself as well. As a rude ignorant lout who cuts women in line over a mere toy. Proud of yourself?”

Lucius went red. “I don’t know what you mean, Snape.”

“Don’t you?” sneered the other. “You don’t fool me. I know you, Malfoy. All too well. Now why don’t you go and wait on the back of the line like you’re supposed to?”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, Snape? Before I lose my temper?”

Severus drew himself up to his full height, he was now taller than the older man, and his eyes flashed black lightning. “Back off, Malfoy. Before I lose mine.” His wand slipped into his hand in one fluid motion. His magic surged through him and filled him with power and confidence. He knew he could take the other wizard, Augustus had taught him all new battle spells and defense charms, different from those he had learned in school. During that time, they had also learned that Severus had an affinity for water and air, a latent talent, but one that was slowly starting to wake. He could feel it stirring, and clouds scuttled across the sky in response.

Lucius hesitated. There was something different about Snape now. This was not the insecure boy he had known in school, desperate to belong, the unwanted skinny kid, the loner without friends. This was a new Snape, older, more confident, and blazing with a magical power second to none. “Now Snape, show some respect, after all we’re both Slytherins.”

“So? You’re not my prefect any longer, Malfoy and the fact remains that you’re not going to cheat this lady out of her spot as long as I’m around.”

“I could make you vanish,” threatened the other, his wand now in his hand.

“Ha! You wish.” Then Snape waved his wand in a short sharp gesture and Lucius was lifted into the air and tossed head over heels behind him, to land with a bone-jarring thud on his backside . . .at the end of the line.

The witch he had defended began to clap and so did several of the other people nearby.

“That was great!”

“Good for you, teach that line jumper a lesson!”

“What spell was that? I never learned that one.”

Severus hid a smile. That spell was not one taught at Hogwarts. He had invented it right then and there, out of sheer necessity.

Lucius stood up and brushed himself off, furious but not wanting to make an even further scene by attacking Severus again. But he vowed someday to make Snape regret what he had just done. Nobody humiliated a Malfoy and got away with it.

When they finally reached the store entrance, there was a blue robed wizard standing there, handing out badges. “When I call your number, step up to the counter and wait on the assigned line. You will be given one figure per family—NO exceptions. If you attempt to hoodwink us, you will not be given a figure and no using hexes to confuse the issue. One figure per household and that is all. Break that rule and you’ll be talking to the Aurors. We have a limited number of stock and once it’s gone, that’s it. Some of you may not get one, and if that happens, we’re sorry but that’s the breaks.”

Severus took a badge, it was number 97 and the witch in front of him had number 96.

They went into the store and waited till their numbers were called.

On the last line at the counter, Severus gazed at the packages of figures and prayed his number would be called before they ran out.

But the pile dwindled until the witch in front of him received the last figure Severus could see.

“That’s all, witches and wizards! Sorry if you didn’t receive one. But we only have a limited number and—”

Severus turned away, tired and wishing he had gotten up earlier or something. He had wasted two or three hours for nothing. He just hoped Harry wouldn’t be too disappointed.

Until the witch he had spoken to came and touched his arm. “Excuse me, sir, but you dropped this.”

Severus looked up. She was holding out a Wronski figure.

“I don’t understand . . .”

“Take it. It’s yours.”

“But your son . . .”

“Will get his. I told the manager of the store what you did outside and he took his own figure he had set aside and wishes you to have it. So please, take it. Make your little boy’s Christmas be merry and bright. And have a happy holiday, Mr. Snape.”

“I . . .” Severus was at a loss for words. She pressed the figure into his hand. “Thank you, ma’am. Might I know your name?”

“Molly. Molly Weasley. I have a son around your little one’s age too. But this is for his brother Charlie. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas to you too. My name is Severus.”

“Pleased to meet you and maybe we’ll see each other again some time? Like when our children are old enough to go off to school?”

He shook her hand. “I look forward to it.” Then he gave her a rare smile and bid her good day before tucking the figure under an arm and Apparating back to the Leaky Cauldron to Floo home. All this fuss over a toy!

Augustus looked up when his grandson stepped out of the fireplace. “Well? How did it go?”

“Don’t ask,” said Severus shortly.

“You didn’t get it?”

“No, I have it. Just . . .I’ll explain later, Grandfather,” Severus replied, then he headed upstairs.

Augustus frowned. There were a lot of things he wasn’t supposed to ask—such as why his great-grandson resembled Harry Potter, or what Severus was concealing from him about the little boy. But someday, he would have answers to all his questions. Someday.

* * * * * *

Christmas morning, Harry woke with the sun, jumped out of bed and raced down the stairs to the drawing room where the Christmas tree was, sliding on the polished wooden floor in his green socks with small cauldrons on them. He nearly crashed into the tree before stopping himself.

“He came! Father Christmas came!” He shouted, loud enough to wake the dead.

Upstairs, Severus groaned, rolled over, and woke. Christmas morning seemed to come earlier every year.

Minutes later he heard the pitter patter of little feet on the stairs and heard his son bellowing, “Papa, Papa! Get up! Christmas came and I wanna open presents!”

And I want to sleep in for once, Severus thought waspishly. Guess who’s going to get what they want for Christmas?

He forced himself to climb out of his warm cozy bed and meet his son at the bottom of the staircase.

Harry’s face was alight with the wonder of the holiday, his evergreen eyes sparkling. He was gyrating in place. “Papa! Come n’see!”

Severus allowed himself to be dragged into the drawing room. Harry looked at the presents and then his father. Severus nodded and said, “Go on, imp. You can open them.” He knew Harry couldn’t wait for Augustus, who was probably sleeping in today, because as the Lord of Foxfire Hall, he could do so.

Harry raced over to the tree, reached under it and pulled out a certain package.

Severus watched with bated breath as the child tore off the rainbowed paper.

The look of utter joy and contentment upon Harry’s face when he saw the Wronski figure made Severus’ heart constrict with happiness.

“He brung me it, Papa!” the little boy cried, beaming from ear to ear. “He knows I was good mostly and he brung me it!”

Severus smiled, not bothering for once to correct his son’s speech. Suddenly all the hassle of waiting on line and nearly dueling Malfoy had been worth it. And if he had to, Severus knew he would go through the whole crazy business all over again.

The look on Harry’s face was the best Christmas present ever.

December 10, 1985

Foxfire Hall:

Severus was convinced that Harry was channeling misbegotten James Potter that holiday season. Actually, ever since Harry had turned five he had developed a smart attitude. One that Severus was hard pressed to deal with and that Augustus had no patience for whatsoever. The old man, who was pushing 98 by this time, had decided that his great-grandson was old enough to do small chores around the manor, like picking up his room and weeding Drusilla’s garden, things which he hoped would teach the child a bit of responsibility. But Harry didn’t care to do routine chores that were boring, as he put it, and he whined and complained, asking why the two house elves couldn’t do it.

Severus had told him that Lina and Hotspur, who were freed elves, were not required to do everything for him, as if he were a pampered sultan in a palace. “A few chores won’t kill you, now quit whining,” he told him bluntly.

Harry sulked and pouted and made Severus long to shake him. Then he stomped off to his room. When Severus came to check on his progress a half-an-hour later, he discovered Harry had barely made a dent in the mess. Utterly disgusted, Severus had glared at his obstreperous son and declared, “You’re not going to be allowed out of here until I can see the floor. Now start picking up your toys and put them away right now.”

“But Papa, it’s too hard!”

“Oh? It wasn’t too hard for you to make the mess, now was it?”

“No.”

“No. Now start cleaning, or else you’ll spend the next day in your room, young man.”

“Fine!” Harry snapped insolently.

“Mind that tone, boy, or else I’ll take away half these toys. You don’t speak to me that way.”

“You’re no fair!”

“That’s life. Get used to it. I’ll be back in thirty minutes and I’d better see some progress.” Then he closed the door smartly behind him.

Only then did his son start doing as he had been told.

But afterwards it was as if James Potter’s clone had entered the house. Harry put salt in the sugar bowl and Lina baked a cake with it and when they all sat down to eat it that night, everyone ended up gagging. Lina was mortified, but Harry just laughed. Severus questioned the little boy and he confessed, resulting in being sent to his room and having to write a small letter of apology to the elf.

Then he decided to slide backwards down the banister and ended up flying across the room and crashing into the large Japanese vase Augustus had in the corner opposite and shattering it. Augustus mended it with a charm, but was still angry at Harry for playing so roughly in the house, and gave him a scolding and some time in the corner.

“You know better, young man, I know you do. How many times have I told you to never slide down the banister?” Augustus demanded, his hands on his hips.

“But it was fun, Grandpa!” protested Harry. “I didn’t mean to break that silly old vase.”

“Whether you meant to or not is besides the point. You willfully disobeyed me and that I won’t tolerate. Now, go to the corner.”

“No, not there!” Harry whined. “I hate it there.”

“March!” Augustus pointed a finger.

Harry dragged his feet the whole way, complaining.

“Hush and be still! Or else you can stand there all day, Henry Snape.”

Harry stopped twitching and muttering, but he was not at all happy with his grandfather and even more unhappy when Severus came home and was told of his misbehavior.

“You know, Harry, if you keep up this naughty behavior, you’ll get nothing for Christmas,” warned Severus, waving a finger under his sulky child’s nose.

Harry looked at him doubtfully. “You’re just sayin’ that.”

“I am not, and if you don’t believe me, keep misbehaving. Come Christmas morning there will be no presents for you under the tree, and only a lump of coal in your stocking.”

“Okay, I’ll behave,” Harry said, but there was a note of disrespect in his voice that irritated Severus to no end.

“You’d better, or else there will be one sorry little boy come Christmas morning,” he threatened. “Now you can stay in your room, on your bed, and think about what you’ve done,” he told him, and waved his wand so all the toys were removed from the room and Harry had nothing to do except stare at his wall. “Fifteen minutes.”

“No fair, Papa! Grandpa already punished me,” his son wailed, kicking the bedpost.

Severus spun around. “I’m not your grandfather, and if you misbehave for him, then you get double the punishment from me when I get home. Now quit this attitude.”

Harry huffed and sulked.

Severus gritted his teeth and left the room, resisting the urge to smack the little brat.

But Harry’s naughty streak continued. He “accidentally” used all of Severus’ expensive ink and parchment to draw with, the kind that the Potions Master needed for important documents. Severus promptly took away all of Harry’s art supplies for two days, saying that if he couldn't remember to respect his father’s belongings, he didn’t deserve to have them either.

Harry promptly threw a tantrum, wailing and stamping his feet and throwing a pillow on the floor.

“Stop that! You’re too old to act like a baby,” Severus ordered. But what had worked at three and four seemed to fail at five, for Harry just kept on having a fit. “Henry, if you don’t quit acting like a baby, I’ll treat you like one.”

“Don’ care! Gimme back my art stuff!”

Severus promptly transfigured Harry’s clothes into a baby all-in-one and gave him a nappy as well as a bottle and a pacifier. “There! Now you look the part of a whiny itty-bitty baby!”

Harry realized what he was wearing and howled, “No, Papa! Get ‘em off!”

“How do you ask?”

“Please!”

“Please what?”

“Please, sir.” Harry gazed up at him, his lower lip pouting.

Severus reluctantly charmed the clothes back after five minutes.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you, child, but it had better stop,” he growled, turning to go.

“I don’t know what has gotten into you,” Harry mocked.

Severus turned around so fast his cloak nearly fell off. “Now, that’s enough!” And with that he picked up the naughty boy and washed his mouth out with soap for a minute, hoping that would cure the kid of his sassy mouth.

When he told Augustus what he had done, the older wizard had said, “He’s testing you, Severus. And if I were you, I’d be firmer with him. Once you start letting a child get away with talking back to you, he’ll lose all respect for you and then you’ll have a spoiled brat on your hands. If he’d spoken like that to me, I’d have warmed his bottom.”

Severus said nothing. He had never raised a hand to Harry, and he had sworn he never would, for that was how Tobias Snape had “disciplined” him and he never wanted to be like his father. But he could see that Harry was getting out of control. Was Augustus right? He wondered. Was a spanking the only way to get through to the child?

Harry certainly had been sorry after that mouthwashing, but how long would it last? He tried telling himself this was just another stage in Harry’s development and he would get through it, the way he had potty training and Harry’s drawing on walls and eating poisonous plants. Where had the sweet obedient little boy gone and when had this unholy terror taken his place?

* * * * * *

Finally it was the week before Christmas, and time to decorate Foxfire Hall again. The elves usually did the inside of the manor and Augustus liked to do the outside, along with Severus and Harry. The two younger wizards strung popcorn and cranberries to string around the evergreen bushes and trees while Augustus hung silver bells on the roof and coaxed the twinkling foxfire lights to glow even brighter, which was something they only did for the lord of the hall.

Harry had always been told he wasn’t ever allowed upon the roof, even though he was not afraid of heights the least little bit and had begun flying lessons with Severus a few months before, when Severus had finally broken down and gotten him a small safety-charmed training broom. Augustus had been able to fly with them too, and unlike Severus and Harry, as an Elemental Master, he could fly without a broom, using the wind itself to make him airborne and soar through the sky.

That had really impressed Harry and he had asked Augustus how he did that and Augustus had told him he had special magic that could command the wind.

“Will I ever have magic like that, Grandpa?” he had asked wistfully. He had the occasional bout of accidental magic, like turning his hair blue and making a shoe fly through the air, but nothing as spectacular as the snow dog again.

“Maybe someday, Henry,” Augustus told him sincerely. But he knew Elemental Masters were few and far between and usually didn’t start showing signs until they were in their teens.

Harry wished he could have magic right now, he was tired of always being “too little”. He loved flying, as much as he loved helping his papa make potions. Severus had allowed him to stir a cauldron a time or two down in his personal basement lab, and crumble some ingredients and add them to a draft.

That particular morning, Severus had gone off to work as always, and Harry was left in the care of Lina and Hotspur and Augustus. After making gingerbread with Lina, which was now a holiday tradition, he intended to help Hotspur deck the halls, because now he was big enough to put the mistletoe and holly up, but he soon grew bored with the activity and took a peek out the dormer window in his room at his grandfather, who was stringing silver bells on small pieces of gold wire along the roof of the manor.

Augustus was still spry and fit, despite his advanced age, and with his elemental magic at his command, stringing the bells upon the roof was a cinch. He was well wrapped in a coat and scarf, a hat drawn over his ears, though his elemental magic kept him warm enough.

Why does he always get to have all the fun? Harry wondered resentfully. Augustus was leaving footprints in the fresh snow on the roof, which was peaked and then flattened a bit towards the edges. Harry’s window was set just in front of a fresh blanket of snow and it looked too inviting to resist. He managed to unlatch the window and crawl out on the roof.

Giggling, he jumped up and down in the fresh snow, and Augustus whirled around, startled.

“Henry!” he cried, aghast. “What in blazes are you doing out here? Get back inside immediately! You’ll catch your death or slip and fall.”

“Aww, Grandpa! But I want to help!”

“You can help by getting your fanny back inside where it belongs, boy, and quit giving me heart failure!”

Then Augustus summoned a small wind to lift his great-grandson back inside before Harry could argue further. The window shut with a snap after Harry was safely inside.

Dejected, Harry pressed his nose against the glass and watched Augustus gently draping the bells across the roof.

A moment or two afterwards, Augustus went inside to answer a call of nature.

Harry waited till his grandfather was gone before he answered a different call, listening to the naughty part of himself and scrambling out upon the roof again.

He didn’t understand why the grown-ups made such a big fuss over just walking on the roof, it wasn’t dangerous, and he could too help with the bells. He was big, and he knew how to drape the strings, he had watched Augustus and Hotspur too, draping the holly.

His little feet approached the shiny string lying in the snow next to the edge of the roof and he reached out a hand to grasp the bells. He picked them up and they tinkled sweetly in the sudden gust of wind that came up the side of the roof.

Harry grinned and moved to drape them next to the other string Augustus had stuck to the roof with a Sticking charm. His lace on one boot was untied and he stepped on it.

Suddenly he tripped, and staggered, dropping the bells in the snow and falling. He almost rolled right off the roof!

But he managed somehow to wedge his foot into the gutter and stop himself. Then he slowly pushed himself to his feet and stood up. He was shaking slightly, frightened by how close he had come to falling off the roof. He began to understand why his grandfather had always told him to stay off the roof and he started to make his way inside, hopping back into the window of his bedroom.

Augustus decided to check up on Harry before finishing with the bells, knowing he needed to keep an eye on the boy after his penchant for mischief.

Harry had just climbed back into the window when his bedroom door opened and Augustus strode in. The little boy was still covered with snow and standing in front of the window. “Grandpa!”

Augustus’ eyes narrowed. He quickly took in the open window, his snow covered grandson and the guilty expression upon Harry’s face. It didn’t take a genius to put the clues together. “Henry, what were you doing?”

“Nothing at all,” Harry lied blithely, not knowing there was still snow on him.

“Don’t you dare lie to me, little boy!” cried his great-grandfather. “I’m going to ask you again, and this time I want a truthful answer! Why were you outside on the roof after I’d told you to stay off it?”

Harry was alarmed. He’d never seen his grandfather turn that particular shade before. “I wasn’t, sir,” he whimpered.

Augustus felt his temper slip its leash. His heart had nearly jumped out of his chest when he saw the little boy covered in snow, standing there, looking as innocent as an angel but lying like the devil himself. “Still lying, are you?” he advanced on the child, his eyes blazing. “Do you know you could have died out there? Fallen off to your death? How many times must we tell you something before you’ll heed us? You stubborn willful child!”

His mind was filled with the awful image of Harry lying dead in the snow, having fallen from a great height and broken his neck, and Severus coming home to a dead child and a funeral. And it would have been his fault. On top of that, the boy had the gall to lie to his face! And then he recalled all the trouble Harry had gotten into these past few weeks and suddenly it was just too much. Augustus recalled how he had been as a child, an impetuous daredevil, very much like this one, but there had been one thing that had always cured him of that wild streak.

“You know what you need, young man? A good old-fashioned spanking, just like my papa used to give me when I lied and disobeyed him. There’s nothing worse than a liar, my boy! Lying taints your honor. And a wizard without honor has nothing.” His father’s words, spoken in that cold tone, echoed down through memory. There had been times when he had hated the old man, but he had been right. Augustus set his jaw.

Harry, now realizing he was in big trouble, quickly said, “I’m sorry, sir, I won’t do it again.”

“Not half as sorry as you will be,” Augustus said ominously, then he reached out and picked up the five-year-old, sat down, and placed Harry over his lap. A snap of his fingers had summoned a lightweight ruler from his desk drawer. “Maybe this will cure you of telling lies and disobeying me.”

He brought the ruler down smartly on Harry’s bottom.

* * * * * *

Five stinging licks later, Augustus released the sobbing child, sending the ruler back to his drawer with a flick of his wrist. “Never ever lie to me and risk your neck like that again, am I clear?”

Harry bawled, nodding frantically. His bottom was stinging something awful, this was the first time anyone had ever punished him like that, and he was shocked and also ashamed, because he knew he shouldn’t have lied or climbed back on the roof. “S-sorry, S-s-ir! I’ll be good!”

“Humph! I’ll believe it when I see it. You’ve been nothing but a naughty brat this whole month and I’m sure Father Christmas is as disappointed as I am with your behavior. I wouldn’t be surprised if your name is crossed off the Nice List and put on the Naughty One and now you’re getting nothing for Christmas.”

Harry cried harder. He had forgotten about Father Christmas and his list. He began babbling apologies while trying to rub the sting out of his rear end.

“Stay here and think about what you’ve done,” Augustus ordered.

Harry turned and threw himself face down on his bed, still crying loudly.

Augustus felt his resolve weakening, he had always hated it when children cried, and now that his temper and fear had died down, he was starting to feel sorry for his great-grandson, or at least sorry he had to punish the child that way. But he was sure the child had now learned his lesson. He quickly left the room before he started feeling guilty, returning to the roof to finish the decorating.

* * * * * *

Half-an-hour later, a weary Severus returned home, he had spent half the day brewing and the other half mediating a quarrel between two other Potions Masters, because ever since the year he had won that prestigious award, his fellows considered him something of an authority figure, as well as an expert on experimental potions. End result, he was consulted whenever there was a disagreement, like today. Luckily, he had managed to diffuse the situation before blows were exchanged, and now all he wanted was a nice hot shower and some time with his family before dinner. Little did he know, that trouble had been brewing at home as well as at work.

The first inkling he had of it was when he started past Harry’s room and into his own, which had a connecting bath. He could hear muffled sobbing coming from Harry’s room, and wondered with a groan just what trouble he’d gotten himself into now. He hesitated before his son’s door, considering if he ought to shower first and then talk to him, but talking won out because he never could stand to hear his son cry.

He gently turned the knob and entered, calling, “What happened, Harry?”

Harry lifted his tear-stained blotchy face from his pillow and cried, “Papa!” On one hand he was glad to see his father, but on the other hand he wasn’t, for it was then he remembered Severus’ rule about getting into trouble twice if he misbehaved for Augustus or the elves. And he was sure the older wizard knew about what had happened. He rolled over and sat up, yelping as his still sore bum contacted with the mattress. Then he jumped to his feet.

Severus, who had been in a similar situation many times, recognized the telltale signs of having been spanked, and his eyes narrowed and he walked quickly over to his son. “Harry, did someone spank you?” he queried, praying it wasn’t so. Maybe he had just bruised his tailbone falling? Merlin knew, the child was always doing some harebrained stunt and ending up with bruises.

Sniffling miserably, Harry nodded. “Uh huh. Grandpa did ‘cause . . .’cause I . . .I . . .went on the roof when he was gone jus’ for . . .for a minute . . .to . . .to decorate . . .”

Severus hit himself in the forehead. This was all he needed. “Not again, son! You’re never allowed up there!”

Harry’s face crumpled at the sharp tone and he wailed, “Please don’t spank me again, Papa! M’sorry, I’ll be good! My . . .my bum hurts!”

Severus winced as a terrible memory surfaced of himself at Harry’s age, crying into Eileen’s shirtfront because Tobias had walloped him for not bringing a beer quick enough. “How long ago was this? Just now?”

“No . . .” Harry hiccupped and reached back to rub gently. “It was. . . .was a while ago. He was . . .was really mad and then he sent me here . . .”

Alarm bells started ringing in Severus’ head when he heard that. He knew, none better, that a normal spanking wouldn’t still be hurting after a few minutes. “Son, did your grandfather . . .did he spank you with something?”

“I dunno . . .”

Severus shook his head. Stupid question! Of course he wouldn’t know. “Let me see, little one.” He gently turned his son around and started to remove his trousers.

Harry, mistaking his intent, started howling.

“Hush, Harry! I’m not going to spank you again, just relax!” he ordered gruffly. Then he swore under his breath, for his son had very light red marks across his little behind.

He saw red.

“Shhh. Be still,” he whispered to his son and then summoned a jar of Rash Away and rubbed some on his son’s bottom.

Harry was too relieved to make a fuss at being treated like a baby. He stopped crying as the salve started to work. In a minute, the marks were gone. Severus fixed Harry’s clothing, his temper boiling over. He had given Augustus permission to discipline his son, but said discipline had never included a spanking. Never! Then Harry threw himself into his arms, crying about how sorry he was, he would never do anything like that again, he was sorry he had lied and disobeyed and now he would get nuttin’ for Christmas.

It took Severus a good ten minutes to calm him, then he told him he had been very naughty to scare his grandpa that way but he was forgiven. “Now stop going spare, child, and stay here. I’ll be back soon. I just need to speak with him for a few minutes. All right?”

Harry mastered himself and nodded, finally sitting on his bed and hugging Professor Hush-a-bye to him.

Severus then strode out of the room, his black cloak billowing, to give one Augustus Prince a piece of his mind.

Augustus was in his study, going over the account books, when Severus blew in like a hurricane. After the drama of the afternoon, he needed something concise and logical to settle his brain, and numbers were the most unemotional thing he could think of to keep the sudden swarm of guilt at bay.

“Grandfather, I need to speak with you immediately,” Severus said in a tone that dripped ice.

Augustus looked up, and saw that the younger man’s face was taut and his eyes crackled with dark fire. Instinctively, he felt his magic stir in response, and a faint breeze whistled through the room. He set down his quill. “I presume you’re here about young Henry and his wretched behavior this afternoon.”

Severus shut the door with his foot. “You presume right, sir. But it’s not only his behavior at fault, but yours, Grandfather! You had no right to lay a hand on him in anger. My son doesn’t get his lessons with switches or . . .or whatever you used!” He took a calming breath and began to recite more potions ingredients.

“He almost tumbled off the roof, Severus! He was out there sliding in the snow, not five minutes after I’d caught him and put him inside in his room. And then he had the nerve to lie to my face! He scared me out of the rest of my life, and he needed to be taught a good lesson. So I gave him five with my ruler. That was all.”

“All?” Severus’ hands balled into fists. “Goddammit, old man, you left marks on him!”

“I . . .I did?” Augustus stuttered, he hadn’t thought he had hit the boy that hard.

“Yes! Not very obvious ones but I saw them!” Severus exploded. “Why didn’t you call me if you couldn’t handle it?”

Augustus bridled at the insinuation. “I’ve been handling children since before you were born, Severus Snape! And no child ever died of a deserved thrashing. I didn’t.”

“And did your father ever leave marks on you? Did you do that to my mother?” the other snarled. “Was that the real reason why she left—to get away from an abusive father?”

Augustus was speechless. “I never . . .how could . . .?”

“How could I? Because I know what it’s like to live with a bastard who always uses his fists or a stick on you for every little thing! My father was more than just a drunk, and I lived in fear of him every day until I went to school and learned how to use my magic to protect myself from my dear old dad!”

The elder Prince was horrified . . .and furious. “He beat you?”

Severus laughed harshly. “Oh, yes, and like you, he called it discipline!”

“But I . . .Henry was running wild, Severus. I just wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“Funny, but that’s what Tobias always said too. He swore he would knock that attitude out of me and my freakish magic one way or another,” said the other bitterly. “I will never forget that. Never. And that’s why I don’t use corporal punishment on Harry. Because I won’t go down that road. I won’t become my father, not even a little bit. Not even if he deserves it. Because no child should have to live through what I did. And no child of mine ever will.” He locked gazes with the old wizard. “I want your promise, Grandfather, that you will never spank Harry again, or so help me, I will pack our things and leave, right this minute!”

Augustus was stunned. He could tell that Severus meant every word, there was midnight and fire and steel in his gaze and the protectiveness of a mother panther defending her cub to the death. His mind reeled, trying to process everything Severus had revealed. But one thing remained icily clear. He did not want to lose his family over this.

“I . . .I thought I was doing right. I never meant to really hurt the little tyke. I lost my temper, you know how I feel about disobedience and lying in children. I don’t know what came over me, he scared me, Severus, and I don’t scare easily. I’ve never punished any child that way before. Oh, your mother earned a couple of smacks from me, but I never used a ruler on her. This was the only time . . .”

“And it was onetime too many. He was still crying over it when I came home.”

Shame curdled suddenly within him. “Dear Merlin, I didn’t know, I sent him to his room and came here to cool down . . .I never meant . . .Severus, I love that boy like my own son, the way I do you, I just thought he needed a firm hand before he did something and killed himself . . .I know what it’s like to lose a child untimely, and I never want you to suffer that . . .” He shook his head. “Forgive me, I’m an old strict bastard and I went too far.”

Severus felt some of the tension coiled within him relax. He knew what it had cost the old man’s pride to admit he was wrong. “And your word, sir?”

“I give it to you. I am not like the pondslime you grew up with, Severus. I am glad he’s dead, otherwise I would be tempted to find him and break every bone in his body and light him on fire.” Augustus declared fiercely, his eyes bright with the fires of vengeance. “Eileen . . .she did nothing to help you?”

Severus sighed. “She tried, Grandfather. But she had to work and he stayed home, drinking . . .most of what he did . . .it was while she was away . . .and she had promised him to never use magic on him . . .I don’t wish to discuss it, sir. It’s over and done with.” But you shall never forget, whispered his conscience. And the scars shall remain forever.

“It never should have happened.”

“But it did and there’s no sense in crying over spilt milk.” Severus said softly. “The devil shall take his due, I’m sure.”

Why didn’t she bring you to me? Why stay with such a man? Augustus wondered sadly. I would have taken both of you in, even I’m not such a coldhearted monster . . .and then I would have torn that miserable bounder limb from limb. Maybe that’s why. He drew a deep breath, regaining control over the stray bits of power that swirled about the room. “Yes, one way or another, we all have to pay the piper. I am sorry, Severus.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“Yet it still haunts you.”

He shrugged briefly. “I can live with it.” Then he abruptly changed the subject. “You need to go and apologize to Harry. Before he thinks you hate him.”

“Hate him?”

“He was babbling some nonsense about being so bad you would want him to leave and not getting any presents from Father Christmas. I could barely understand half of it, he was crying hysterically, but he should have calmed down by now.”

Now Augustus felt even worse. “Very well. I shall apologize for my hasty discipline. But Severus, he was very naughty. Not just today but the whole month. And if Father Christmas were watching . . .” he trailed off meaningfully.

“I understand, Grandfather. This Christmas, he will get a reduced amount of gifts and . . .”

“A small lump of coal in his stocking as a reminder?” suggested his grandfather.

Severus nodded. “And that will serve as a better reminder to behave than even a spanking would.”

Knowing how impressionable his great-grandson was, Augustus had to agree. He rose to his feet. “I overstepped my bounds, and shall leave most of the discipline to you next time, Severus.”

“Thank you, sir. After all, that’s my responsibility as his father.” Even if I’m not the father he was born to. “I forgive you, sir.”

Augustus felt as if a mountain had been lifted off his chest. He paused in the doorway of the study. “Would you really have left?”

“I would. Because protecting my son is more important to me than anything,” answered his grandson sincerely. “Make no mistake, sir, but I am not my mother and I refuse to live her life. I appreciate all you’ve done for us, but I won’t become a pawn the way she did. Not for love or money.”

“You’re a better man than I am, Severus. And your mother would be proud of you,” Augustus said simply.

Then he Apparated up the staircase to the landing, it was much easier on his old bones, to take the penitent Harry on his lap and tell him he was sorry.

Harry forgave him, then asked if he was still in trouble.

“No, child. It’s over and done with and I hope you’ve learned your lesson.”

“Yes, sir,” Harry said earnestly. “I’m never gonna go up on the roof or lie again. Promise!” Then he added wistfully, “Do you still love me, Grandpa?”

“Of course, imp! I will love you forever, my Henry!” and he hugged the little boy to him for a long time.

“You won’t throw us out?”

“Never! Where did you get such an idea?”

“When I was with Papa the other day, shoppin’, some kid was bein’ bad and his mum said she would ship him off to the Bad Boys Home if he didn’t behave. An’ I was bad too, but I don’t wanna go there!”

“You won’t. You’ll stay right here with me, at Foxfire Hall, where you belong, even if you are an awful naughty brat.” Augustus reassured him, gently carding his auburn hair. “That I promise you, Henry Snape.”

“Good.” Harry yawned, he was worn out. But he still had one more question. “Am I still getting nuttin’ for Christmas?”

Augustus chuckled softly. “Ah, that’s up to Father Christmas, my boy, not me. You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Okay,” Harry murmured, and he snuggled into Augustus and drifted to sleep, while Severus watched from the doorway.

* * * * * *

Christmas morning came and that year Harry only got five presents instead of ten or twelve. And inside his stocking was a small lump of coal and a note. For the one who didn’t behave this year! ---Father Christmas.

“How did he know, Papa?”

“He’s Father Christmas, Harry, and he’s always watching,” answered Severus. “So remember this and behave next year, all right?”

“Yes, sir.” Then he hugged his father. Harry understood and he felt ashamed and vowed to be extra good next year and he never forgot that one Christmas, when he had been naughty enough to receive a lump of coal and a spanking.

Over the top of Harry’s head, Severus exchanged glances with Augustus. They had all learned something this Christmas.

December 31st, 1986:

Harry waited impatiently in front of the roaring fire in the drawing room, shifting from foot to foot and back again. He was waiting for Blaise Zabini to arrive, along with his mum, Annamaria. They had a playdate together for the first time in over two weeks, since Harry was now off his grounding for sledding down the grand staircase and out the door into the snow. He had thought it jolly great fun, but his father and grandfather had not agreed at all. Thus, the two weeks of grounding, where he wasn’t allowed to step foot outside or do anything fun at all, like have friends over. Not that he had so many of them, there weren’t too many kids his age among the families who worked for Prince Enterprises, just Blaise and Mindy Klasky, who was sick with a bad cold today and couldn’t come. Since Severus homeschooled him, Harry didn’t really have a chance to meet other children, but today was different.

Today he would be able to play with not just Blaise, who was great fun and an imp for getting into scrapes as well, but a new little boy, Neville Longbottom, whose grandmother was an old acquaintance of Augustus’, and who was raising Neville since his parents were very sick in the hospital. It was kind of similar to Harry’s family and Harry was eager to make another friend.

He sighed and tapped his foot impatiently against the slate-tiled hearth, much as his father did when he was waiting for Harry to get dressed and go somewhere. The foot tapping was usually accompanied by a scowl and some kind of comment to quit dawdling.

“Why are they late?” he asked Mystic, who was curled up on his favorite pillow near the hearth.

Augustus’ familiar was very old now, almost thirty, he was a half-Kneazle, and he mostly slept.

Harry had hoped to get a kitten that year for Christmas, but no such luck. He supposed that Father Christmas didn’t think he was ready for one yet, especially after the sledding incident. Oh, but it was so hard to be good all the time! He thought forlornly. But there was always next year. By then he’d be seven and plenty old enough to be responsible for a kitten.

He moved over to stroke the old cat, who purred, his eyes shut, half-asleep. Mystic, once an avid hunter, now preferred to bake himself in front of the fire, his bones were stiff and he lacked the swift spring in his muscles he had once had. Where once he used to run and hide from Harry, he now allowed the boy to pet him, and Harry, who had learned over the years to respect and love the black cat, was mindful to pet him very gently.

Suddenly the fire flared green and Harry looked up, a smile appearing upon his little face. Mystic looked up, yawned, and returned to napping. He was too comfortable to dash for the safety of the bedroom anymore.

Blaise stepped through the fireplace, brushing the soot casually off his jeans and pullover. He was a slight boy with black hair, olive-colored skin and flashing black eyes. He loved to run and climb things, he was like a monkey, and he could speak both Italian and English fluently. He also loved Quidditch and playing in the snow. He had a little sister, Josephine, who was five, and an older brother and sister, Alina and Alexander, who were nine year-old twins.

“Hiya, Harry! Ready to go and build a snow fort?”

Harry nodded eagerly. “Yeah!”

“Mind you put on your hat and gloves and your coat, bambino,” reminded Annamaria, whose speech still bore traces of her native Sorrento in it.

Blaise rolled his eyes as she summoned the required articles. “Mama, quit fussin’,” he muttered. “I’m not a baby!”

Annamaria, a pretty dark-haired woman who had just turned thirty, frowned at her son and said, “Never you mind Blaise Domenic Zabini. You just do as your mama says and no backtalk, eh? Or else we go home right now and you can play dolls with your sister.”

Blaise was scandalized. “Mama! Boys don’t play with dolls!” He blushed, and took the coat and hat she handed him and reluctantly put them on. “Okay, they’re on.”

Annamaria bent to give him a kiss. “Be good, and behave for Sev and my lord Augustus now, y’hear?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“I’ll be back around supper to pick you up, and don’t forget to give Harry’s papa the pignoli cookies I made for the tea. Tell him I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.” She handed her son a white bakery box. “Ciao!” then she Flooed back to her home, where she was working on a formula for a new Disappearing Elixir.

Blaise grabbed Harry’s hand and started to drag him out the of the room. “C’mon! The snow’s just deep enough for us to have a great fort and then we can have a snow war.”

Harry shook his head. “Wait, Blaise. There’s someone else coming over to play too.”

“Who?”

“His name’s Neville and his gran knew my grandpa when they were both young, like centuries ago or something. He should be here soon, with his gran, her name’s Augusta.”

“Like your grandpapa, no?”

“Yeah.”

Just then Severus entered the drawing room. He was dressed in his formal green and silver Slytherin dress robes, his hair neatly tied back with a silver knotwork clasp. He looked quite handsome. “Ah, you’ve arrived,” he said. “Hello, Blaise. How is your family?”

“They’re doin’ good, Mr. Snape.”

“Glad to hear it. It’s too bad your mother was too busy to stay for tea.”

“She’s brewing a new potion,” Blaise said quietly. “You know how that is.”

Severus chuckled at Blaise’s tone of fond exasperation. “I do indeed. Your mother is an excellent Potions Mistress.”

“But not as good as you, Papa. You won an award,” Harry stated proudly.

“Yes, well, an award isn’t always a good indicator of a Potion Master’s skill.” Severus said modestly.

“But you’ve won lots,” Harry pointed out. It was true. Severus had won more awards for his innovative and original brews than any other Potions Master ever to come out of Britain. His name was a byword in every potions journal printed, including international ones.

Severus was rather embarrassed and quickly changed the subject. “Harry, if you’re going to play outside, then go fetch your winter coat and boots and mittens.”

“Aww, Papa! I wanna wait for Neville!”

“The quicker you go the quicker you’ll return.” Severus told him.

Harry sighed and ran up the stairs.

Blaise remembered the bakery box then. “Here, Mr. Snape. This is from my mama. She baked you her special pignoli cookies and says she’s sorry she can’t be at the tea. She makes the best ones, got the recipe from my nonna.”

Severus took the box and then sent it to the tea table with a brief flick of a finger. Like many of the Prince line, wandless and silent magic came naturally to him. “I know she does, Blaise. She sent some over for Christmas and we all enjoyed them immensely.”

“What’s . . .imma . . .immensely mean?”

“It means we enjoyed them very much,” Severus amended, Blaise was very bright, like Harry, so sometimes he forgot he was talking to a six-year-old.

He grinned then. “Everyone loves my mama’s pignolis.”

When Harry finally came back down, the Floo had activated again, and from it stepped a tall woman wearing emerald robes that matched Harry’s eyes, a fox fur scarf, a large hat with a stuffed vulture on it, and she carried a large red handbag over her left shoulder. She had light brown hair and a no nonsense air about her. She appeared to be in her early fifties.

Holding onto her hand was a rather pudgy boy with blond hair and hazel eyes, he was bundled up in a blue jacket and boots with a red scarf wrapped about him and earmuffs.

Severus stepped forward to assist Augusta out of the fireplace, giving her a brief respectful bow. “Welcome to Foxfire Hall, Mrs. Longbottom. I’m Severus Snape, Lord Thornton’s grandson.”

Instantly, Hotspur appeared and bowed also. “May I take your wrap, milady? And your bag?”

Augusta looked at him in surprise. “A freed house elf? I had no idea Lord Thornton was so progressive.” She handed the elf her scarf and hat and her bag.

“Milord believes that after so many centuries of good service, we ought to be rewarded and so he freed my wife and me upon becoming master of Foxfire Hall,” Hotspur explained. “We were very grateful and continue to serve him as best we can. He is a kind and generous wizard.”

And with that, he bowed to Augusta once more and disappeared.

Augusta nudged Neville and said, “Neville, say hello to Mr. Snape and his son, Harry. And you’re one of the Zabinis, yes, lad?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Blaise said. “I’m Blaise, pleased to meet you.”

Augusta shook his hand politely, then turned and did the same to Severus and Harry. Neville shyly introduced himself to the other boys and Severus. Augusta eyed Harry for a moment, then looked questioningly at Severus. “You look about the same age as my son, Frank.”

“I am, Mrs. Longbottom. We were in the same year in school.” Severus said.

“Call me Augusta,” she said. “I do believe your mother and I went to school around the same time, though I was her senior by three or four years. Her sister, Grace, was in my year.” Augusta winced. “Such a tragedy when she died.”

“Yes,” Severus said feelingly. “As it was for your own family five years ago.” He was referring, of course, to how Frank and Alice Longbottom had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix and Barty Crouch, junior for not revealing to them where the Dark Lord was hiding after the Potters’ deaths.

“Indeed, though if the Auror Department had had competent back up, it never would have happened. But that fool Mark Pike was in charge and he sent all his available teams chasing after that wretch Sirius Black. There was no one left on duty at the headquarters to hear when my son and his wife called for help.” Augusta shook her head angrily. “Poor management! Such would have never happened in your grandfather’s day, young Snape! Augustus Prince knew how to be prepared for anything and not even a drunken louse got by him when he was Captain! Nor his replacement, Achilles Antonius. But by the time Frank joined the force, Achilles had retired and Pike was in command. Bah! But what’s done is done. My son is as he is and I’ve been left to raise his boy these past years. Much as you yourself have, correct? Your grandfather told me your wife passed away also around that time?”

“Yes. She . . .it was sudden. She took sick and there was nothing anyone could do,” Severus improvised, looking very uncomfortable, which was not an act. Speaking about Lily’s death always made his insides shrivel up and his eyes burn with unshed tears. It was not quite a lie, there really was nothing one could do for a victim of the Killing Curse. Lily had died instantly.

“Too bad. But at least you still have her son. He seems to resemble his mother a good deal from what I can see.”

“Yes, Harry looks like her more than me,” Severus agreed. “Why don’t you come and sit down, Augusta?” He said, quickly changing the subject. He gave her his arm in an old fashioned gesture. “We will be having tea shortly in the Blue Room and my grandfather—”

“Is late, and I apologize, Augusta, for not being on time to greet you,” Augustus said, coming into the room, his silver dress robes fluttering slightly behind him. “Welcome to my home.” He took her hand and bowed over it, a courtly gesture that had long since been done away with in modern times. “You look as lovely as ever.”

Augusta laughed. “Dear Augustus, you always could charm the quills off a hedgehog! At least that’s what Drusilla always told us.”

Augustus’ eyebrows rose. “So . . .Drusilla was telling tales out of school, was she?” His eyes sparkled. “What else did she say about me? Did she complain about my terrible compulsion for neatness? My dreadful flashfire temper? My obsession with gardening?”

“None of those things. She used to say she wished you were home more often, instead of out saving the country from its own folly and teaching Grindelwald and his cronies a lesson in manners. She missed you something dreadful, I believe.”

Augustus sighed, a lost look creeping over his face. “I know. I regret that I let my work take precedence over spending time with her . . .but I never thought she would go before me . . .Forgive me, I grow maudlin again. Please, come into the Blue Room, Lina has the tea service all waiting for us.”

“Of course. Neville, say hello to Augustus Prince, Lord Thornton,” instructed his gran.

Neville shyly greeted the old wizard, swallowing hard. Then he darted back beside Harry and whispered, “Your granddad sure looks scary. A little.”

Harry giggled. “Only sometimes. Like when he gets mad as blazes at you. But he’s not now. Papa, can I go play now? Please?”

Severus looked at the three eager children and waved a hand in dismissal.

They tore out of the drawing room and through the hall to the front entrance, squealing and whooping like a band of marauders. Well, Harry and Blaise were whooping, Neville was just following.

Harry led his two friends out into the fresh snow, a veritable winter wonderland for them to play in.

Three sleds with shiny runners were sitting beside the pathway leading to the back of the house, where there was a nice big hill for them to sled down and a long expanse of lawn as well so they didn’t crash into the back of the manor trying to slow down.

Three sets of little feet went crunch, crunch through the snow as they ran for the sleds.

Harry grabbed the one with the green painted front and called, “C’mon, you slowpokes! Grab a sled and lets get to the top of the hill!”

Blaise grabbed the blue one, and Neville took the red one and then they ran, panting, down the path after Harry, the sleds gliding along behind them with a soft swishing noise, since Hotspur had greased the runners with a special solution to make them glide easily through the thick snow. The wise elf had anticipated the young master’s snow escapades and wanted him to have fun and be safe too, since sledding could be dangerous if the sled got stuck and you flew off and hit something besides snow, like a tree.

Unknown to them, Hotspur was perched high in an oak, watching the three boys, as per Severus’ instructions. His magic kept him invisible and warm as well and he was enjoying watching the three scampering across the lawn, and sometimes tripping and landing face first in a snowdrift.

Ah, to be young again! And it’s too bad Lina and I were never granted any elfkins. But the Oak Lord never saw fit to give us any, and so the little master must be my foster son. Hotspur thought fondly. House elves conceived rarely and he and Lina were almost past childbearing age. Which was why they doted so on Harry and had on the two Prince girls when they lived at the manor also.

Giggling, Neville brushed himself off and raced up the hill after Blaise. Harry was already at the top and lying on his stomach, his mittened hands gripping the sled along the front bar. “Last one to the bottom’s a griffin turd!” he shouted. Then he pushed hard with his feet and the sled flew down the hill, Harry clinging and screaming “WAAH-HOO!” all the way.

Because of the greased runners, the sled picked up a good amount of speed and shushed right down the hill and across the lawn before Harry braked it to a stop. Then he turned to see where the other boys were.

To his surprise, Neville was beating Blaise down the hill and Blaise was laughing as snow sprayed his face.

He never really cared if he won or not, Harry was the more competitive of the two.

Neville was having the time of his life, he rarely got to play with kids his own age, much less go sledding in the snow this way. He had been a bit nervous at first, but after seeing Harry go down, he thought it looked like fun and it was. So very much fun!

He slid to a stop a few feet behind Harry, his face reddened from the wind and snow but he was grinning like an elf high on butterbeer. “That was great, Harry! Can we do it again?”

“Sure, Nev. Uh, you don’t mind if I call you that, do you?”

“No. Though my gran never uses nicknames, she says it’s not proper.”

“Neither does my grandpa. He always calls me Henry,” Harry told him. “But Papa says that’s just his way and it makes me special to him.”

“Oh. Harry . . .are you ever . . .err . . .afraid of your granddad? B’cause sometimes I’m a little afraid of my gran.” Neville admitted softly.

“Only when he gets mad. Like he did the time I snuck out on the roof last year and tried to hang some bells and almost fell off. He was ready to breathe fire like a dragon.”

Neville’s eyes went wide. “You did? Weren’t you awful scared? I . . .I don’t like high places much.”

“Oh that’s no big deal. I like flying, Papa taught me how to fly a bit last year on my training broom.” Harry said. “But what was scary was the way Grandpa yelled at me and got all red and then he . . . well . . .he spanked me. Hard.”

“Oh my,” Neville said, shuddering.

“Ouch!” said Blaise, coming up beside them, he had already heard the story before. “But he got it worse ‘cause he lied. Even I know better than that!”

Harry snorted. “Don’t listen to him, Nev. Blaise ends up over his mama’s knee practically everyday!”

“Do not!” Blaise cried. “I’m not that bad!”

“Are too! You made your sister’s dress fly up in front of your cousins at that picnic last year, you said so!”

“She was being a snot, teasing me, and I didn’t know my magic could do that.” Blaise defended. “You put snakes in your papa’s cauldron!”

“Really?” Neville wasn’t sure whether to be awed or shocked at the two boys’ antics. He never would have dared misbehave like that for Gran or Great-Uncle Algey. “Did you get spanked for that too?”

“No. But Papa did make me stand in the corner for uh . . .seven minutes and I was grounded to my room for the rest of the day for it.” He began to drag his sled back up the hill for another run. “What’s the worse thing you ever got in trouble for, Nev?”

Neville thought. “I . . .uh . . .I dug up my gran’s really expensive blooming mimbletonia once when I was four. I wanted to see if there was buried treasure under it. She was really mad.”

“Did she spank you?”

“No . . .well . . .she gave me a wallop and then she yelled and said I was just like my dad when he was that age and then she showed me how to re-plant it. I like plants.”

“Me too. My grandma Drusilla has a rose garden by the house that blooms all the time even in the winter,” said Harry.

“My mama has a vegetable garden,” said Blaise. “And an herb garden too. Sometimes I help her water it and pick the ripe vegetables. Then we make a salad and eat them—yum!”

“Gross, Blaise!” Harry made a face. “How can you like vegetables? Ugh!”

“Um . . .I like vegetables. Well, I like corn and potatoes,” Neville said.

“Those are the only good vegetables,” Harry stated. “The other ones are just yuck! I only eat ‘em ‘cause my papa makes me.” He shoved off and went down the hill again.

“No wonder you’re small for your age!” Blaise shouted as he pushed off, speeding down the hill and passing Harry.

“Am not!” howled Harry. “You take that back, Zabini!”

“Why? It’s the truth.”

Harry stopped the sled abruptly at the bottom of the hill and jumped off and tackled Blaise into the snow.

“Eat snow, Zabini!”

“You first!” Blaise growled, knocking Harry off and rubbing snow in his face. Then he ran away, laughing like a fiend.

Harry gave chase, snowball in hand, as Neville watched, horrified, thinking they were fighting.

Harry nailed Blaise in the back with his snowball, and Blaise threw one back and hit Harry square in the face. Snow dripped all over his glasses. He lifted a hand to wipe the snow off the lenses when Blaise knocked him in the snow.

“Gotcha, Signore Snape! Here’s snow in your eye!”

The two tussled like puppies, rolling over and over in the snow.

“Stop it, guys!” Neville cried in alarm. “Why are you fighting?”

“Huh?” Blaise stared up at Neville, puzzled. “We’re not fighting, we’re wrestling.” Then he yelped when Harry shoved snow down his shirt. “Ahhh! It’s co-o-ld! I’m gonna get you for that, Harry!”

Harry climbed to his feet, smirking in a very Snape-like way. “Only if you can catch me, Blaise!”

“You mean, you’re not mad?” Neville said, still trying to figure them out.

“No, ‘course not.” Harry snickered. “We’re just playin’, Nev.”

“Oh. I don’t . . .I never . . .played like that before.”

“C’mon then, you silly thing!” Blaise tossed a snowball at him.

It hit him on the shoulder. Neville scooped up some snow and tentatively threw it back. But it missed Blaise and landed on the ground.

“Merlin, Longbottom!” groaned Blaise. “Ya gotta aim! Like this!”

He threw another one at Harry.

Harry ducked. “Nice one, Blaise! Watch me, Nev!”

Together, the two boys taught the diffident Neville how to throw a snowball and have fun tackling each other into the snow drifts.

Soon they were all coated in snow and then Harry suggested they build a snow fort so they could play Snow Wars, and started molding the snow into “bricks”.

Hotspur waved a hand and some of his magic floated down over the snow, making it just hard enough to build a good sturdy snow fort, since the snow was not yet a good consistency.

* * * * * *

Meanwhile, Severus was having a pleasant tea chatting with Augusta, who had known the lord of Foxfire Hall when he was still attached to the Aurors and had attended several classes where he had instructed her on battle techniques. “There was never a better teacher, Severus. I learned more from your granddad in an hour than I did my entire three years at the Auror Academy.”

“Now that’s a bit of exaggeration there, my dear,” Augustus protested.

“It’s the truth, sure as the sun rises,” Augusta insisted. “You taught the most important lesson of all—know your enemy and know yourself. You said that it’s not how much power or magic you have, but how you use it that matters. And you were right. You also said, once you’re committed to a duel, never hesitate, but fight to win. Because if you don’t, you shall surely die. I remember everything you ever taught me, Lord Thornton. And it saved my life that time when the Death Eaters tried to attack me and get my grandson.”

“Death Eaters came after you and Neville?” Augustus cried.

“Yes, it was right after Frank and Alice were attacked, they wanted to kill him or something in the name of some fool prophecy. But they didn’t get past me. I made them cry for their mummy like little babies!” Augusta declared.

“Good for you!” said Severus. He had no doubt that Augusta Longbottom would make a formidable adversary. Especially if she were once a student of Augustus’. He knew the old man’s reputation and knew he would have trained only the best.

They reminisced some more over the cakes and tea and Annamaria’s delicious pignoli cookies, which melted in your mouth. Then Severus decided it was time to call the boys in for some hot cocoa and cakes, let them get warmed up, and he went to fetch them, leaving Augusta and his grandfather happily chattering away about their days in the Auror Department.

* * * * * *

He found the three happily engaged in a snowball fight, and he stood at the edge of the lawn and called, “Harry, Neville, Blaise! Come inside and have some cocoa and cakes. You need to get warmed up.”

Harry looked up from behind the fort. “Papa, come and play Snow Wars with us. We need someone to fight.”

“Yeah, we need an enemy!” Blaise shouted.

“Y’mean, besides me?” asked Neville, crawling out from under a snow drift.

“Harry, I don’t think so,” Severus began. No way in hell was he going to participate in a snowball fight. He had never liked the snow . . .it was too cold and too mushy and . . .his nose was starting to run just thinking about it. “You play with your friends.”

“Aww, Papa! It’s no fun without another person! Nev needs help.”

“Why don’t you switch sides?”

“That’s boring! Please, Papa! Just one game?”

“Harry, I’m too old to play about in the snow . . .”

“Are not! You’re almost as old as Blaise’s papa, and he plays with Blaise!”

Severus groaned. “Come on, son. Let’s go in and have some cocoa and we can discuss this inside.”

But Harry knew once they were inside, Severus would have an excuse as to why he couldn’t come out again, so he decided to play a little joke on his father. “Blaise, Nev, c’mere!”

The two came over to him and he whispered something into their ears.

“Okay?”

“Harry, are you sure . . .?”

“Positive. Ready? On three. One . . .two . . .three!”

The three started to walk towards Severus, who was on the verge of yelling at them to hurry up, that he didn’t want to stand out here all day. But before he could say anything, the three suddenly charged him, screaming like maniacs.

Harry dove at his ankles, Blaise threw his arms about his knees and Neville hugged him around the waist.

“What . . .?” he was caught completely off-guard. He tried to backpeddle, to keep his feet, but his traitorous son was gripping his ankles so tightly that he staggered and the other two boys added too much weight and he found himself falling.

Whump!

He landed with a loud thud on his back in the snow.

The boys whooped and howled in glee.

“Gotcha, Papa!”

Severus sputtered, unsure whether to be angry or amused. Until he recalled how much he hated the snow and then his eyes gleamed. “Wretched brats!” he mock-growled. He heaved, throwing Neville and Blaise off him and into the snow. Then he rose, dusting himself off. “This means war! Run!”

They scattered, running to hide behind the fort.

Snow trickled down his neck and melted into his hair, but he quickly banished the chill with a wandless charm. Then he conjured his gloves and began making ammunition to use against the little ambushers. Because no one knocked Severus Snape into the snow and got away with it.

A barrage of snowballs flew through the air from behind the fort. Severus was ready, though, and he ducked. None of them caught him that time. Then he began lobbing snow back, and the three soon discovered that Severus had a wicked arm and a deadly aim.

Neville ended up with snow all over his front, and Blaise and Harry both got facefuls. But no one minded. They were just happy to have another person to play with.

To his eternal astonishment, Severus found he was actually . . .enjoying himself. He found that as long as he kept moving the snow wasn’t cold and getting back at his sneaky son and his comrades was very satisfying.

Up above, Hotspur laughed at the sight of the Potions Master romping with the boys. Good for you, Master Sev! You are too serious, I think you need to learn to have fun.

Then Severus beckoned to Neville and said to the shy boy, “Come, let’s double team those two scamps! They’ve been trouncing you pretty good, haven’t they?”

“Uh . . .yes, sir. I guess.”

“Humph! Well, now we’ll give them a good licking!” said the Potions Master. He gave Neville several snowballs. “Ready?”

Harry peeked up from behind the fort, just as Neville threw a snowball at him. To his shock, the snowball split and became several smaller ones and he couldn’t duck quick enough to avoid them all.

“Ahhh!” he yelped, falling backwards.

Blaise was running away, trying to avoid the other bunch of snowballs Severus had charmed. “Help, Harry! They’re too many!”

He tripped and all the little snowballs struck him in the back. “No fair!”

Severus was smirking. “All’s fair in love and war, boys!”

Neville looked at the other snowball in his hand. “Are they all like that, sir?”

“No. But it was a good trick.” He waited for his son and Blaise to get to their feet before throwing the other snowball at them.

He was so busy playing that he didn’t realize he had been outside for over twenty minutes until he heard Augustus’ voice behind him.

“Severus, lad, if you wanted to have a snowball fight, you should have called me.”

Severus turned about so fast he nearly skidded and fell. “Grandfather!” he exclaimed, blushing. “I . . .I was just . . .I mean . . .”

Augustus waved off his pitiful attempts to explain his actions. “It’s quite all right, Severus. Playing with your son is a good thing. You need to do it more often.”

“I do?”

“Oh yes,” smirked the Unleasher of Earthquakes. Then he tossed a snowball at his grandson.

Severus dodged. “Pretty good, milord. But . . .not good enough!” He whipped out one of his charmed snowballs and nailed Augustus smack in the face.

The older wizard sputtered. “Why you . . .what do you call that, you insolent whelp?”

“A Snape Special,” Severus retorted, grinning.

“Just for that I’m returning your birthday present,” the old man threatened.

Then he used his elemental mastery to summon a wind that knocked Severus into a snowdrift up to his neck.

Severus gasped. Then he concentrated, willing the snow to melt, and it did so, thanks to his newly fledgling Water powers. He stepped free of the puddle of water and stood, completely dry, facing his grandfather. “You were saying, sir?”

“Bloody hell! You’re a Water Master,” said the elder wizard. “Water and a bit of Air too. Ha! I knew one day one of my descendents would inherit my talent.”

Then he formed another snowball out of the air.

* * * * * *

Fifteen minutes later, all of the boys and the men were sitting in front of the fire, sipping cocoa and nibbling on the sweet chocolate pudding cakes Lina had made especially for the tea on New Year’s Eve. Augusta declared she had never eaten anything so scrumptious and asked if Lina could give her house elf Snozberry the recipe.

“Certainly,” Augustus said. “She would be delighted. I’ll send her over tomorrow.”

“Well, it’s certainly been a delightful afternoon,” Augusta said. “But I’m afraid we must be going. Neville, say thank you to Mr. Snape and Lord Thornton for having you over.”

“Wait!” Harry interrupted. “Mrs. Longbottom, can’t Neville stay over?”

“Stay over?”

“Yeah, like sleep here for the night? Blaise too? We could eat the New Year feast together and . . .and . . .stay up till midnight to ring in the New Year. It would be so cool.”

“Harry, now don’t pester Neville’s grandmother,” Severus began.

“Please, Papa? We’ll be really good,” Harry begged shamelessly. “Please?”

Severus was tempted to veto the whole thing. But then he recalled how he and Lily used to celebrate New Years as a child together with the Evans family. He turned to Augustus. “Grandfather? Is it all right for Harry to have a sleepover tonight?”

“Of course. He’ll never stay awake till morning,” Augustus said indulgently.

“Neville and Augusta, is that what you want to do? Augusta, you’re welcome to stay as well.” Severus offered.

“Oh no, I couldn’t impose, Severus,” Augusta demurred. “Neville, do you want to stay?” she looked down at her grandson, who was biting his lip.

“Yes, please, Gran.”

“Very well then. I’ll Floo you over a bag.” Augusta said. “And mind you behave, young man.”

“I will, Gran.”

“Yes!” Harry cheered. “Blaise, will your mum let you stay?”

“Sure! Her and my dad are going to some party and my Aunt Zingazaria is watching us tonight. She’s big and loud and eats too much salami and I’d much rather be here.” Blaise said. “I’ll go ask my mama!” He looked at Severus. “May I use your Floo powder, Mr. Snape?”

Severus nodded and Blaise called Annamaria.

* * * * * *

Several hours later, Severus wondered what he had been drinking to agree to having three boys hyper on cake stay over for the night. They had set up small camp beds with plenty of blankets and pillows in Harry’s room, but Severus doubted if they would see use tonight.

The boys were all wound up, after dinner they played quietly for about an hour and then Augustus made the mistake of handing out a few wizard crackers and noise makers. In two minutes, they were making an unholy racket and Severus feared he would go deaf right there.

Then Blaise began to sing “Auld Lang Syne”, and the other three joined in after the second round.

“All right, now settle down and talk or play quietly,” he ordered after they had stopped warbling. “Matter of fact, why don’t you all get into pajamas?”

So they all trooped upstairs and got into their nightclothes and brushed their teeth under Lina’s watchful eye. But none of them were tired, and they ended up going into Harry’s room and talking about the first time they had ever used accidental magic.

Harry told his friends about bringing the snow dog to life, and Blaise revealed he had made his llittle sister Jo’s dolls come alive and dance the tarantella across the room.

“What’s a tarantella?” asked Neville.

“It’s a dance they do in Italy, where my family’s from,” explained Blaise. “They do it at all the weddings. It’s fun, even a baby can learn it. Maybe some time I can teach you.”

“Oh.” Neville said. He wasn’t sure if he would be able to learn it. He still tripped over his own feet sometimes.

“What was your first time using accidental magic?” asked Harry curiously.

“Uh . . .I made a plant grow a little,” said Neville. “About a few inches. Nothing like you two.”

“Growing plants is good,” Harry said. “Maybe you can be a . . uh . . .herb wizard or something when you grow up.”

Neville nodded enthusiastically. “I’d like that. Plants are cool. Even the carn . . .carno . . .carniv’rous ones. They eat bad insects.”

He was starting to grow sleepy, but was determined to stay awake with his new friends to ring in the New Year.

Harry suggested they go downstairs for some more cocoa and sweets.

Severus looked up from the page of his book and frowned. “You are all still awake? It’s nearly ten thirty!”

“We want to ring in the New Year, Papa!”

“And we’re thirsty,” Blaise added.

“And a little hungry,” Neville said, looking at the ground.

Why did I ever agree to this? I must have been out of my mind. The Potions Master thought. “Fine. You may have some water and crackers. Ask Lina.”

“But Papa, we want cocoa!” Harry protested. “And some cakes with sprinkles.”

“Absolutely not!” said Snape firmly. “The last thing you boys need is sugar this late at night.”

Harry fussed, but soon stopped when his father threatened to send him to bed, and took the water and soda crackers Lina brought.

“Sit down, you three,” Augustus ordered. “I’ll tell you a story.” He winked at Severus. He figured they would fall asleep if he made it long and sort of boring.

Thirty minutes later, Augustus was snoozing in the chair, Severus’s eyes were glazing over and the three kids were still awake. And they remained awake till midnight and had a great time using the noisemakers and cheering and drinking a small amount of sparkling apple cider.

By that time Severus was ready to ring their little necks and to hell with the new year.

“Everyone, upstairs now and into bed,” he ordered, and they all marched upstairs and he tucked all of them into bed and dimmed the lamp. “Go to sleep.”

* * * * * *

An hour later he was woken from a sound sleep by little giggles.

“Eeww! Blaise, you farted!”

“Not me. It was Nev.”

“I didn’t. It was Harry.”

“Liar.”

More giggles followed.

“Henry Snape, don’t make me come in there!”

“Sorry, Papa.”

“It’s one o’clock in the morning, now go to bed!” Severus called, unwilling to leave his cozy bed to go down the hall.

“’Kay.”

But they didn’t. Not until three o’clock.

By then Severus’ patience was worn to a sliver and he swore he would never allow any more sleepovers. Then he wondered why it was called a sleepover if none of the children ever went to sleep! It should have been called an all-nighter.

Worn out, he sought his bed and finally drifted off at four in the morning. Only to be woken by his alarm at six, he had to stir a potion brewing in his lab. Rubbing his eyes, he got to his feet. Happy New Year, Snape! Arghh, but I hate mornings like this. I’m not even drunk and yet I feel like it. This is the last sleepover he’s ever having till he’s seventeen.

Gulping a Headache Remedy, Severus stumbled into his slippers and pulled on his robes and made his way down to his lab, that bloody song still ringing in his ears.

Once he had stirred his potion he made his way back upstairs and went back to bed, putting the pillow over his head. His New Year’s resolution was a simple one—he was going to hibernate for the rest of the week, or the month, or maybe the year.

December 24, 1987:

Severus gave the pot of hot spiced apple cider (non-alcoholic, of course) a stir before setting it to simmer. He sniffed the aroma of cloves and pressed apples and cinnamon in sheer delight before setting aside his spoon. All would be ready for the simple Christmas Eve dinner the Prince and Snape family would have, along with Harry’s two best friends, Blaise and Neville, that evening. It was nearing five o’clock, and the table was set and the wizard crackers placed at each table setting, the candles lit in the silver sconces on either side of the centerpiece of poinsettias and pine boughs in the middle of the table. All the greenery came from carefully harvested plants on the estate and the apples from the orchard, picked by Hotspur, who was also the defacto gardener and steward.

Severus had learned how to make the spiced cider from his mother Eileen, who had learned from Drusilla, and she from her mother, Penelope. He made it every Christmas Eve, as had been the tradition in the family, though when Drusilla died, the holiday had remained ciderless, since even Lina didn’t know the traditional recipe.

When Severus had first started making it, several years ago, about the second Christmas they had spent at Foxfire Hall, Augustus had been moved to near tears. He had said the scent reminded him of Drusilla especially. And the taste . . .well there was nothing like the old family recipe. It also had a dash of nutmeg and vanilla in it, plus a secret ingredient only Severus knew about. Perhaps one day he would pass the recipe down to Harry, so it did not die with him.

All of the biscuit tins were full of shortbreads and almond bars, marzipan logs, gingerbread, pecan balls, and chocolate snaps. Lina and Harry had outdone themselves this year.

Once they had eaten, Severus would take the children on a brief caroling round, through Diagon Alley and the nearby wizarding residences in the London outskirts. Many pureblood families had more than one residence, usually they had a family estate and also a town home. The Princes had once had a town home as well, until Augustus sold it after Drusilla died. He had not wanted to keep it, as he no longer considered the London wizarding social scene desirable. Severus thought it was because a part of the old wizard’s heart had died along with Drusilla Stormbringer.

But since Severus and Harry had come into his life, Augustus had rediscovered joy and comfort again and now looked forward to the holiday season each year, instead of dreading it. And Severus did his best to make each holiday season a good and memorable one. He now had a photo album full of snapshots of Harry as he grew, some with him and some with Augustus and the elves. Recently, the album also contained pictures of the “Troublesome Trio” as Snape had nicknamed Blaise, Harry, and Neville. Scapegraces all, well . . .except for Augusta’s grandson, who was the voice of reason among them.

Lina had almost finished cooking the roast beef and scalloped potatoes and the green beans almondine plus a lovely fruit tart for a sweet. In a few minutes, Hotspur went and called the boys and Augustus into the dining room. During dinner, Severus noticed that Augustus was quiet and had a raspy cough. He barely ate his dinner.

“Grandfather, are you feeling well?” Severus asked, concerned.

“I . . .cough,cough . . .seem to have developed a bit of a . . .chest cold.” He then sneezed into an embroidered handkerchief. “Everything tastes rather bland, like sawdust.” He made a face at his plate.

“Perhaps you had better go and lie down. I don’t like the sound of that cough,” Severus said, and summoned several potions with a few sharp snaps of his fingers.

“I’m fine, Severus. No need to feed me any of your concoctions,” Augustus protested, but then he ruined his lord-of-the-manor air by coughing and wheezing.

“Nonsense, Grandfather. You are clearly ill,” Severus argued, waving his wand in a diagnostic pattern over him. “You have a severe upper respiratory infection and a mild fever. You should be in bed.”

“I’m not an invalid,” said Augustus testily. “I can nap in front of the fire.” He glared at his grandson mutinously.

Before Severus could answer, Lina popped in and gave her beloved master a sharp frown. “Milord, you are needing a long rest and some of my infused chicken broth and a hot water bottle with a flannel.”

The lord of Foxfire Hall gaped at her, astounded. The three little boys watching smothered giggles behind their hands to see a grown-up acting so cantankerously.

“Lina, quit acting like my mother,” said Augustus.

“Of course, milord,” the elf said sweetly. “I shall when you quit acting like the young master.”

“Come, Grandfather, and take these for me,” Severus coaxed the sputtering old magus. He gave him a Decongestion Elixir, Extra Strength, a Pepperup Potion, and a Fever Reducer.

Augustus swallowed all of them, grimacing. Then he allowed Severus and Lina to coax him up the stairs and into bed, grumbling all the way.

They got him into his nightclothes and Lina summoned a hot water bottle wrapped in a soft flannel for his feet while Severus cast a minor Warming charm upon the sheets. Lina left him a bowl of her broth upon the nightstand, which had a convenient wooden pullout tray and Severus placed a glass of cool water with a straw next to it and a mug of his special cider.

Augustus slid beneath the covers, harrumphing, as Lina tucked him in. “There, milord! All warm and snug as an elf wrapped up in a cashmere scarf with a mug of hot cocoa. Call me if you need anything else, milord!” Then she vanished, going to clear away the plates from dinner.

“Is there anything else you need, Grandfather?” asked Severus. “Some reading material?”

“No, Severus. I’m just going to rest a little. You slipped me a Sleeping Draught, didn’t you, you sly fox?”

“A very mild one,” his grandson admitted shamelessly.

“Have a good time caroling. Pity I can’t accompany you,” the Elemental Master said, then he coughed. “Once upon a time, I used to have quite a good voice . . .” he trailed off, yawning.

One thing I haven’t inherited from you, Severus thought fondly as he slipped from the room. The only reason he was going caroling was to make sure his son and his friends didn’t get into any mischief and protect them from depraved people.

* * * * *

Ten minutes later they had Flooed into Diagon Alley, all bundled up warmly in their best hats, coats, and gloves, carrying small personal thermos’ filled with spiced cider. Severus suggested they start with the shops first and then work their way out to the residences. Traditionally, the group of carolers were welcomed by giving them small gifts of sweets or a cup of cocoa or tea, or brandy if the carolers were adults. Many of the shopkeepers kept the door ajar so the carolers could come and stand in the entryway and sing out of the wind and snow.

It had snowed lightly the night before and it was crisp and cool, a clear night where you could see the stars gleaming brightly overhead. Severus glanced up to see if he could find the single bright star that had led him six years before, to an unwanted baby in a manger. He spotted it almost immediately, shining down, and he smiled to himself. On that Christmas Eve he had received the greatest gift of all and had given one as well.

“Hello, Tom,” he greeted the barkeep of the Leaky Cauldron.

“’ello, Mr. Snape.” Tom greeted cheerily. “Gonna have yer lads sing for their suppers again?”

“No, ‘cause we already ate supper,” Blaise piped up.

“Oh? Would ye sing for a new sweet then? Got a bunch of those newfangled color-changing candy canes,” Tom offered.

“Yeah, we’ll sing for those, sir!” Harry agreed. He loved all kinds of candy.

“Do you have any requests?” asked Severus politely.

Tom thought, and while he was trying to decide, the boys warmed themselves by the fire and sipped their cider to warm up their throats. There were several patrons sitting and drinking and eating who looked at the little group with indulgent eager smiles.

“How about Deck the Halls?” suggested the barkeep. “That’s always a good one!”

So the boys began to sing the old carol lustily, their sweet voices rising up through the air in perfect harmony. Of the three, it was shy Neville who had the truest pitch and tone, he was a beautiful soprano. Blaise and Harry were good as well, their range was somewhere in the middle.

The little group sang “Deck the Halls”, “God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen”, “Silent Night”, and “Winter Wonderland”.

All the patrons clapped and stamped their feet and some even sang along. Once they were through, Tom clapped and said, “Let’s give a hand to Potions Master Snape and his Terrific Trio!”

Everyone cheered and hooted and Tom handed each boy a large rainbow striped candy cane. “Here you go, boys. Changes color with every lick. Have a Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, sir!” chorused the three.

“And?” Severus reminded.

“Thank you for the candy cane,” Neville said obediently and was echoed by Blaise and Harry.

Then they moved on to Slug and Jigger’s Apothecary, where they sang six songs for Sandra Miska, who was the proprietor of the shop now that her uncle had passed on.

“Won’t you sing a round, Severus?” she queried, semi-flirtatiously, she was only two years his senior.

“No, thank you, Sandra,” he demurred quickly. “I’ll spare your ears and me the embarrassment.”

“Oh, but I’m sure you have a fine voice,” she purred. “What if I gave you a Christmas discount?”

“Trust me, you don’t want me to sing.”

“Twenty percent off the next time you come in?” she bargained shrewdly.

He considered. “Thirty-five percent.”

“Thirty.” She countered.

“Done. And I pick the song,” he added, for no way would he allow her to pick the song, which would probably be some sickeningly sweet Christmas song that he hated. He held out his hand to shake. “You bargain almost as well as a Slytherin, madam.”

“Well, I almost was. But at the last minute, the Hat put me in Ravenclaw instead.” She grinned at him. “So . . .serenade me, Mr. Snape.”

“Papa, what are we singing now?” asked Harry. He really wanted to move on to Quality Quidditch Supplies to see the new brooms.

“O Holy Night,” Severus answered, it was the only carol he felt his range would be halfway decent at. Plus, a bargain was a bargain and thirty percent off potions ingredients was nothing to sneer at.

He gestured at his son and friends to begin, and they started off singing in their childish sopranos.

He gathered himself, and did three deep breaths, focusing, then he began to sing. “O holy night, the stars are brightly shining . . .”

His deep baritone flowed silkily over and around the childrens’, buttressing it and making the apothecary witch go all misty eyed with longing.

Can’t sing, my left eye! If only he’d sing a few more songs, just for me, in private, I would discount my whole stock, by Merlin’s pants! Oh, how I envy his wife, whoever she is! Sandra thought longingly.

They finished the carol and the witch gave them double chocolate bars and mugs of warmed honeyed milk with a dash of cinnamon atop it. Severus thanked her and said he would stop by soon to get his discounted ingredients.

“Wait! Let me take a picture,” she cried, and summoned her camera. So I have something of you to look at tonight, all alone in my bed, she thought with a wicked smile. Pity I’ll never get what I really want for Christmas. She snapped his picture and the children’s. One she gave to him and the other, which was more of a close up, she tucked in her pocket. Dreams were harmless and cost nothing, and this was one of her better ones.

Then the kids began to race down the street to Quality Quidditch Supplies, and she called after Snape, “Goodbye, Severus. Come back soon!”

They moved down the row of stores, singing all different sorts of carols, Severus a watchful presence in the background.

* * * * * *

Back at Foxfire Hall, Augustus woke, feeling marginally better. He drank the broth Lina had left and also the cider, went to use the bathroom, then decided to look at the photo album Severus had put together of all the Christmases they’d shared. He enjoyed looking at how Harry had grown from a round little baby just toddling to the happy little boy he was now, with the owl spectacles and the crazy cowlick.

Mystic stared at him as he put a finger to his lips and sneaked out of the room. Then he sneezed and curled up into a ball in the spot Augustus had vacated.

“Hedonist,” his master chuckled. Then he tiptoed out of the room and into Severus’, where he found the album lying on the other’s desk, with some new pictures the Potions Master had added yesterday. As he picked it up, a newspaper clipping fell to the floor.

Augustus bent to pick it up, supposing it was an article about potions. Instead he found the old article in the Prophet about the missing Boy Who Lived. Augustus cocked his head. Now why would Severus save that? He turned to set it on the desk and found another, older clipping about the deaths of the Potter family and their child’s survival. Frowning, the Elemental Master shoved the clippings into the album and walked quickly back to his bed, not wanting Lina to come up and throw a fit at finding him out of bed.

He nudged Mystic over and settled back under the covers, resting his feet upon the now lukewarm waterbottle, which he heated with a silent charm. Then he began to read the two articles, trying to figure out why Severus would have saved them. He looked again at the newspaper photos and then paged through the pictures of Harry at seventeen months, two, three, four, and so on.

The niggling little voice in the back of his head awoke and began whispering that it was so very odd that his great-grandson and the Boy Who Lived looked alike. They even had the same name. Only one bore the Dark Lord’s mark and the other did not. One had lived to grow up to seven and the other had been stolen away at age three and could be dead. Was probably dead. And yet . . .and yet . . .there was something coincidental here.

Severus’ wife was named Lily, and so was Harry Potter’s mother. They both had red hair and green eyes. Coincidence? I suppose I could be making something out of nothing, I am rather feverish, but . . .she died at the same time as they did. What if . . .what if he had an affair with Lily Potter? And the child was his and not James Potter’s? What if that Petunia woman found out and gave the child to him and then made up all that other stuff as a smokescreen? Or perhaps he discovered the child wasn’t being taken care of properly by the aunt and uncle and he stole him away? No, that’s ridiculous. My grandson is no thief, and he did not have the air of one who is running from the law. I know the signs. So it could be the other possibility. Still, why not tell me so? I would not have condemned him because of it. It’s plain that he loved her, her death haunts him still.

He studied the pictures again. The scar, what had happened to the scar? He pondered that for a few minutes, then he recalled the potion Severus had brewed the first few months he had begun working for Prince Labs. The Scar Remover. Could it have worked upon a magical scar? Or was he just being fanciful? Is that your secret, Severus? That my great-grandson is the Boy Who Lived?

It seemed very farfetched, and yet at the same time it almost made sense. He had checked the Archives over at the Ministry one day and found no listing for a Lily Snape, nor any record of Severus’ marriage ceremony. Unless he had married in the Muggle manner, or . . .hadn’t been married at all.

He quickly shoved the clippings back inside the album and went to drink some water, his throat was parched. Then he coughed.

Lina appeared with a pop in the room. “Milord Augustus, you need some more potions,” she urged, handing him another Decongestion Elixir. “Master Sev told me to make sure you took this.”

Augustus groaned. “He fusses worse than my mother, blast it,” he growled, taking the vial. “And so do you!”

Lina snorted, unfazed by his grumbling. His temper was only truly dangerous when defending those he loved from danger, otherwise his bark was worse than his bite.

Too late, Augustus remembered how Severus had laced one of his potions with a Sleeping Draught. He found himself sinking into the gray realm of sleep, and all of his thoughts scattered.

Lina gently took the photo album and placed it back on Severus’ desk, where it belonged. Mystic curled up against the old wizard’s side, a purr rumbling throughout his aged body as he too slept.

And all was quiet for the moment on this Christmas Eve.

* * * * * *

By the time they had made their way around the shops in Diagon Alley, the kids were stuffed full of hot drinks, fizzy drinks, and cakes and comfits. The last two shops, Severus had waved away the sweets and drinks, claiming they had had more than enough for one night. Any more and I’ll have to give all of them a Stomach Soother when we get back home.

The boys were slightly ahead of him, going past the sign which read Knockturn Alley.

Blaise turned and looked challengingly at Harry. “I dare you to go down there and touch a shop door.”

Harry shook his head. “I’m not stupid, Blaise. Papa will ground my arse if I set foot down there.”

“My gran always said she’d skin me if she ever caught me going into there,” Neville said with a shudder. “She says that’s where all the unsavory criminals and dark wizards hang out, to do illegal trades in dark magic stuff. Why would you want to go in there?”

Blaise shrugged. “Just to see what it’s like, is all. And ‘cause I like to scare myself silly.”

Neville shook his head. “Bet you’d be scared, all right, if your parents ever found out you went in there.”

Unknown to the three, Lucius Malfoy and his son, Draco, were coming out of Borgin and Burkes as the three boys loitered at the mouth of Knockturn Alley. Draco looked at the three curiously.

Just then Snape appeared and put a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Come along, son. No need to dawdle here, nothing but trouble down that road.” He herded Harry and his two friends away down the street. “Last stop, Ollivanders.”

Lucius scowled. Snape! We meet again, only this time there is no one to stop me from taking my revenge upon you for your humiliation of me that time when I went to get that Quidditch figure at Quality Quidditch Supplies. You made my son very unhappy, Snape. Now it’s my turn to make yours unhappy. His lip curled up.

“Draco, run and ask those three children, they look about your age, if they’d like to come and sing at our house.”

Draco looked up at his father, puzzled, his blond hair pressed to his forehead by his earmuffs. “But Father, you said you hate Christmas carolers. That they’re beggars and annoyances.”

“And so they are. But I have . . .a debt to settle with my old schoolmate that just went by. Now go, Draco, and extend our invitation.” He gave the boy a gentle shove.

Draco obediently ran down the alley and cut through a small shop’s back alley in order to get to Ollivanders before them.

When Harry came into sight, Draco was leaning against the side of the wandmaker’s shop. “Hello. I heard you do private performances. I have an invitation from my father for you to sing at our house.”

“Who are you and where’s your house?” Harry asked.

“It’s the biggest house on King’s Way, just outside Diagon Alley,” Draco explained loftily. “I’m Draco Malfoy.”

“Harry Snape,” Harry introduced himself. “These are my friends, Neville Longbottom and Blaise Zabini.”

The other boys gave Draco cordial nods.

“We’ll be there. Does your house have any distinguishing features?”

Draco snorted. “I just told you, it’s the biggest one, you can’t miss it. Trust me.” Then he darted away up the street.

Neville licked his lips. “I wonder what they serve for sweets? The Malfoys are an old family.”

“Yeah, an old family with a few dark members,” Blaise said. “Least that’s what my papa says.”

Harry shrugged. Draco hadn’t seemed that bad. A little bit stuck up, but that was all. “Maybe they could use some Christmas cheer.”

Suddenly, a group of redheaded children appeared around a corner, there were four of them, two who looked identical, except for their different colored jumpers, one had on a maroon one sporting a yellow F and the other was wearing green with an orange G. They were wearing red and gold scarves and laughing at their younger brother, who had half an ice cream cone. He was a skinny redhead in a patched coat and a blue scarf. He looked to be about Harry’s age. There was a taller one bringing up the rear, he looked bored out of his mind.

“All right, you can have one peek in the window, Ron, and then we go find Mum before she buys out half the secondhand yarn in the place.” The elder redhead was saying in a patronizing tone.

“Fine, Percy.” Ron replied, licking the rest of his cone. It was only a half a scoop of cherry vanilla, but any ice cream was a treat in his family.

“Hi!” he said upon seeing the three standing beside the shop. “Are you here to see it too?”

“See what?” asked Blaise.

Ron lowered his voice. “They say . . .Ollivander has You-Know-Who’s wand somewhere in there. Nicked it from the wreckage in Godric’s Hollow. Or one of his followers sold it to him and told him to keep it safe and he didn’t dare refuse.”

Neville’s eyes went wide. “Honest?”

Harry looked skeptical. “He would never want something like that. The Aurors would arrest him for contraband.”

“How do you know that, kid?” asked Fred.

“My grandpa used to be an Auror, that’s how. Augustus Prince.”

George whistled and even Percy looked impressed. “He’s famous, old man Prince is. Killed a bunch of Grindelwald’s top wizards in his time. What’s your name?”

“I’m Harry Snape. Actually, he’s my great-grandfather. My papa’s his grandson, Severus Snape.”

“He’s the Potions Master who’s won every award in the country,” said Percy.

“That’s my papa,” Harry said proudly.

“And isn’t he—”

“—the same Snape that helped Mum that time when she was waiting on line to get Charlie that Wronski figure? He knocked some bloke who tried to cut her on line into next week.” George finished.

“Yup, that’s him. Matter of fact, here he comes now.” Harry pointed to the tall figure wearing the black cloak and silver and green striped scarf coming down the street.

“Now we can start on our last set, thank Merlin,” Blaise said in relieved tones. “I was thinking I was becoming an icicle.” He stamped his boots meaningfully.

“What do you mean?” asked Ron curiously.

“We’re going about singing Christmas carols,” Harry explained. “It was Blaise’s idea. His family does it all the time. It’s great fun.”

“We’ve sung for all the shopkeepers here at Diagon Alley,” Neville said shyly. “And they’ve all given us treats.”

“Like what?” asked Ron wistfully. He usually only got mince pies and three pieces of candy and an orange at Christmas time.

“Hot cocoa and cider and fizzy ginger beer. And candy canes and chocolate and cakes,” Neville recited.

Ron’s eyes lit up. “Wicked! Can we sing too?”

Fred and George cracked up. “Ronnie, you don’t know the words to anything!” they chorused.

“So? I can hum.” Ron said defensively. “My name’s Ron, and these are my brothers, Fred, George, and Percy.”

“He’s a prat,” the twins sniggered.

“Shut up, dunderheads.” Percy ordered. “Or else no egg nog for you later.”

Severus arrived and looked at the bunch of redheaded siblings and his own trio curiously. “And what have we here?”

“Sir, my name is Percy Weasley and might I shake your hand?” Percy began, awestruck. “It’s an honor to meet the most distinguished Potion Master in all of Britain.”

Severus shook the older Weasley’s hand and groaned inwardly. He had never thought being the best at his craft would garner him a kind of celebrity status. He was most uncomfortable with it, as he was a private person. “A pleasure to meet you, Percy.” He looked over at Harry. “Are you ready to sing?”

“Yes, Papa. Can Ron and his brothers sing with us?”

Severus looked startled. He hadn’t expected a choir to turn up out of nowhere. “All right. Knock on the door, Harry, and let Mr. Ollivander know we’re here.”

Harry did so, and Ron came up beside him and whispered, “Maybe when we’re inside, we can take a look around for the wand.”

“I told you, there is no wand,” Harry hissed back, but then the door opened and the wandmaker himself came out, smiling cheerfully.

“Ah, what a lovely surprise. Christmas carolers! Come in, please.” He beckoned them inside.

They sang several songs, and as promised Ron could only hum a lot of them, but Percy and the twins sang quite well and Ollivander handed out bags of Droobles Best Blowing Gum and chocolate covered marshmallows and candy-cane hot cocoa. The Weasleys were delighted with the sweets, though Ron was rather disappointed that he didn’t spot Voldemort’s wand about on the counter or hanging on the wall.

He almost started to ask about it before Percy nudged him sharply and hissed, “Don’t you dare!”

After many thanks, they bid goodbye to the old wand seller and left the shop.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Snape,” said Percy respectfully. “Thank you for letting us sing with you.”

“You are most welcome. Tell your mother I said hello and have a Merry Christmas.”

“See you around, Harry! And you too Neville and Blaise!” Ron waved, clutching his mug of cocoa to him, a grin upon his face. “Merry Christmas!”

They all waved and called Merry Christmas, then the Weasleys continued down the street to the secondhand store where Molly was picking out a few things.

Once they had left Diagon Alley, Severus took them down King’s Way, where all the old purebloods had their town homes. Harry saw the Malfoy residence immediately, it was the tallest most ostentatious residence on the street, the third house from the right. First they went to the Crouch residence, where Barty Crouch who worked for the Ministry was at home relaxing with his house elf Winky.

He was a bit sharp with them, and only gave them a single chocolate coin each. It had Fudge’s portrait on the foil.

“Stingy,” muttered Blaise scornfully.

They moved on to the next house, and the next, and were welcomed at each one. The neighboring house next to the Malfoy’s proved to be the Bulstrode’s, and Severus spent several minutes speaking to Annalisa Bulstrode, young Millie Bulstrode’s mum, they had attended the Academy of Potions Masters together.

Not wanting to hang around and listen to the two discuss potion ingredients, Harry and his friends ran over to the Malfoy residence.

In the upstairs window, Lucius was watching, and when the three rang the doorbell, he Apparated downstairs to be next to Draco, who opened the door for them.

“You made it,” said the blond-haired boy superciliously. “What took you so long?”

“Draco, that’s no way to greet guests,” Lucius reproved calmly. “Go and fetch the hot cocoa I set out on the tray in the foyer.”

“Yes, Father.” Draco turned and scurried away.

He returned to Lucius a few moments later, holding two mugs and followed by Dobby, their house elf, with the third. Each of the mugs were a different color, as Lucius had intended.

Lucius turned to them and said with an oily smile, “I know this is a bit topsy turvy, but I think you could use some hot cocoa after walking all this way.” He handed a blue mug to Blaise and a yellow one to Neville, giving the red one to Harry.

He watched as the boys drank, hiding an evil smirk.

The cocoa was the finest and tasted fabulous, it was just the right temperature, not too hot or too cold and topped with whipped cream and chocolate sprinkles.

Harry drank his down and licked his lips.

Lucius coughed. Then he said, in a rather imperious tone, “You may begin. Why don’t you sing Good King Wenceslas?”

Harry opened his mouth to sing and discovered his voice was gone. What came out was a sound like a frog croaking and a goose honking. Horrified, he clamped a hand over his mouth. What was happening to him? Beneath his chin, his glands began to swell up like small balloons and his eyes turned red and puffy and oozed a thick yellow liquid. He could barely see and he felt terribly ill.

But when he tried to talk to Neville and Blaise and tell them to get his father, all that came out was a cacophony of honking, croaking and the baying of a hound dog. Tears squeezed out of his eyes and he started to cry.

“Harry, what happened?” cried Neville. He was staring at his friend in utter horror.

“Harry, can you talk to us?” cried Blaise, frantic.

Harry shook his head rapidly, tears falling down his cheeks. Go and get my papa! He screamed inwardly.

Draco gasped, looking shocked. “Father, what happened? Is it an allergic reaction?”

“I fear it might be, son,” said Lucius with false concern. “Most unfortunate. Perhaps it was the rich cocoa powder we used, imported from Peru.”

Abruptly, Harry turned and bolted out the door, desperate to find his father.

“Uh, we’ve gotta be going, sir,” Neville said timidly and gave the house elf back his mug and so did Blaise.

Then they departed in great haste.

As Dobby shut the door, Lucius smirked triumphantly. That would teach Snape to mess with a Malfoy.

He turned to his son. “Draco, off to bed with you now, or else Father Christmas won’t come tomorrow morning.”

Draco left and ran up the stairs, thinking that his father was so clever to play a sneaky trick like that.

* * * * * *

Harry slammed into Severus, who was coming down the pavement, and nearly knocked his father backwards. “Harry, what on earth is the matter with you?” Severus demanded crossly.

Harry sobbed, only it came out as a cacophony of animal noises.

“By all that’s good on the earth!” Severus exclaimed. He pulled back a handspan to examine his son, lighting up his wand to maximum brightness as he did so.

Harry’s face was grotesquely swollen by now, Severus bit back a cry of dismay. “Great Merlin, who cursed you?”

Just then Blaise and Neville came running up. “Sir, something really bad happened to Harry when he drank the cocoa!” yelled Neville.

“I think it’s an allergic reaction,” stammered Blaise. “Least that’s what Mr. Malfoy said it was.”

“Malfoy? Where did you meet Malfoy?” Severus demanded, holding Harry against him.

“Over in that house there,” Neville pointed at the huge house. “We went to sing some carols and he gave us some really good cocoa but after Harry drank it, he got like that.”

Severus’ jaw clenched. “There must have been something in that cocoa that caused this.”

“Like an allergic reaction?”

“No, like a potion. And I’m going to make Mr. Malfoy tell me what it was.” Severus said sharply. “After I send you home, that is.” No matter how much he wanted to rip Lucius into pieces, he had to take care of the children first. So he Apparated home with them and told Neville and Blaise to stay with Harry, called Hotspur and explained what had occurred and said he’d be back later.

“How is Grandfather?”

“Sleeping,” answered the elf. “He seems to be getting a bit better.”

“That’s good. Watch over them, please.”

Then he went back to the Malfoy residence, where Lucius was celebrating his coup with a snifter of firewhiskey, and knocked sharply at the door. Lucius answered it, wand in hand. “Snape. What are you doing here? Bit above your tastes, isn’t it?”

“Lucius, you miserable son of a troll! How dare you hex my son?” Severus snarled, his face a mask of fury. Before Lucius could move, he had grabbed the other by the collar and twisted it hard, cutting off the other’s airway.

Lucius gurgled and choked, turning an odd bluish shade.

“Tell me, you pathetic excuse for pond scum, what you did to my son. Now! Or I swear you won’t live to see Christmas morning.” Severus stuck his nose right in the other’s face, and ripped Lucius’ wand away with his other hand.

He shoved the other against the wall and pinned him there with a Body Bind. Then he released his throat and put his wand against the other’s temple.

“What . . .what are you doing, Snape?” rasped the other.

“Making sure you don’t lie to me. This is a bit illegal, shall we say, but then you’re accustomed to doing illegal things, aren’t you, Malfoy?”

“Like you can talk, Snape! I know something about you that no one else does.”

“Such as?”

“Such as you made a cuckold of James Potter and slept with his wife,” Lucius sneered.

Severus nearly burst out laughing. “How do you know that?”

“Because the boy you call son looks just like Lily Potter. I remember you always had a thing for her in school, the Mudblood. Guess you two must have arranged a few assignations while James was away on business, right? And he never knew his son wasn’t really his!”

“You really believe that?”

“Of course. The proof was right before my eyes.”

“You’re pathetic and a fool, Malfoy! Just like always.” Then he growled the word to the Legilimancy spell, and entered Lucius’ memories up until the time he fetched the potion and gave it in the hot cocoa to Harry. “A potion, was it? Where’s the antidote?”

He rummaged through Lucius’ memories again before at last finding what he sought. Then, with the formula for the antidote fresh in his mind, he withdrew. “Here’s a payback for you, old friend!” He wove his wand into a complex pattern and gave the elder Malfoy a bad case of exploding boils, and then he Obliviated him of any memories he had of Harry and himself. Even though Lucius was wrong about Harry’s parentage, he did not want him going down that road, and risk him releasing any kind of information to the press.

“Merry Christmas, Malfoy!” he spat before Apparating away, leaving Lucius still bound against the wall, his face slack and blank, as if in a trance. He would have preferred to see him six feet under, but Lucius wasn’t worth going to Azkaban for.

Once at home again, he set about brewing the antidote to the Menagerie Potion Lucius had brewed, and then he gave Harry the first dose. It would have to be given every three hours until it was gone, which meant both his son and his grandfather were sick for Christmas.

He sent the two boys home after speaking with both Augusta and Marco, Blaise’s dad, explaining what had happened and that the unscrupulous wizard had been dealt with. He also told Augusta that come the new year, he could begin tutoring Neville in potions and herbology and help him with his erratic magical outbursts.

Augusta wished him well and said she hoped his son and grandfather would be well soon.

Once they had gone, Severus was ensconced in a chair beside Harry’s bed, determined to stay with his child until the last of the effects of the potion wore off.

Augustus woke up early on Christmas morning and was full of questions for his grandson. But when he heard what had happened, he no longer had the heart to interrogate Severus. That could be done another time. Instead he wanted to kill Lucius Malfoy.

“That won’t be necessary, Grandfather. I’ve dealt with him. My other priority is getting Harry well so he can enjoy his Christmas gift.” Severus said, his tone still bearing chilly overtones.

“What did you get him?”

“Something he’s been asking for a long time.”

“A kitten. You got him a kitten,” Augustus cried.

“I did. She’s a female. A calico half-Kneazle.” He gently pulled the sleeping kitten out of his pocket. “I just picked her up last night from Magical Menagerie.”

The kitten yawned and opened her eyes, which were a beautiful emerald green.

“I think she’ll make a wonderful familiar,” Augustus chuckled. “Like my Mystic.”

“I agree.” He set the kitten down on the bed, and she walked over to sniff noses with Mystic, who growled a bit and then turned his back and ignored her.

“Poor old fellow,” his master laughed. “She’s not taking your place, don’t get yourself into a pother. This is Henry’s familiar.”

The cat did not budge.

“He’ll come round eventually.” The older wizard stroked the little kitten, who was mostly white except for tiny patches of orange and black across her back and she had orange about one eye and black about the other. “Pretty little thing she is. Kind of reminds me of a patchwork quilt.”

“Will you watch her for a bit? I need to check on Harry.”

Harry was still asleep, but his face had gone mostly back to normal. The glands under his chin were still a little enlarged, but they were not bulging like a frog’s. He suspected the little boy’s throat was sore and his eyes still had a yellowish discharge.

Severus hated to wake him, but he knew he had to administer the potion and Harry would not be happy if he skipped Christmas morning. “Harry, wake up.”

Harry moaned and opened his eyes. “Is it morning yet? I feel all scratchy.” He went to rub his eyes.

Severus caught his hand. “No, don’t rub. I’ll wipe your eyes with a warm wet cloth. But first, drink this next dose.”

Harry did and then Severus rubbed the gunk out of his eyes and said, “Merry Christmas, Harry. Do you feel well enough to open presents?”

“Yes.” He sat up and Severus picked him up and carried him into the drawing room where the tree was. After settling him on the couch, Severus called for Augustus to come down.

Augustus arrived swathed in his house robe and slippers and settled near the fire, the kitten was tucked into a pocket. “Good morning, and Merry Christmas!”

Harry was still feeling a bit under the weather, and so didn’t dash madly to the tree to find presents with his name on them as usual. Instead he sat quietly and allowed Severus to bring them to him, which was a good thing because then the Potions Master could control what was opened first. A good number of the boxes were cat related and Severus wanted to save the kitten for last.

From Augustus that year, Harry received replica team Quidditch robes from his favorite team, the Wimbourne Wasps. From Severus he received a new potions kit and cauldron, since his old Wee Ones Starter Kit was too easy for him by now. He also got several new sets of clothes and a silver cloak with griffindown lining and a cat clasp on it. More books and sweets from Father Christmas.

Augustus had given Severus brand new boots and several gift certificates to all of his favorite shops, plus tickets to the first Wasps Quidditch match, since he had promised to take Harry one day. Severus was no fonder of the sport than he had ever been, but for Harry he would endure a game or two.

Severus gave Augustus a new set of books, crime novels by Agatha Christie, and a new velvet house robe. He handed the old one to Severus, winking, and tried on the new one, it was a perfect fit.

Severus pretended to put the old robe down under the tree, first carefully removing the kitten from the pocket. “Well, Harry, looks like Father Christmas left you something else you’ve been asking for.”

“What?” he rasped, his voice was still scratchy, though he was lucky, he might have done permanent damage to his vocal chords if Severus hadn’t given him the antidote so quickly. Then his eyes lit up when Severus placed the kitten in his arms. “Oh! A kitten for me?” He began to stroke the fuzzy calico furball.

“Yes, she’s all yours.” Severus said, giving him a smile. “And so are these.” He pushed the other presents towards him.

There was a bag of kitten food, toys, a brush, dishes, a tiny collar, and a cat box with litter, plus a book on how to care for a kitten.

Harry just sat there, petting the kitten, who was purring, curled in his lap, clearly happy to be with her new master at last. “Papa, is this a girl or boy kitten?”

“This is a calico cat, Henry,” replied Augustus. “And calico cats are always girls. Have you thought of a name for her?”

“No. Can . . .can you help me?”

“Ahem! Well, I shall try,” said Augustus. “Names are important for cats.”

Then they all went into the dining room to eat breakfast, and Harry fed the calico her first breakfast in her new home.

There was a brief spat as Mystic hissed at the kitten before settling down to eat his salmon, which was a Christmas Day treat for him.

Harry looked alarmed. “Does that mean they don’t like each other? Will he hurt her?”

Augustus shook his head. “No, he’s just crotchety in his old age, Henry. He’ll get used to her. Right, old soldier?”

Mystic continued eating, not bothering to dignify that question with any kind of answer a human would understand.

Warlocke delivered the paper to Augustus, getting a large dead shrew as his Christmas treat. Augustus read the headline and started to chuckle.

“What’s so amusing, Grandfather? Did they spell someone’s name wrong again?” asked Severus.

“No. Here, read it.”

Severus took the paper.

In bold striped ink of red and white was the following headline:

Prominent Ministry Official Lucius Malfoy Nearly Chokes to Death On Candy Cane! Emergency Tracheotomy Performed At St. Mungos—Believed to Have Permanent Vocal Chord Damage!

“Couldn’t happen to a nicer fellow,” muttered the Potions Master. What goes around comes around, Lucius. It would seem the patron saint of children was not amused at your “little prank” on my son.

Then he helped himself to more fried potatoes and eggs and ham, watching Harry over the rim of his coffee mug, making sure he ate at least one portion of oatmeal along with his ham and scrambled eggs and drank his warmed milk with honey.

December, 1988

One week before Christmas:

Harry wasn't feeling the Christmas spirit this year very much at all.  He had just had his eighth birthday in July and was approaching an awkward stage, neither a little boy, but not yet old enough to attend Hogwarts. He was betwixt and between, as Augustus would say, and part of him longed to be a little boy again and allow his father and great-grandfather to tell him what to do, and another part rebelled and longed to be given more responsibility. His kitten, Calin, kept him on his toes, and he enjoyed taking care of her, she provided him with endless amusement and company when his two best friends, Blaise and Neville, were absent. He knew she adored him and he did her, the bond between them was strong. 

Even so, he felt . . .dissatisfied this holiday season.  He had gone Christmas shopping with Severus that morning and seen the brand new prototype in Quality Quidditch Supplies of their newest racing model, a Starcatcher 1900, and had immediately whined to get one. He couldn't help it, even though he knew Severus would say no. The broom was glorious, all shiny and racy and looking like it was flying even standing still. It was the hot new item this year, and any trueblooded wizard kid who loved Quidditch wanted one.

Harry knew that the broom was expensive, but he also knew that his father was one of the top paid Potions Masters anywhere in the British Isles, and his grandfather was from old money too. Augustus had begun teaching him about his heritage last year and he had not bothered to hide the fact that the Princes, and by extension the Snapes too, were old-money aristocracy.  So Harry knew money was no object.

Severus was.

Severus refused to allow Harry on a full-sized broom, much less a fast racing model, until he was at least eleven, and maybe even twelve. He was adamant that a child could not handle such a powerful model, not even one who was a natural flyer like Harry.

Harry knew this. But he couldn't help asking anyway. And when Severus had told him no, he was too young, he couldn't help feeling angry and embarrassed. Then he did something he hadn't done in a very long time. He had a rather loud tantrum, right in the middle of the store.

Oh, not the three-year-old kind, where he screamed and threw himself on the floor, but the eight-year-old version, where he grew extremely annoying and whiny and pouted until he looked as if he'd swallowed a vile-flavored Bertie Bott's Bean. "You always treat me like I'm a baby, Papa!" he'd whined at first, glaring sulkily at his father. "I'm plenty big enough to ride that new broom. I'm outgrowing my old one. Why can't I have it?"

Severus gave him a warning look. "You know why, Harry. Now quit whining."

Harry stamped his foot a bit on the floor.  "It's no fair. If I'm big enough to get a pet, I can ride a broom like the Starcatcher. I'm a good flyer, even Grandpa says so. He's says I'm a natural."

Severus bit his lip exasperatedly. "Natural or not, you aren't ready to handle something with that much sheer speed spelled into it. You aren't experienced enough and you're just too young. Sorry if you don't like to hear it, son, but it's the truth. I'm not going to buy you something just so it can sit in a shed until you're of age to fly it, and risk being a temptation."

At that precise moment, Harry happened to look over at the counter, and saw Draco Malfoy and his mother, Narcissa, paying for a Starcatcher, the very same one Severus had refused to get Harry. Jealousy erupted all over Harry like a plague of boils. Draco was getting one and Draco was his age, and Draco's mother didn't think he was too little! How was that fair?

"But Papa, look at that!" Harry pointed to where the proprietor was gleefully wrapping the brand new broom in golden tissue and boxing it in the specially padded box with the glimmering spangles and the sweeping logo on it-Go and Catch a Falling Star with the Starcatcher 1900! Let your dreams take flight among the stars!  "Draco Malfoy's getting one and he ain't any older than me!"

"He isn't any older than you," corrected Severus automatically. Then he added, "I don't care what the Malfoys do or don't do, they aren't a member of my family. You are, and the last thing I need is for you to break your neck riding a broom that's meant for an adult."

Harry could hear the note of finality in his father's tone, but for once he paid no heed to it. Lately, he'd been testing his boundaries with Severus again, and he was in no mood to let this go without a fight. "I won't fall, Papa! I'm a good flyer! Better than you!"

Severus' eyebrows slashed down in a V so sharp it was a miracle they did not meet in the middle of his face. "Henry Snape, you are getting very close to being grounded over the holiday. Now mind your mouth, young man! Your attitude is atrocious!"

"But I really wa-a-nt it," he whined with the annoying edge to his voice that never failed to set Snape's teeth on edge.

"Too bad. You can't always have everything you want," Severus said, trying to keep his temper.

Harry pouted. "Fine! I'll just ask Father Christmas!" he said smugly. "He'll get me it if you won't."

"Think so? You'll be lucky if you get anything from him the way you're behaving, Henry Snape! Whining and pouting and acting like a five-year-old brat."

"I'm not five, I'm eight!" Harry cried, stung.

"Oh? I couldn't tell from the way you've been acting like a spoiled brat and speaking so disrespectfully to me. It's not the end of the world if you wait a year or two for a Starcatcher. Take a look over here at the Silverstreak model. It's more suited for your height and age-"

"No! I don't want that old broom!" Harry snapped mutinously. "It's a piece of trash. I want the Starcatcher or nothing at all!"

"Very well. Then you shall have nothing," Severus declared frostily. And with that he took Harry firmly by the shoulder and marched him out of the shop.

"Lemme go!" Harry cried, wriggling and squirming to get free of his father's hand.

Severus stopped and bent down until he was eye to eye with his son. "If you do not stop this instant, I shall pick you up and carry you over my shoulder, to every shop I go into, and everyone will see you carrying on like a whiny spoilt baby. Is that what you want?"

"No." Harry gasped. "You can't do that, Papa!"

"I can and I shall if you don't quit this awful behavior. Decide. Now." Severus straightened, his arms crossed, fixing his son with his most potent disappointed gaze.

Harry gulped and his old sense of self-preservation reared its head. "Okay," he said sulkily.

Severus gave a short nod then took his hand, much to Harry's embarrassment, and made him walk beside him all the way back to Slug and Jiggers Apothecary, where the proprietor, Sandra, gave him a discount and flirted with him. Severus would have been more appreciative if he hadn't still been angry over his son's behavior, and lingered a bit to "talk shop", but with the mood his son was in, he deemed it safer to hurry up and so he exchanged Merry Christmas wishes with her and paid for his purchases and left. Sandra looked a bit hurt and inwardly he cursed himself for being insensitive.

He also longed to shake Harry until his teeth rattled for being so obnoxious. He did not like this new attitude at all, and he was determined to nip it in the bud. Since when did his son become so hung up with getting things?

They visited several other shops, and in each one his son whined and asked for something, and was not satisfied with Severus telling him to wait till Christmas, that he had enough toys and books to occupy him till then. The boy sulked and acted obnoxious and refused to help Severus pick out presents for either his friends or Augustus.

At first, Severus tried to appeal to his son's greater knowledge and said, "But Harry, you know what Neville and Blaise like more than I do, so you need to pick out the present. Otherwise, they might end up getting something they don't need or want."

"So? Then they can return it."

Severus ground his teeth. "Don't you want to get them something special?"

Harry shrugged. "You pick it out. Nev likes plants and Blaise likes Quidditch."

"They're your friends, it'll mean more if you pick their present out," Severus tried again to coax Harry out of his sulky mood.

"No! Just pick out anything, I don't care!"

Now Severus began to grow really angry.  "Young man, Christmas is supposed to be the season of giving," he began.

"But you won't give me what I really want!" Harry objected.

"Is that all you're concerned about? Getting what you want? Is that what you think Christmas is about?"

"Christmas is about making lists and getting presents," Harry replied, though a part of him knew deep down that Christmas was more than that. But right then all he could focus on was how much he wanted the Starcatcher and how unfair it was of Severus to not get him it and then he had to hope that Father Christmas would get him one, but what if he didn't? "And all I really want is the Starcatcher."

"Well, you won't be getting it from me. And don't think you can bamboozle your grandfather into it either, because he knows my rules-no adult brooms until you're of school age."

"Then Christmas will ruddy suck this year!" Harry wailed, bursting into tears. "How come Draco gets one and I don't? It's not fair! I need one too!"

Severus counted to fifty. He mentally wanted to hex the makers of that bloody broom, Narcissa and Draco for coming into the store at that exact moment and buying the bloody thing, and Harry for being so stubborn and materialistic. Why did everything new have to come out during the holidays? Just when kids would see it and want it and drive their parents insane whining about it? Merlin's bloody beard!

"Child, what you need right now is a good wallop and you're lucky I'm not your grandfather, or else that's what you'd be getting!" Severus growled, his temper in shreds. "It's not all about what you want. Now quit this obsessive whining and pick out presents for your friends. Or else we can go home and you can spend the rest of the afternoon grounded to your room."

Normally that dire threat worked, but this time it didn't. Harry continued to cry and Severus' last nerve snapped and he ended up tossing the child over his shoulder and Apparating back home, where he placed his son in his room, after taking away all the toys and games and books, and saying, "You can stay in here until you apologize to me for your behavior this afternoon and stop acting like a spoiled brat. That's not how I taught you to behave."

Then Severus shut the door and made his way downstairs before he truly lost it and did something he would regret.

* * * * * *

"Where did I go wrong, Grandfather?" Severus asked the older man wearily, accepting the small glass of wine Hotspur handed him and sitting down across from Augustus in the elder Prince's study.  "All of a sudden he's become this . . .this whiny, self-centered, greedy brat. When did it happen? More important, how did it happen? I've never gotten him everything he's asked for, not even for Christmas. I don't understand. Was I too soft on him? I've tried not to reward that sort of behavior. I thought I taught him that it's better to give than to receive, but I guess I . . .didn't teach it well enough or else he wouldn't be so . . .so bloody stuck up. I've failed him as a parent."

Augustus remained silent for a total of five seconds, he could not believe what had just come out of his grandson's mouth. "Severus Snape, bite your tongue! Will you listen t'yourself? You're talking utter rot! Don't you go blamin' yourself for the way the little bugger's been acting, when all children act that way sometimes.  Henry's got a bad case of the I want it now disease, which is normal for a child his age. I was the very same when I was eight. Failed him as a parent! Bah! You're as good a father as any I know, and better than some. Including me."

"I . . .I am?"

"Aye, you noddlehead," Augustus said firmly, looking an astonished Snape right in the eye.

"But I'm not half as strict as you, Grandfather. Maybe that's the problem."

Augustus coughed. "Severus, for the love of Merlin! You and I might not see eye to eye on discipline all the time, but that doesn't make you wrong. Just different. And I'll be the first to admit I wasn't a perfect father, seeing as how I never apologized to my own daughter for being a stubborn proud ass before she died. That's one mistake I can never atone for." He said sadly. "But you ought to be asking yourself, not where you went wrong, but what you can do about getting that tyke to see the true spirit of Christmas."

"What should I do?"

Augustus cleared his throat. "Well, Severus, the answer's not as simple as you might think. Let me tell you a little story. Like I said before, I was just like young Henry at that age, filled up with my own selfish wants and not giving a damn about anything else. Not even on Christmas. I thought the holiday was all about me and what I wanted. Until my grandfather got a hold of me one afternoon and did something I will never forget." He paused to take a sip of tea.

"What's that? Tanned your arse with a ruler?" Severus asked, faintly sarcastic.

Augustus snorted. "You'd think so, wouldn't you? But no, he did something else, something that drove home to me the fact that I should learn to appreciate what I had even more than a spanking would have. He told me that I needed to stop being selfish and unappreciative and see how the other half lived. The half that worked long hours for pittance and made just enough to keep the wolf from the door . . .and he took me on a little trip . . .only then did I see that Christmas was more than just sweets and presents and plum pudding."

"And you think I ought to do that with Harry? He's not too young to understand it?"

"No. He's a bright lad, Severus. Too bright sometimes. Try it. It cured me."

"All right," Severus agreed. What did he have to lose?

Augustus watched Severus leave and hoped that his advice would help his great-grandson as well as it had himself. He saw many similarities between young Henry and himself, and he wished that Severus would come to him and tell him about the secret concerning the boy, even if it did mean confessing that he had slept with a married woman, or maybe she had not been married then, and simply passed the boy off as her husband's? Augustus knew that there were magics-women's magics-that could delay and speed up pregnancy as well as prevent it. Lily might have done that. Augustus was willing to bet that she might have never told Severus that he was the father of the baby and maybe Severus had found out afterwards and taken the child back from the Muggles.

But either way, Augustus did not want to interrogate his grandson like he would a suspect that had committed a crime. He loved Severus like he would have a son, and he knew how much the other wizard valued his privacy. He did not want to accuse Severus of kidnapping the boy, though Augustus feared that was what had happened. He wanted, above all for Severus to come clean and trust him, but so far his grandson remained locked up tight like a clam.

The old wizard sighed. It was a good thing he had learned how to be patient over the course of his one hundred and two years.

* * * * * *

 "Get on your cloak and gloves and boots," Severus ordered a still-sulking Harry. "We're going out."

Harry looked up at him from underneath his fringe of auburn hair. Maybe his papa had changed his mind? It would mean a miracle had occurred, but then . . .wasn't Christmastime supposed to be a season of miracles? "Out where? Back to Diagon Alley?"

"You'll see," was all Severus said, then motioned impatiently for Harry to put on his outerwear.

Harry obeyed, thinking Severus had changed his mind and was maybe going to order the Starcatcher for him. Maybe this Christmas wouldn't be the one he'd rather forget after all.

"Ready, Papa." He stated the obvious.

"Take my hand," Severus said.

Harry did so and Severus drew him close, then he concentrated and between one blink and the next Apparated back to his old home in Whitechapel, near St. Paul's. As a resident of Foxfire Hall, Severus could use conventional means of wizarding transport instead of the Port Key if he so chose, the protections on the manor "recognized" his unique magical signature as one who belonged. The lord of Foxfire Hall also had the ability to lower the protections to permit a witch or wizard or child inside them bearing a certain magical signature, which was how the Longbottoms and Zabinis could come and go. Anyone else trying to tag along, however, would run smack into the wards and be rejected strongly. Another safeguard was that no one could mentally or magically compel the lord to release the wards, it had to be done freely of the lord's own choice.

 Severus hadn't been back in his old neighborhood since he'd contacted Augustus that long ago Christmas, but he remembered it all too well. His flat had been the first in a series of six tenements, though the only one without children in it, until he had rescued Harry from the manger.

Harry looked around, confused and upset. "Papa, where are we? This isn't Diagon Alley. I thought we were going there so you could get the Starcatcher."

Severus gave him a severe frown. "Quiet! I brought you here so you could learn something very important about Christmas and what it truly means. In a moment we'll be invisible and no one will be able to see or hear us. I want you to pay attention to the families here and realize that Christmas doesn't come from a store. Nor is it all about getting lots of presents from Father Christmas."

"I don't understand."

"You will. That's partially my fault, I've spoiled you without meaning to," Severus sighed. "I never wanted you to go without the way I-never mind, just watch and listen."

"Can I ask questions?"

"Yes, of course. That's how you learn." Then Severus cast a twofold Invisibility and Cloak of Silence about himself and his son and they vanished from view. He carefully led Harry out of the alley they had appeared in and into the second building where he knew there were at least three families with young children. Or at least there had been.

Sure enough, there still were families living there with small and not-so-small children, though most of them were not the ones he recalled, but it didn't matter. He led Harry up the stairs to the second floor and carefully performed an Unlocking charm to let them inside the flat.

Harry wrinkled his nose at the smell of rusty pipes and garbage, mingled with the aroma of cinnamon and sugar. "It smells funny in here," he said.

"That's because the plumbing is leaking," Severus told him.

"Why don't they fix it then?"

"Because they don't have the money. Not everyone lives in a nice manor like Foxfire Hall, son. Millions of people live in rundown flats like this and have to make the best of it."

Harry looked around. The flat was dingy and the only lights came from bare bulbs set high in the ceiling. The walls were painted a yellowish color and some of them had holes in them, that had been covered by handmade Christmas paper chains and scrawled homemade pictures drawn by the children who lived here. There was a threadbare blue carpet on the floor, stained with old coffee spills and other less pleasant things.  The furniture was nicked and scratched, the sofa had holes in the upholstery, nothing matched.

Harry stared. "Why would anybody want to live here?"

"Because it's better than living in the street," Severus explained. "At least here they have a roof over their heads and heat and light. And furniture to sit on even if it doesn't match."

"Why don't they get furniture that does?"

"Because they need the money to pay rent and feed and clothe their families. Furniture matching isn't important."

The flat was small and cramped, the old radiator under the window creaked and groaned and Harry felt both hot and cold. He saw a tiny tree sitting upon an old strip of a table runner next to the window. It was decorated sparsely with a few cheap ornaments and cutouts and a plastic star crowned the top. It was the sorriest Christmas tree Harry had ever seen.

He opened his mouth to ask Severus why they didn't have something that looked like a real tree, then closed it. He already knew the answer would be because they couldn't afford it. For the first time Harry began to understand how a lack of money affected people.

Then they moved further into the flat and Harry saw how there were only two bedrooms and it looked like the children who lived there shared a room, there were bunkbeds and a single dresser and a closet that looked the size of Harry's linen closet back at the manor. It was filled with dresses and jeans and tops for two girls of different ages.

Harry looked about for toys but all he saw was a lone doll or two with the hair sticking up dressed in faded clothing and a shabby stuffed dog and a lion, plus  a few coloring books and a box of crayons. That was all.

On the dresser was scattered a few cheap plastic tubes of lip gloss and some plastic jewelry, the kind you could get at a sixpence store, made from twine and plastic charms or cheap metal. Above the dresser was a small cracked mirror and some cutout pictures of cute animals and a large Christmas tree all covered with glittery ornaments and next to it on the margin was written Someday I Want One Like This!

I would too if I lived here, Harry thought.

Just then they heard the sound of feet coming up the stairs. Harry went to hide behind Severus, until he remembered the spell and then he froze where he was. The door to the flat opened and  two girls, one about Harry's age and the other about eleven or twelve, entered. Both were wearing plaid skirts and white collared blouses, knee socks and black loafers. The older girl had her hair pulled back and the younger was in braids tied with blue string. Both had on coats that were too big and mittens that had been knitted from different colored yarn.

They stood for a moment in the middle of the living room, stamping their feet and shivering. "Ohh, but it's not much warmer in here than out there, Mitzi," said the older girl. She walked over and gave the radiator a thump with her foot. "Blasted old thing! It's not working again. Wish Mum could get a new one."

"Too expensive, Carla," muttered the smaller one, she moved to stand by her sister, putting her hands on the radiator to warm them.

Harry saw that both sisters had blond hair and dark eyes and their cheeks were red from the cold.

They stood there for five minutes trying to get warm before Mitzi drew away and said, "I'm thirsty, Carla."

"There's a bit of milk in the fridge, but mind you don't drink it all. Mum doesn't get paid till the end of the week."

The little girl nodded and moved into the small kitchen, Harry watched as she returned and sat on the sofa with a very small cup of milk and a piece of thin white bread. She did not gobble it down the way he usually did with his snacks, but ate slowly and drank in small sips and then she licked her fingers.

"Carla, d'you think we got enough to buy Mum a present this year?"

The older girl turned and shrugged. "Dunno. Get your sock and my box an' we'll count it. I got tuppence yesterday for givin' old Asher the empty cans and bottles I found."

Mitzi rose and went into her room, almost brushing Harry as she did so.

He jumped and crowded against Severus' knees. "Papa, she almost touched me!"

"It's all right, Harry. My magic won't let her see or hear or even feel us." Severus reassured. But he did take several steps away from the bedroom to make Harry feel comfortable.

She returned moments later with a long green sock tied up at one end and a shoebox with Private-Keep Out! written across it in red marker. "Got ‘em."

Carla came and sat down upon the creaky sofa and she carefully opened first her shoebox and then Mitzi's sock and placed the coins on each side of the table. "You count yours and I'll do mine, then I'll add ‘em."

It took them less than five minutes to count the small pile of change.

"85 pee," announced Carla.

"Is it enough t'get the bubble bath in the box?"

Carla chewed her lip. "Maybe. Unless the price's gone up."

Harry looked at Severus. "Is that a lot?"

Severus shook his head. "No. It's not even a pound. It's close to three Sickles or two and a half Sickles and thirteen Knuts."

Harry blinked. "But that . . .that could buy a chocolate bar. Maybe two if they weren't big."

"Yes, and they've saved all the loose coins they have all year to buy their mother a single present."

"Doesn't seem like much." He switched his attention back to the two girls.

"Think she'll like it, Carla? I think it's real pretty, it smells like roses."

"Sure she will. And I'll make her a card and it'll be great."

Mitzi sighed. "Sure wish we could get her a real present. Like a new coat or . . .or some earrings. Like the other girls at school do their mums."

"Hey. You know what Mum always says. It's not what you get for a gift, it's the thought that counts."

"I wish my thoughts could become real then," said Mitzi wistfully.

"Silly twit!" Carla said affectionately. "Someday when I become a famous actress, we'll have all the money we could ever want. Heaps of it."

"How much?"

"So much that . . .I'll paper my bedroom in it!" Carla giggled.

"And what else . . .?"

"I'll have enough to live in a big house too and get mum a car so she don't have to walk to work and new shoes and clothes that are new . . ."

"Like Minnie Miller? She got a new dress the other day for Christmas. Said it was a red silk one and it cost 40 quid!" Mitzi exclaimed.

Carla whistled.

"I wish I could have a silk dress like that."

"You can. Just close your eyes and dream it." Carla advised.

Mitzi sighed. "I wish I had the real thing and not a dream."

"Someday you will. But for now dreams are free and don't cost a thing," her sister said.

Severus smiled sadly. He too could recall many nights when he had used dreams of what could be to sustain him at Spinner's End. "Do you see, Harry? The dreams give them hope, and that is more precious than Galleons.  And better than any present."

Harry watched them for a few minutes more, trying to understand how dreams could be better than actual things. Strangely, the girls seemed to be happy despite living in a place the size of the drawing room at Foxfire Hall that had bad heat and smelled weird and the fact that they could only buy a present that cost the same amount as a chocolate bar. 

He scratched his head, puzzled.

"Come, Harry." Severus then left the small flat, taking Harry to another one where a mother and her three children were baking gingerbread from a single ready-made box, it made twelve, and then carefully saving them for Christmas wrapped in plastic wrap on a paper plate.

"Think we'll get the food basket this year, Mummy?" asked a small boy wearing a rolled up jumper and jeans with a patch on them.

"Maybe, Tim. Bishop Paul might pick our name from the list again," answered his mother, she was thin and weary, wearing an old polka dot print shirt and brown pants. She looked about twenty-eight.

"I hope we get turkey," said an older child, he was about nine.

"I want chicken. Tastes better." A girl of about seven said.

"Does not."

"Does too!"

"Andrew and Lisa, stop wrangling! You'll be grateful we've got food to put in your mouths this year an' there's an end to it. With your father getting' laid off on account o' the factory closin', you ought to be glad you're not eating tinned beef and apples like some I know."

The children made a face, then stopped quarreling.

Severus explained to Harry that St. Paul's gave out Christmas dinner baskets to some of the needy families in the parish. "The baskets are donated by other families who can afford to give poor ones a Christmas dinner. But there are never enough to go around, so they have a drawing of names and if you're lucky, your family gets picked. Otherwise, you make do with what you have."

"But . . .what if you've got nothing but soup and . . .and crackers?"

"Then that's what you eat," Severus answered.

Harry thought about that. It seemed very strange to think that someone's dinner came from another person or that Christmas dinner could be had without a stuffed turkey and gravy and buttered mashed potatoes, cranberry sauce, salad, and sweets.

He looked at the faces of the children, they were thin but not starving and didn't really seem all that concerned about what they would get for Christmas dinner. He thought about his own Christmas dinner and wondered what these children would make of it.

He thought they might like it better than any kind of toy.

Severus took Harry all over Whitechapel and finally he showed him the orphanage where he had once considered leaving him. It was there that Harry learned that sometimes the deepest wish was not for material things, like toys or food or clothes, but for a family.

"Then why doesn't someone adopt them?" he asked. "Is it ‘cause they're mean or naughty?"

"No, son. It's not because they've done anything. It's just . . .there are many orphaned children and not enough people who are willing to take a strange child into their homes, especially ones who are older."

"Then why don't they ask Father Christmas?"

Severus was almost caught by that one. But his sly Slytherin mind quickly came up with an answer after a few minutes. "Sometimes even Father Christmas cannot grant all wishes, Harry. And many of the children here no longer believe in him and he can't come to those who don't believe . . ."

Harry understood and suddenly he imagined what it would be like to be one of those children, alone, without his father and grandfather, and Hotspur and Lina. "It's not Christmas without a family," he cried, and threw his arms about Severus. "Or if it is, it's not a real nice one."

"No, but these children have only each other and still they have Christmas come." Severus knelt and took his son gently by the shoulders, thinking but for the grace of God, that would have been you, had I not found you when I did and had not Augustus taken us in. "Do you see now why I was so angry with you for throwing a fit over a mere broom? Do you see how you need to start appreciating the things you take for granted, Harry? Like warm clothes and a roof over your head and your family to share the holiday with?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Yes, sir."

Severus could see the comprehension dawn in the emerald eyes and breathed a silent prayer of thanks. "And . . .do you know that once I was just like those children I showed you?"

"You were? But I thought . . ." Harry was stunned.

"You thought I grew up at Foxfire Hall surrounded by house elves and money?" Severus shook his head. "No, Harry. I grew up poor and struggling, my father was a Muggle who spent all my mother's money on drink and I too lived in a house that was always cold and where we barely had enough to eat and I was lucky if I got three presents on Christmas.  It wasn't till I went to Hogwarts that I learned what a real Christmas feast was, or saw a tree that was decorated with something other than paper and bits of foil and plastic. Oh, yes, I remember . . .and that is why I give donations to this orphanage every year and also at St. Paul's."

"Does it make a difference?"

"I hope so. Every little bit helps. Do you remember all those Christmas carols you sang a week ago? How many of them were about getting presents? Only one or two, right? But most of them were about what?"

Harry frowned and thought. "Helping people. Peace and love and goodwill towards man," he recited.

"Very good. That is what Christmas should be about. Not you getting the most expensive broom because you want it and Draco Malfoy has it." Severus said. Then he Apparated them back home, where he took Harry back to his room, sat him on his lap, and said, "Now, I'm going to read you a story. This was a book I got as a boy and I must have read it over and over on Christmas." He summoned an old dog-eared copy of the Christmas classic by Dr. Seuss, How the Grinch Stole Christmas.

Then he read it to Harry, who listened attentively, until it was over.

Severus closed the book and gave it to his son. "Here. This is now yours. You can read it again if you'd like, but I want you to think about what the book says about Christmas and what you saw with me today.  Hopefully you've learned something."

He set Harry on his feet. "I'll call you when it's time for supper."

Harry watched as his father left the room, clutching the book to him. Then he went and sat on his bed.  He had much to think about. And much to be thankful about.

 He looked at his room and thought about what he had seen and heard and learned that day. And for the first time he started to feel ashamed at how he had acted. He had indeed behaved like a spoiled brat. He had more than any of those other children and yet he had wanted more. He thought about the Grinch and how he had tried to steal Christmas, only to realize Christmas was not the trimmings, it was something you felt in your heart.

Something that he had stopped feeling.

Until now.

Then he jumped off his bed and started going through his toy box and the shelf in the closet.

* * * * * *

 When Severus came up to call Harry for supper, he found a rather large pile of toys and books sitting in the middle of the floor. "Harry, what on earth is all this? Why is there a royal mess in your room?"

Harry looked up fearlessly at his tall scowling parent. "It's not a mess, Papa. I was just going through all my toys and these . . .well, I don't really need all of ‘em. And I thought maybe those other kids would like them, the ones over at the orphanage, ‘cause you said they're wizard kids and Muggles can't have wizard toys. So then I got the Muggle ones some books." He gestured at the pile of books strewn haphazardly about.

"You want to make a donation to the orphanage?" Severus repeated, his anger ebbing away. "And to those children over in Whitechapel?"

"Yes, sir."

"Are you sure you wish to do this?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because it's like you said. Christmas is a time of giving. And this is all I have to give." Then he added, "And I'm sorry I made a fuss and told you off like that before."

Severus smiled. "I'm proud of you, Harry." Then he knelt and summoned several magical bags to put all the toys and books in. "Thank you for thinking of others instead of yourself. I forgive you for your rude behavior.  Next time try and control yourself." He made a mental note to thank Augustus for his input.

* * * * * *

Christmas morning came and Harry opened his gifts. There was no Starcatcher under the tree, but Harry did not feel disappointed . . .much.  After breakfast, he began wondering about the sack of toys he and Severus had left at the orphanage, with a simple note that had read-Merry Christmas to all, from Harry. Had they liked the toys? Had it been enough for everyone? They had also left books and hair ribbons for the two sisters and a Christmas basket for the other family over in Whitechapel.

He slipped from his seat, stepped over his calico cat, who was snoozing next to his chair, and whispered something in Severus' ear.

"You want to go where?" Severus was startled. "Now?"

"Please, Papa. I need to see."

"Very well. Grandfather, we'll be back soon."

Augustus looked puzzled. "Where in Merlin's name are you going on Christmas morning, Severus?"

"I'll tell you when we get back," Severus said, then he had Harry put on his coat and gloves and they Apparated to Whitechapel first. Inside the small flat, Mitzi and Carla exclaimed over the bounty of gifts, the bright new hair ribbons and beautifully illustrated classic fairy tales of the Grimms Brothers and Hans Christian Anderson, bound in the softest leather.

"Mum, how'd you ever afford these?" asked Carla, her mouth agape, running her hand over and over the gilt cover.

"I . . .didn't." Her mum said, staring in a daze at the gifts that had appeared beneath the shabby tree, wrapped in glittering paper. "It must have been Father Christmas."

Her eldest rolled her eyes and Mitzi clapped her hands and yelled. "See? I told you he was real, Carla!"

"Mum, really . . .where'd you get them?" Carla whispered.

"It wasn't me, Carla. When I came to put the gifts under the tree they were already there. I have no idea where they came from."

Carla blinked. "But we can keep ‘em?"

Her mother nodded and then wondered who could have done such a thing. None of her neighbors had money to spend like this, on children not their own. Maybe Mitzi was right and there really was a spirit of Christmas.

"They liked ‘em!" Harry said, grinning. He felt absurdly happy.

"Of course. When I was a little boy, some of my best friends were books," Severus told him, ruffling his hair, which had darkened to a deep auburn. And they were still, the Potions Master thought fondly.

Then they went and saw the same looks of puzzled disbelief and delight on the faces of the other family as well. Severus had given them a Foxfire Hall Christmas basket, with all sorts of food and goodies, plus toys and books he and Harry had picked out in the London shops.

"An angel or a Good Samaritan must have sent it, Ralph, because even St. Paul's had never given away anything so grand!" the astonished mother was telling her bug-eyed husband as they unpacked the basket with its seemingly bottomless contents. "I don't know how everything fit in here. Oh, look, a real plum pudding with brandy sauce, just like my mum used to make! And a lovely glazed ham!"

"Ain't that something! A regular bloomin' miracle!" exclaimed her husband, while around them Andrew and Timmy played with their new toy train, which looked very like the Hogwarts Express, and Lisa rocked her soft cloth doll in her arms, it had red hair and green eyes like a certain girl Severus used to know.

Harry smothered a giggle at being compared to an angel. Silly lady, didn't she know angels had wings?

Finally, they Apparated to the orphanage called Angel Haven.

Cloaked in Severus' magic, they watched from the hallway, and Harry saw all of the children playing happily with the toys he had given them, even the older ones who claimed they were "too old" for such things.  Some were reading the books he had left, and Severus had donated some more texts suitable for the teenaged orphans.

Everyone seemed cheerful and enjoying themselves and the elder witches who ran the orphanage were watching the kids and beaming.

"Look, isn't it wonderful, Bess, to see them all so happy and well . . .so carefree this Christmas?"

"It is, Beatrice. I've never seen them so excited, and it's all because of that last minute gift left upon the porch. I wish we knew who this "Harry" person was so we could owl him and thank him. Such a thoughtful and generous gift! Some of those toys looked brand new! And magical ones besides . . ."

Harry felt his heart warm when he heard those words from the witch and saw the joy his gift had brought to those who had so little joy in their lives. And he felt better than he would have getting the Starcatcher. A lot better.

A line from Dr. Seuss floated into his head then.  "Maybe Christmas, he thought, doesn't come from a store.  Maybe Christmas . . .perhaps . . .means a little bit more!"

He turned his head and looked up at Severus, without whom he never would have learned that lesson, and he said, "Papa, can we do this again, next year?"

"So you like playing Father Christmas then?" queried his parent, his own heart thrilling to hear those words from his son.

"Yes. Can we?"

"We can, Harry. And now, let's leave them to their happy Christmas and go back and keep your grandpa company. Because no one should be alone on Christmas." Then the two secret helpers returned to Foxfire Hall, and as Severus pulled off his gloves he thought that perhaps Augustus had been right and he wasn't such bad father after all.

Except there was one lesson he never wanted Harry to learn, and that was how to keep a secret for years on end. He knew that the time was fast approaching when Harry would be attending Hogwarts and he dreaded that time, because he knew he had to reveal the truth about his past, and he feared he would never have the courage to admit to the child he adored that he too was an orphan and the man he called "Papa" was a liar. He feared Harry's rejection even more than he did Augustus', and so he kept his silence. Let the child keep his innocence a few years longer.

Severus tucked his gloves into his coat pocket, then went to sit with his family, his heart heavy with the secret he carried, the secret that could shatter his family once spoken aloud.

December 5th, 1989

Diagon Alley:

“How much for these Cauldron Gloves, ma’am?” Harry asked Sandra, the owner of Slug and Jiggers Apothecary.

The pretty witch smiled at him, and said, “Buying them as a gift for your dad, Harry?”

“Yes, ma’am. Papa will like them, I think. They’re new, so I know he doesn’t have them.”

“And they work very well,” laughed the witch, displaying her now smooth hands. “See. No calluses or burn marks since I bought myself a pair. They fit close, see, like a second skin, and they have cushion charms on the palms, so you don’t get bruises from stirring so long.” She indicated the places where a potions practitioner was likely to develop bruises from gripping a stirrer for hours on end. Those who practiced the craft knew just how hazardous it was to your person, and they were always trying to develop items and solutions to protect themselves against the inevitable spills and overflows and fumes.

The gloves had been invented by a clever witch who had once nearly ruined her hands in a potions accident. The gloves she made enabled her to keep brewing, despite the scarring on her hands.

Harry thought they would be a superb present for Severus, whose slender hands were at risk everyday for accidents working at Prince Labs, despite his caution.

“How much, Miss Miska?”

“For you, Harry, 5 Galleons and 3 Sickles.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, sure that she had discounted the gloves somewhat. He knew that she had “a thing” for his papa, and hoped one day to get him to go out with her for lunch or something, which was why she usually gave Severus and his family discounts on her merchandise. He quietly reached into his money pouch and withdrew the required amount.

“Thank you, Harry,” Sandra said, ringing up the sale and placing the money in the register. “I hope you and your father and friends will be back again this year to sing Christmas carols.”

“We will, ma’am,” Harry reassured her. “Don’t worry.”

“Will your papa sing for me again?” she asked, the way she did every year since he was seven.

Harry nodded. For some reason, Severus always sang one song for Miss Miska, and never anything else the entire night. And Sandra always took a picture of them and gave out the best sweets and hot cocoa.

“I look forward to it,” she said, her eyes dreamy. “Is he here this afternoon?”

“No, but my grandpa is,” Harry informed her. “Papa had to work later than he expected, so Grandpa took me and Nev and Blaise to Christmas shop.”

“Getting an early start, are you?”

“Yes, that way I have more to pick from,” Harry said seriously, and the witch laughed.

“That’s a good attitude to have, Harry. Well, have fun shopping and happy holidays!”

“Same to you, Miss Miska,” he returned her well wishes, then stepped from the shop, where Neville and Blaise were waiting outside, finishing their ice cream cones.

Augustus was just across the way, a few doors down, at Eeylops Owl Emporium, picking out a bird for Severus as his gift to his grandson. The Owl Emporium also sold other raptors besides owls, and Augustus was interested in purchasing a hawk or a falcon, since he felt that one of those birds suited his grandson’s proud and mainly solitary nature. He had shooed the boys over to the apothecary and gone in the store himself, which he had not been in since he had purchased Warlocke some forty years before.

The proprietor nearly had heart failure at finding the enigmatic hero Lord Prince in his establishment. “My lord Prince, it is an honor—such a very great honor—to serve you!” he had stammered. “How may I help you, my lord?”

Augustus bit back a sigh. So his name had not been forgotten even now. But at least the man wasn’t bowing until his nose scraped the floor, the way some had done back when Grindelwald was newly defeated. “I am looking for a special familiar for my grandson, preferably a falcon or a small hawk.”

“Of course, milord. This way, please. I just acquired a very fine peregrine, she is a queen among raptors, silver and white plumage, exceedingly intelligent. . .”

Augustus followed, sincerely hoping the bird was what he was looking for.

* * * * * *

“All set, Harry?” asked Neville, licking the last of the ice cream from his fingers, then hastily scrubbing them with a napkin he found in his pocket.

“What did you end up getting?” asked Blaise, ever curious.

“A pair of Cauldron Gloves,” Harry answered, patting the small bag with his purchase.

“Sounds neat!” Neville remarked. “Can we see them?”

Harry nodded, beginning to walk down towards Eeylops. He reached into the bag to take out the gloves, and banged into a tall scarecrow like man walking up the street. “Oh!”

“Merlin blast you, boy!” growled the old man, his hair sticking up in all directions, and his eyes sharp and hard as flint. “Watch where you’re going, can’t you?”

“Sorry, sir. I didn’t . . .err see you,” apologized Harry.

“Humph! Then maybe you ought to get new glasses,” groused Smithers, glaring angrily at the impudent brat who had almost run him down. “Kids these days, think they own the street. Outta my way, brat, a’fore I teach you some manners.” He clutched his ashwood wand meaningfully.

Harry backed up, more startled than frightened. He had not bumped into the other wizard on purpose and he had apologized.

He tugged his stained dove gray cloak about him and pushed past Harry and his friends with a muttered oath and a scowl of pure meanness twisting his face.

Neville shrank away from the irate wizard, and even Blaise was quiet. But Harry was angry that the man didn’t even acknowledge his apology, and he said loudly, “You’re welcome, Mr. Grinch!”

Smithers ignored the taunt, or perhaps he didn’t recognize the reference.

He strode down the cobblestone way, and people scattered from his path as if afraid he would curse them, or gave him a wide berth. To those who foolishly wished him a good day or a Merry Christmas, he responded with a grunt or a snort and the occasional, “Merry Christmas! Humbug! Lot o’ nonsense!”

“What a . . .nasty old man!” quivered Neville, looking after Smithers with frightened eyes. “Thought for a minute there he was gonna hex you.”

“I wouldn’t put it past old Smithers,” said an elderly witch, the owner of Cauldrons Unlimited. “He’s a right irritable chap.”

Some of the other shopkeepers who had witnessed the exchange nodded in agreement.

“Not a nice bone in that ‘un’s body,” said one.

“Leastways not anymore,” said a very old witch with half her teeth missing. “Turned hard and sour when he lost his family in the Great Fire.”

“The Great Fire?” Blaise repeated.

“What’s that?” asked Harry.

“Don’t they teach you kids anything today?” the old toothless crone asked. “The Great Fire occurred back some ten or eleven years back. Half the shops along the west side o’ the Alley caught and burned up, and some o’ the residences too. Smithers lost his first shop and worse, his wife and two kids. It were a magical fire, started some say, by a malfunctioning stove or an exploded cauldron. Or maybe even one of those Death Haters or whatever they call themselves. Nobody ever found out how it got started, but it were a magical blaze, and it burned fast. Had to get in some firecallers in the end to douse it, but by then it were too late.”

“’Twas a sad day that,” recalled a passerby sadly. “Lost a lot of businesses. And people too.”

“After that, Smithers changed. Became cold and hard, his heart turned to stone. I think he blamed himself fer not bein’ able to save his family, or maybe he blamed everyone else. No tellin’ which. When he started up his apothecary again, he was sharp and bitter, and all he cares about is profit. His best friend is his moneybags.” The crone shrugged.

“Is that why he looked at me like he wanted to tear me apart?” asked Neville nervously.

The cauldron witch nodded. “Oh, yes! He don’t like kids at all, but you steer clear of him, dearie, and you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, he ain’t one to cross. Quick with a wand. Or his hand, according to some of his former apprentices. He never got one could last a full year, his temper’s unpredictable and it’s just gotten worse over the years,” said another.

This was followed by murmurs of agreement and scowls.

“Bit of a rotter, all right.”

“I heard he once hexed a customer’s fingers together for shortchanging him.”

“Hates Christmas too. You never see his shop decorated and he keeps his ‘prentices and Masters brewing till all hours, even on Christmas Eve. No breaks. Cold-hearted bugger.”

Blaise and Neville shivered at the accounting they heard, but strangely Harry was not afraid. Harry knew that those who did not know Augustus feared his temper, and his reputation was such that it made people tremble (and bad little boys too). But once you got to know him, Augustus Prince was a fine man, and not frightening at all.

He thought about what the others had said about Smithers, and then recalled something Augustus had once said about Drusilla. “She was all the warmth in this world, and when she passed the Veil, I felt as if she took all the warmth within me. It’s amazing that my heart did not crumble to dust.”

Could that be what had happened to Smithers? Could his heart have turned to dust or frozen?

Harry recalled the Grinch in the story, who had also been mean and ill tempered, until his heart had been touched by the singing and the spirit of Christmas and understanding.

Last year Harry had given out gifts to unfortunate children and orphans. He wondered if anyone had ever given Smithers a gift since he had lost his family? Or had they all given him up as a lost cause, or been frightened away by his grim scowl and snarl?

No one should be alone on Christmas, Harry thought, it was something Severus had said last year. He pictured the grouchy miserable wizard going home to a dark flat and a cold bed, eating watery soup and drinking some bitter tasting tea or ale, listening to all the merriment and cheer about him and hating it because he no longer had any reason to celebrate or anyone to celebrate with.

But he wants it that way, Harry reminded himself. Look how he treats people. He reminds me of a scared cat, hissing and spitting to make himself look threatening, but inside he’s shaking and scared. Mystic used to do that to him when he was small, the young wizard recalled, but once he learned Harry wouldn’t hurt him, he stopped hissing and made friends with the boy.

Could Smithers want that and yet not know how to ask?

Abruptly, Harry turned and went back down the street to a small vendor selling hot cocoa in tins along with mugs shaped like cauldrons with witty sayings on them and small bags of a sweet called potion poppers, they were chocolate vials filled with different tasting syrups. Harry was very fond of them, and so were his friends.

Harry chose one that said Euphoria is Just a Sip Away, along with a tin and a bag of sweets.

“Will that be all, lad?”

“Yes, sir. Oh, and could you please wrap it?”

He took the present a few moments later, it had been wrapped in gold and red and green striped paper, thanked the vendor then hurried over to his friends. “Sorry, last minute gift.”

“For who?” Blaise queried.

“You’ll see,” Harry replied mysteriously. He scanned the street where he had last seen the vexatious Smithers.

A small group of young boys were throwing snowballs at a black door with a round window a few feet beyond the Leaky Cauldron. “Humbug! Humbug! What bug’s crawled up your chimney, Smithers?” they chanted.

They whooped and hollered and made rude gestures at the old man shaking his fist at them through the window.

Suddenly, the door was yanked open and Smithers came out, wand in hand. “Get, you meddlesome brats! Go home, the lot of you troublemakers, before I warm the seat of your breeches with a fire jinx!” He waved his wand threateningly, it sputtered and shot fiery sparks.

The children scattered, running off down the side street, still shouting insults and making grotesque faces.

Smithers went back inside, slamming the door.

“Those kids are nuts!” exclaimed Neville.

Blaise chortled. “Yeah, but they had fun for a bit.” He nudged Harry. “Right, Harry?”

But Harry was not laughing. Taunting Smithers was fun for the boys, but it did nothing save aggravate the apothecary and fuel his bitterness.

He fingered the present he had just bought, making up his mind. Then he started forward towards Smithers’ door.

Blaise caught the back of his scarf. “Uh, Harry, where are you going?”

“To give Smithers a Christmas present.”

“What?” Neville choked. “But Harry, you can’t do that!”

“Why not?”

“Because he’ll hex you, that’s why!” Neville gasped. He grabbed a bit of Harry’s green cloak. “Don’t do it. He’s dangerous.”

“Nev, please. Let go. I’ll be fine. His bark is worse than his bite.”

“How do you know that?” whimpered Neville.

“Because he only threatened those kids, he didn’t hex them,” Harry answered. “And he could’ve. Potion makers have really fast reflexes with their wands. Right, Blaise?”

His friend nodded. “Yup. Have to, to prevent accidents when in the lab. Papa always says that Mama could outdraw anybody ‘cept a master duelist if she wanted to.”

“But Harry . . .he’s really angry . . .you saw his face . . .what if he doesn’t want a present?” Neville gulped, casting an uneasy look at the closed door.

“If he doesn’t answer the door, I’ll leave it on the porch.” He just hoped none of those boys came back if he did do that, because it would be a shame if they broke the mug by throwing snowballs at it. Or stole it.

“Be careful, Harry,” Neville warned, shivering.

Harry cuffed the other lightly on the shoulder. “You worry too much, Nev. Tell you what, you wait here and keep a lookout, and if Smithers tries anything, you go and get Grandpa. Okay?”

“Okay.” Neville agreed, wishing Harry wasn’t so rash.

“I’ll say a prayer for you,” Blaise teased, his eyes twinkling.

Harry snickered. Then he walked quickly and quietly up to Smithers’ house and rang the small bell pull.

An instant later, a very irate Smithers stomped over to the door and yanked it open. “Bloody hell, can’t you rotten scoundrels take a hint, or must I really set your pants on fire, you little—”

“Hello, sir. Merry Christmas,” Harry greeted, then he held out the present.

“What’s this?” Smithers demanded suspiciously. “A new kind of prank?”

“No, sir. It’s a Christmas present.”

“I can see that, you dolt!” He took the package and shook it. “What's in it? Dungbombs? Exploding crackers?”

“No, sir. It’s a mug and some hot cocoa and a bag of potion poppers, they’re sweets—” Harry began.

“I know what they are!” Smithers interrupted, running his wand up and down the gift. “Humph!” He eyed Harry.

From the cover of a small potted fir tree, Neville and Blaise watched, mouths agape, certain the irascible sorcerer was going to draw a wand on their friend.

“You’re the brat that almost knocked me over before.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry.”

Smithers stared at Harry, almost too astonished to speak. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had given him a Christmas present. He coughed, then mumbled a very rusty, “Thanks. Now leave.” Harry turned to go. “Wait. Why would you do this, boy? You don’t even know me.”

Harry turned around. “Because everyone deserves a present on Christmas, even grouchy curmudgeons like you,” he said honestly. Then he waved, and called out, “Merry Christmas, Mr. Grinch!” before running back down the street.

Smithers remained where he was, wondering if he had lost his touch in scaring little troublemakers witless. He looked at the tag upon the present. It was addressed Mr. Smithers and it was signed Harry Snape, esquire.

Smithers nearly choked. Snape! Why that was the name of the young Potions Master who once worked for me. The one who has become a bloody international genius. And that means that cheeky brat who was just here is his son! He had a vague memory of a red-headed baby spitting at him as Severus Snape walked out of his shop for the last time. He wondered if his father had put him up to this?

Cautiously, Smithers unwrapped the present, waiting for something to explode or to jump out at him. But all he saw was a perfectly ordinary tin of hot cocoa with marshmallows and a bag of potion poppers inside of a cauldron mug. He recognized the handiwork of Amos Philpot, the vendor that sold cocoa and hot toddies. Humph! Always meant to get me one of these. He permitted himself a small smile, then he spun about and stalked back inside. The door slammed.“Christmas presents, bah!” he muttered, then he summoned a battered kettle and put it on to heat. No sense letting good cocoa go to waste. Curmudgeon, am I? Ha! But what in Merlin’s name is a Grinch?

* * * * * *

Blaise and Neville clapped Harry on the back in congratulations for being so brave, then they all trooped back to Eeylops, hoping Augustus had not completed his transaction too soon and was now waiting for them. He grew grumpy when people were not punctual.

But they found that Augustus was just walking out of the shop with a covered cage, looking very pleased with himself.

“Grandpa!” Harry called. “Did you get it? What’s it look like?”

“Take a breath, Henry,” ordered the Elemental Master. “And don’t shout, she’s very nervous right now. You can see her when we get home. Are you all finished with your Christmas shopping, lads?”

“Yes, sir,” they all chorused.

“Good. Then grab hold of my sleeves and put one hand on my pendant,” Augustus ordered, holding out a large golden medallion with the Prince crest upon it.

As soon as all the boys had placed a hand upon it and had the other upon him, Augustus activated the Port Key and they all were transported back to Foxfire Hall.

They all shed their outwear in the entry, and Lina appeared to put them away.

“How was your visit, milord and young masters?”

“Very good, Lina,” said Augustus.

“We got to eat ice cream and Harry gave a present to . . .what did you call him again?” Neville asked.

“Mr. Grinch,” Harry supplied. Then he cast Augustus a pleading look. “Grandpa, can we see her now?”

“Very well,” the master of Foxfire Hall agreed, then he carried the cage into his study. “But you are to be quiet and not make any sudden movements.” He gently swept the cover from the cage.

There, perched upon a hickory limb, was a magnificent ice and silver peregrine falcon. She had eyes of a brilliant gold and she examined them with a haughty air, making soft noises.

Harry’s breath caught. “Oh! She’s . . .magnificent! What’s her name?”

“The proprietor simply referred to her as Her Majesty,” answered Augustus. “But your father will give her a proper name once they bond. She’s a rare Imperial Peregrine falcon. Her kind were only given to royalty long ago, and it’s said Arthur the Great flew one in the hunt. This one came from Russia, where they prefer falcons and hawks to owls as messengers.” Augustus whistled gently, and the bird turned her head and looked at him.

He held out a dead mouse to her.

She dipped her head and took the tidbit graciously.

“Welcome to Foxfire Hall, your majesty,” Augustus said softly, then he placed the cage in a corner, and recovered it. “Come, lads. I’ll wager all that choosing of gifts has made you famished. And Henry, what’s all this about buying a present for the Grinch? Don’t tell me you made that ridiculous storybook monster come to life with accidental magic. . .”

Harry giggled. “No, Grandpa. It’s . . .a nickname . . .” he explained, accompanying the old man down the stairs.

Augustus chuckled when Harry revealed whom he had given a present to. “You’re a bold one, Henry. Reminds me of your gran. Drusilla was always giving presents to people she felt deserved them, even if she hardly knew them. You have her generous heart.”

* * * * * *

Christmas morning

Foxfire Hall:

Hotspur gathered up all the wrapping paper surrounding young master Harry and banished it with two quick flicks of his fingers into the fireplace. Paper always made good kindling.

Harry was beaming from ear to ear, clearly pleased with the gifts he had received this year, but now he was looking over at Severus expectantly. His father was seated in his usual place on the right of the couch, where he could observe his son opening his gifts. He was wrapped in his comfortable green dressing robe and slippers. “Now, what is this gift you’re so eager for me to open, Harry?” he asked with a slight smirk. “Tickets to the next international Quidditch World Cup?”

Harry shook his head. Severus had already opened his Cauldron Gloves, and pronounced them a wonderful gift, then he promptly asked his son how much he had spent on them. He had a limit that Harry could spend on Christmas gifts, for he did not want the boy to spend all of his allowance on expensive gifts, he wished to teach the boy how to budget his money.

“That’s all?” he said when Harry told him how much he had gotten the gloves for. Then he shook his head. “You bought them from Miss Miska, right? I should have known.”

But now Harry was jumping up and down as Augustus carried in the covered cage with a large green bow atop it.

“Harry, for the love of Merlin, stop gyrating,” Severus ordered. “You’re acting like you’ve got Itching Powder down your pants.”

Harry halted, forcing himself to remain calm, not wanting to frighten the familiar.

Beside the hearth, Mystic and Calin dozed sleepily, not even bothering to glance up at the cage.

“Merry Christmas, Severus.” Augustus said, then swept the cover off the cage with a flourish.

The falcon inside awoke and gave a startled meep before she noticed the man with the obsidian eyes looking at her. She lifted her great golden eyes to him.

“Well met, my lady,” Severus murmured.

The falcon gave a soft cry and bobbed her head, as if greeting him. Then she moved to the cage door and deftly undid the latch upon it and pushed open the door, much to the watching wizards’ astonishment.

She gave them a rather amused glance. Then she spread her magnificent wings and glided over to land gently upon Severus’s shoulder. She made barely a ruffle when she flew and her talons did not even pierce the cloth, so deftly did she grip.

Then she gave another of those satisfied cries and regarded Augustus and Harry curiously.

Severus reached up a hand to stroke her, and she preened his hair. “So, shall we be friends, magnificent one?” he crooned.

She regarded him intently, chirruped and went back to nibbling his hair, allowing his fingers to gently ruffle her chest. He smiled. Then he turned to Augustus and said, “Grandfather, this is a magnificent gift . . .I never expected . . .”

Augustus waved off his thanks. “High time you got yourself a familiar, Severus. She’s an Imperial peregrine falcon, the only one of her kind over here right now. She was bred in Russia, and George Eeylop told me that these birds are fiercely loyal and protective of their chosen wizard or witch and also proud and extremely intelligent.”

“Has she a name?”

“He referred to her as Her Majesty, but that’s more of a title than a name, if you ask me. He said you’ll know when you pick the right one, she’ll come to it.”

“Can I help?” asked Harry.

“You may,” Severus acquiesced. “Write down a list of names and then we’ll try them out.”

Harry ran to get a piece of parchment and a Everfull Quill from Augustus’ study.

They spent the rest of the morning trying to name the majestic falcon.

First they tried the obvious names, like Regina, Majestic, Brilliance, Empress, Monarch but the falcon, now dozing in her cage, did not respond to them. Next they tried synonyms for wind and storm, like Blizzard and Tempest, but she remained indifferent.

Augustus offered up Glorianna, which was an old name for Elizabeth the First.

The falcon opened her eyes at that one, but then she fluffed up her feathers and went back to sleep.

Severus summoned a book of names, both foreign and English and began to flip through it. He needed a unique name, one that was easy to pronounce, but at the same time described the falcon’s imperial attitude.

Finally he found what he was looking for. The name he had chosen meant “glorious ruler” in the Slavic tongue. He looked up from the text and said quietly, “To me, Valeska.”

He held out his arm, which now bore a falconer’s glove upon it.

The falcon opened her eyes and gave a triumphant screech. Then she flew directly to her wizard, bating.

She settled quickly, however, walking up the Potions Master’s arm to settle upon his shoulder.

“Valeska,” Augustus remarked. “An unusual name. What does it mean?”

Severus told him.

“It fits her,” Harry said, smiling at the proud bird.

Valeska clicked her beak and winked at him. She seemed quite content among the proud wizards of Foxfire Hall, riding on Severus’s shoulder to dinner as if she had been doing so her whole life, unquestioned queen of all she surveyed.

They had almost finished their delicious dinner of roasted turkey and whipped potatoes, gravy and dressing, along with buttered parslied carrots, which Harry tried to bypass until Severus gave him a sharp look and indicated he better put a few on his plate.

Harry bit back a groan and did so. He and his father had been fighting an ongoing war over vegetables since he was a toddler. Most times Severus won.

Lina came in and cleared the plates while Hotspur served them a small dish of lemon sorbet with a drop of Digestive Remedy in it, it would aid in digestion as well as cleanse the palate. Severus had developed it long ago to avoid that overstuffed feeling after eating a rich dinner.

Fifteen minutes later, Lina returned to the dining room, having eaten her own meal with her husband in the kitchen, and asked who wanted hot cocoa or coffee with a splash of firewhiskey or a small brandy.

Mention of the hot cocoa reminded Harry of his impromptu gift to Smithers and he turned to Severus and said, “You’ll never guess what happened when I went to Diagon Alley to buy your present with Grandpa, Papa. I met the Grinch!”

“Harry, what are you talking about? There’s no such thing.”

Harry smirked. “Not like the one in the story, no, but I met an apothecary there who acted just like him. His name was Smithers—”

Severus nearly choked on his coffee. “Smithers? Amos Smithers? That nasty skinflint that I used to work for after I finished at the Academy?”

Harry nodded. “That’s the one. I banged into him by accident . . .” he told Severus the whole story, and when he was finished, his father said nothing for a very long moment.

Then he smirked and gave a very wicked chuckle. “That was very generous of you, Harry. You’re lucky the old bat didn’t have a heart attack right there, though, from a surfeit of too much kindness.” Then he took a sip of his coffee. “Ah well, even Smithers deserves one present a year. Maybe your gift will thaw his icy heart.”

Harry hoped so, then he lifted his mug of cocoa and drank, savoring the creamy richness. As he did so, his calico,Calin, jumped on his lap, turned about twice and settled on his knees, purring happily.

February 22, 1990

Foxfire Hall:

Severus walked carefully about the large duck pond that was situated some ten minutes from the manor house, surrounded by willows and cedars on the north side. The pond at its deepest was about eight feet, Severus could tell this with his Water Master sense, his newly emerging talent was developing nicely thanks to Augustus' tutelage. He had learned to send his consciousness outward and gently feel the water with his mind, and then let his water sense "tell" him certain things, like depth, temperature, composition (such as fresh vs. salt or bacteria), and also what kinds of aquatic life dwelled there. 

During the summer, the pond teemed with fish and ducks with newly hatched young.  Right then, though, it was frozen almost down to the bottom, and Severus was testing it to determine the thickness of the ice.  Harry, Blaise, and Neville had been pestering him ever since last week, when a cold snap had set in over Yorkshire, to let them go skating.  But first, Severus insisted on making sure the ice was firm enough to hold their weight.

It was, save for one spot towards the left side. Severus used his fledgling powers to make the ice a bit thicker, but he would outline that part with a red warning line so the boys wouldn't accidentally skate on it.  He didn't want to make the ice over there truly thick, because there were ducks and geese that still came to swim sometimes and he didn't want to deny them their pond.  It had been theirs first, before the Princes had claimed this land, after all.

He carefully scribed a bright red line about the thin ice with his wand. There! That was so obvious even a blind man could see it, Severus thought in satisfaction. The temperature was just right for skating too, clear and not very windy, with a minimum of sun. 

After satisfying himself that the boys would come to no harm, Severus snowglided home to the manor. Snowgliding was a bit like skiing without skis, and it was something only an Elemental Master or Water Master could do.  Severus simply manipulated the snow beneath his boots, making it slick and smooth and hard, using his will to propel himself along the snowy ground, skimming over it at a very swift pace.  It was quicker than walking and he had fun doing it. Sometimes he could even do it while Harry held his hands, but it required more concentration and it tired him out faster. He could have Apparated, but he was enjoying the winter scenery and the time alone, soon enough he would be supervising and assisting the children with their skating.

He went inside the manor, not even needing to stomp his boots free of snow, since he could keep snow, ice, and water off his clothing simply by willing it so, a minor use of his Elemental powers.  Augustus had told him that it was possible for a Water Master to skim atop water like a water beetle and also to swim like a fish, or even swim without getting wet at all. He could also shape water into different designs and summon waves and squalls.  But thus far Severus hadn't tried to do any of those things, he was too busy trying to complete quotas of potions to practice endlessly with his Talent.  During the summer, he would have more time to experiment. 

The three boys were standing in the entrance hall, all bundled up and ready to go. They looked up at him expectantly.

"Can we go now, Mr. Snape?" asked Blaise impatiently. He, like Harry, was always eager to go on a new adventure or try new things.

"Is the ice thick enough, sir?" that from Neville, who was not too keen on skating, given that his Uncle Algie had seen fit to toss him into a pond last summer to try and teach him how to swim, as well as activate his magical powers to a higher level. It had worked, up to a point. Neville had managed to learn to float in a hurry, and his magic had acted to keep him from drowning, but it had also left the shy boy wary and a bit fearful of ponds. 

Severus considered that scare tactic to be the height of idiocy, and told Augusta so last time he had spoken to her.  She had agreed, but it was too late to do anything about it now. "My brother has always been one stick short of firewood, Severus. Insisted all the boy needed was a good sharp shock to get him to stop being so timid and so forth.  Dunderhead!"

There were several other names Severus called Neville's uncle, but none of them bore repeating in front of a lady and so he bit his tongue and resolved to make this skating experience a pleasant one for Neville, as well as his son and Blaise.

"Yes, we shall leave, and the ice is perfectly fine to skate," Severus replied, tugging Harry's scarf tighter about his neck.

His son made a face. "Papa, it's choking me."

Severus loosened the material. "Better?"

Harry nodded. He rolled his eyes, he hated being fussed over especially in front of his friends.

Severus tugged Blaise's hat down over his ears and adjusted Neville's cloak so it covered him more thoroughly. "All right, everyone have their skates?"

All three boys held up their skates by their laces.

"Good." Severus's own skates were already beside the pond. He didn't really need them, given his talent, but he liked ice skating. He turned to go out the door, whistling for his familiar, Valeska, to see if she wanted to join him.

The white peregrine woke from her doze on the back of the couch and flew to him, crooning delightedly.

Severus scratched her gently on the head. "Come, my winged wonder, let's fly. You can watch us pitiful land animals try and match your impossible grace."

Valeska gave a bird's version of a chuckle, then spread her wings and flew out and into the sky. She would accompany her master anywhere, and she did not mind the cold the way some species did.  She had been bred in the northern climate of Russia and was used to the frigid winds and temperatures. 

The boys raced out the door, hooting and hollering.

Severus winced at the noise, then summoned Hotspur and asked him to tell Lord Prince they would be back for tea or supper. Then he turned and followed the boys across the lawn to the pond, his falcon gliding lazily above him.

After helping Neville put on his skates, Severus gave the boy a few basic lessons, showing him how to balance and turn on the slippery surface. Neville fell a few times, but cheerfully got up and tried again. Harry and Blaise, who had been skating before this, were like gulls, swooshing across the ice and spinning about, laughing.

"Boys!" Severus called upon seeing Harry get too near the marked ice. "You know what that red line means, don't you?"

"Yes," Harry called back. "It means Danger-Thin Ice."

"Right. Mind you stay away from it." He watched his son do a circle, avoiding the glowing lines. Though prone to getting himself into scrapes, Harry would obey if told to, he was not, after a lifetime of living with Severus and Augustus, as reckless as James Potter and after several injuries had learned the value of following Snape's instructions.

All three boys had received instruction from him not only on skating, but on basic potions and some herbology, so they would be well prepared for the curriculum at Hogwarts. Neville was the best with herbology, while Harry was quickest to grasp theory and the cleverest at inventing new ways to brew. Blaise was more methodical, but his preciseness was a good trait for a potion maker to have. Severus was sure they wouldn't have any problem with the first year curriculum, at least with potions.

He had also instructed them on safety procedures, a necessity when dealing with two rambunctious boys.  Though after he had delivered a blistering lecture to Harry in front of his friends when he caught his son chasing Blaise around the lab table with a chopping knife and made Harry stand in the corner for behaving like a five-year-old, he had no more problems with that sort of idiotic nonsense. Harry had told him later that he had been awful to embarrass him that way, and all Severus had said was it served him right for treating his lab like a playground and to behave next time.

He was brought out of his brief reverie by Neville falling flat on his bottom.

"Darn!" the boy muttered, struggling to get up.

"Here," Severus gave him a hand up. "Watch me. You overbalanced. Slide your right foot forward and then your left. Like this." He demonstrated, then held the child's hands while Neville attempted to copy him.

"It's hard. You make it look easy, Mr. Snape," Neville panted.

"It's hard for you now, but with practice you'll skate as well as Harry soon," Severus encouraged.

"I will? But I'm always falling."

"Everyone falls their first few times," Severus said, skating backwards.  "Ask Harry how many times he fell when he first learned. His bottom was bruised like a patchwork quilt."

Neville snickered.

"Papa!" Harry cried indignantly. "Did you have to tell him that?"

"Is it true then?" Neville asked.

"Yes," his friend answered. "But now look at me." He spun on one skate.

"It's a question of balance," Severus continued his instruction. "Once you learn that and how to stop, you'll be able to skate very well."

"How do you stop? Without falling, I mean."

"Use the front blade on the tip of your skate. The toepick," Severus demonstrated.

"Papa, can you show us how you write your name in the ice again?" Harry begged. He loved that trick of Severus' and never tired of seeing it over and over.

"Just a minute. Let me get Neville settled." He waited until Neville seemed more steady on his skates before he let go and beckoned the child. "All right, Longbottom. Come to me."

Neville looked alarmed. "Now?"

"Of course! Come on! Move the way I showed you. That's it."

Neville began to move cautiously towards Severus, who was skating backwards slowly. "I'm . . .skating!"

"Good! Now grab my hands," Severus coaxed, moving another foot away. Neville drew closer.  "Good job!" he praised when the other had skated a total of three feet to him. He caught the child and said, "Now use that toepick  to stop. Very good!"

Neville was beaming, his round face alight. "I can skate."

Severus clapped him gently on the back. "You can do whatever you set your mind to, Longbottom. Stay here."

He spun and began to skate towards the middle of the pond.

Harry and Blaise quickly moved to the side and watched in delight as the Potions Master began to inscribe elegant loops and curves upon the ice, moving his feet like a dancer in a never-ending glide. In three minutes he was done and skated to a stop with a flourish.

Carved into the ice in script letters was Severus Snape.

The boys clapped and cheered.

"I can't wait till I can do that!" Blaise said enviously.

"Me either," said Neville. He began to skate again, and to his shock he discovered he could actually move easier now. He began to skate a bit faster and then faster still. "Look, Harry, Blaise! I can do it!"

Blaise clapped happily, then tried to imitate Severus name writing.

Harry skated around the thin ice patch, trying to get up enough speed to attempt a leap. "Oi, Blaise! Watch me do a flying leap! Bet you can't do that!"  

Blaise looked up.

Harry was going full speed when Neville skated into his path.

"Yikes!" Neville yelped. He tried to stop, but his skates weren't obeying him. "Harry, I c-c-an't stop!"

Harry tried to avoid him, but it was too late. Neville's momentum propelled him right into his friend and the two slammed into each other.

"Ow!" Harry yelped. His nose had connected with Neville's forehead and was now bleeding. He had fallen over and so had Neville.

"Oh, Harry! I'm sorry," Neville began apologizing while trying to get up, his own lip was bruised and so was his eye, from hitting Harry's chin.

Strong hands picked him up and sat him down a foot away from Harry. "Sit still, Neville." Severus ordered, taking out his wand. "Don't worry, Harry will be all right, I've mended plenty of bloody noses before."

He glided over to Harry, who was trying to stanch the blood with a glove. "Here, son. Head back and let me see."

He removed Harry's hand from his face and examined the damage. "Hmm. Not too bad." He put the tip of his wand against Harry's nose and hissed a Blood Halt charm. Then he cast a quick Deflating charm on the swollen nose.

While he was tending to the two crash victims, Blaise was doubled over laughing.

"Ooh, Merlin have mercy!  That was some leap, Harry! You soared . . .like a rock!" He was laughing so hard he began to skate backwards, giggling hysterically. "Hahaha . . .that's the funniest thing I ever saw. You could call it ‘Crash and Burn'!"

Right over the glowing red line and onto the thin ice.

Harry scowled and tried to turn around. "Ah, shut up, Blaise!"

"Be still, Harry," Severus ordered, pulling his son's head around so he could finish healing him. "Are you hurt anywhere else?"

Harry thought. "Uh . . .not really. My bum's a little sore."

Severus went to help him up so he could heal it when there came an ominous cracking sound and then a loud wail of terror from Blaise.

"Help! The ice is bre-e-aking-AHH!"

SPLASH!

Blaise fell right through the thin ice and into the freezing water.

He began to flounder and thrash about, screaming.

Severus reacted instantly, pointing a hand towards the hole in the ice and concentrating.  Power flowed out of him in an instinctive stream of bluish white light.

The water temperature changed abruptly from freezing to bath water and then a wave erupted from the hole, carrying Blaise upon its crest, to set him down safely upon the other side of the red line. An instant later it had vanished and the ice had sealed itself.

Blaise was lying face down on the ice, whimpering and shivering violently.

"Blaise! Are you okay?" Neville cried, horrified. 

Severus quickly skated over to Blaise, lifting him into his arms. The boy was blue with cold, and he quickly dried him off with a thought. But it was not enough. Despite his quick reactions, Blaise was still chilled.  He turned back to Harry.  "Harry, can you help Neville? I need to get Blaise home immediately and into a warm bath."

"Sure, Papa," Harry called back, then skated over to Neville and helped him up. "C'mon, Nev. You okay?"

"Yeah. I've hurt myself worse tripping over my shoelaces," his friend said with a rueful grin.  He leaned slightly on Harry they quickly skated off the pond and pulled on their boots. Severus had Apparated back to the house with Blaise by then. "Think Blaise will be okay?"

Harry nodded, stamping his foot into his frozen boot. "It'll take more than a ducking to keep Zabini down, Nev. You ought to know that. Besides, Papa's powers had him dry in a few seconds, so I don't even think he'll get sick."

Overhead, Valeska circled, then dove suddenly down from the sky.

The boys followed her stoop and saw her triumphantly lift a rabbit in her talons. She gave a victorious cry then flew off to eat her bounty.

Neville shuddered. "Ugh! I can't believe she just killed a rabbit."

Harry shrugged. "That's what she eats.  She's a falcon, they have to hunt to survive."

"But she's a familiar. Your dad feeds her."

"Yeah, but she likes to hunt. It's her nature," Harry said philosophically. "Let's go, Nev. I'm cold and hungry." He rubbed his bottom, wincing. Then he began to sprint, or try to, across the lawn towards the manor.

By the time they got back, Hotspur was waiting to take their snowy outerwear and Lina had a nourishing hot lunch on the table of chicken soup and bacon with mayonnaise and lettuce sandwiches and also ham and cheese, plus hot rolls with butter and salt and vinegar crisps. There was also hot apple cider. 

"Thanks, Lina!" Harry said, grinning at the house elf.

"You are most welcome, young master. Now go and wash up. And you also, Master Longbottom."

The boys went to do as they were told, meeting Augustus on their way back from the bathroom.

"Grandpa, did Papa come back with Blaise?" asked Harry.

"He did, and your young friend is now soaking in a bubble bath mixed with healing salts, I'd imagine." Augustus answered.  "He'll be right as rain in an hour. What about you two? Heard you had a bit of an accident?"

He pulled his wand and ran it over the two boys, then healed Neville swiftly of his cut lip and black eye. Neville thanked him shyly. "Run along now and go eat," Augustus ordered gruffly, waving him off. "Henry, let's see what you did to yourself."

"I'm fine," Harry protested. "Papa healed my nose already."

"He told me you had bruises elsewhere," Augustus said, turning his great-grandson about.

Harry went red. "Grandpa, I'm fine!"

Augustus snorted. "If you want to sit on a bruised backside, be my guest, Henry Snape."

Harry reconsidered. "Okay. Heal me."

Augustus tapped his wand twice against Harry's bottom and muttered a healing charm.

The throbbing vanished. "Thanks, Grandpa," Harry said.

"You're welcome, imp. Off with you now and go eat." He sent the boy off to the dining room with a gentle pat on the rear.

Then he Apparated upstairs to see how Blaise and Severus were faring. "Severus, lunch is on the table."

"I'll be down in a minute, Grandfather," Severus replied from the other side of the bathroom door. "We're nearly finished here."

Augustus Apparated into the dining room and began to eat, along with Harry and Neville.

Severus and Blaise arrived a few moments later, Blaise was now pink-cheeked and dry, wrapped in one of Harry's terry green bathrobes and his own clothes, a pair of Harry's slippers on his feet.

Harry looked up from his soup. "Good job, Diver Dan."

Blaise tried to scowl, but Harry's comment was too funny and he ended up laughing instead. He slid into the seat next to Neville.

"You children will be the death of me one day," Severus said, moving over to the seat on the right of Augustus. 

Augustus smirked. "Oh, how often did I say that to your mother and your Aunt Grace!"

Severus cocked an eyebrow.  "Why? Did they fall through thin ice too?"

"Worse. Your aunt was like a monkey, climbed everything. I can't count how many times I healed her from sprains and broken bones as a girl. And Eileen was always experimenting with her mini lab, trying out crazy concoctions.  Most of which exploded. Once she burnt her eyebrows and part of her hair off. Just like you did, I'd imagine."

Severus gave him a wry grin.  "Sometimes. When my father wasn't around." Then he turned back to his soup and sandwich.

When Annamaria came to pick up Blaise just before supper, Severus informed her of the accident, but reassured her that he was now fine.

"Thank goodness you're a Water Master, Sev," Annamaria said, relieved.  "Otherwise he could have come down with pneumonia or worse." She hugged her youngest son to her, making him blush and squirm and mutter, "Santa Maria, Mama! It's not like I died."

"You could have!" she scolded. "What's the matter with you, Blaise Zabini, not paying attention and playing about that way? You coulda drowned!"

"Mama, I can swim. And Mr. Snape was right there," Blaise defended.

"Lucky for you," she gave him an affectionate thump on the back of the head.

"If he does come down with a cold, just dose him with some Pepperup," Severus advised and then the Zabinis Flooed home.

He ran a hand through his hair and thought wryly how there was never a dull moment at Foxfire Hall, no matter what time of the year it was.

* * * * * *

December 23, 1990

Longbottom residence:

It was two days before Christmas, but the Snapes and Augustus and Blaise had decided to celebrate a little early by coming over to the Longbottoms. Augusta wanted to have them to dinner and let the children open their gifts to each other after dessert.  She had given Augustus and Severus baskets with her special biscuits and sweets and apricot fruit tarts and small mince pies, plus rare vintages of blackberry and raspberry wine which she knew the men would never buy themselves.  She gifted Annamaria with a similar one. 

Annamaria and Marco couldn't make it to the dinner, they were working late on their newest project, a Nerve Blocking potion for people who had been recent victims of the Cruciatus Curse, but Augusta made sure to send them a hamper of the feast, so they wouldn't feel left out. Severus had told them to take the night off, but they had politely but firmly refused. He had not bothered to make an issue of it, understanding fully how obsessed you became when working on a potion and were almost close to getting it right.  Augustus had made him the overseer of Prince Labs two years ago, making him their supervisor, giving him official authority and a pay raise.  None of the other Masters and Mistresses minded, Severus had been unofficially overseeing them for years and they were glad to have a competent boss.

The Longbottom residence was a rambling old cottage style house, though very large, it had three stories, and resided beside a large lake with a dock.  There were some small canoes and a rowboat tied up there, though the boys had been told in no uncertain terms not to go near them without an adult present. "Or else no Christmas gifts for any of you!" scolded Augusta.

They had promised. Besides, it was too cold to go on the lake, and there were lots of interesting things to do inside the Longbottom cottage.  Neville took them on a tour of it, and showed them everything from the attic to the small shed where his Uncle Algie's lab was. 

By the time the children were finished seeing the house, it was time for dinner. Augusta set a fine table, with linen from Scotland and imported crystal from Ireland plus heirloom Christmas china.  There was a variety of food, from leg of lamb with mint sauce to a finely crisped duck a'la orange.  Those we accompanied by hot bread and mounds of creamy potatoes mashed fine with garlic and butter, as well as mashed turnips and roasted cauliflower with cheese, plus a huge green salad, a she-crab bisque, and small pigs-in-a-blanket for appetizers.  There was wine for the adults and pumpkin juice and cranberry juice for the children.

All the boys ate heartily, and Harry even ate the vegetables Severus put on his plate without a fuss for once. He was gradually growing out of his aversion to green things, and found the salad with blue cheese vinegrette quite tasty, especially with the croutons sprinkled over it.

"That's Gran's specialty," Neville told Harry as he ate his duck. "She likes salad. Learned the recipe from Mrs. Zabini."

Blaise smirked happily. "Told you, my mama makes the best salad. She gave your gran the vegetables from our garden, I can tell."

Harry knew that was true, because Annamaria was forever sending Severus home with produce from her abundant garden, and they usually ate it for weeks afterwards.  He sometimes wondered if Annamaria wanted to feed every family in north Yorkshire.

"You set a fine table, Augusta," said Augustus.

The former Auror blushed. "That's not really my doing, my house elves Snozberry and Ellida and Avery do it. All I made was a salad."

"And it's an excellent one," Severus commented, taking another helping of it. He looked over at his son. "Right, Harry?"

"It's delicious, Gran Augusta," Harry said, responding to his father's silent cue.  Augusta had told Blaise and him to call her Gran like Neville did, she found she was more comfortable with that address.

"I can't wait for the sweets," Neville said eagerly.

"And after . . .presents," Blaise said and winked at Harry.

Harry smiled inwardly, imagining the shock upon Neville's face when he saw what they had gotten him. The two friends had pooled all their allowance and gotten Neville a very special gift this year, one that not even their parents knew about. They had gotten Blaise's older brother and sister to take them Christmas shopping that year and had bought it then and had shipped to the Zabini residence early that morning.

Blaise had then Flooed over with the large crate and hidden it behind the Longbottom's huge twinkling evergreen, which looked as if it had real snow on some of the branches as well as lights and ornaments. It was a magnificent tree, and Harry loved it. 

The dessert was first rate, a plum pudding, an apple pie, a chocolate cake with sprinkles and all kinds of biscuits and candy. Harry didn't stuff his face, as usual though, because he wanted dessert to be over quickly so they could get to opening of presents.

But the adults chatted over coffee and tea and made Harry want to scream, they were so slow. Why couldn't they talk about stuff over the presents? He wondered irritably.

At last the house elves cleaned everything up and it was time.

Neville and the boys rushed over to the tree. Harry looked around and then whispered to Blaise, "Where'd you put it?"

"Over there, behind the sofa," Blaise indicated the paisley sofa right next to the tree.

"What are you two whispering about?" asked Neville curiously. He was wearing brown trousers and a red jumper with a reindeer on it over a white shirt. 

"Nothing," Blaise said quickly. "Just wondering where your Uncle Algie was."

"Oh. He's down at the pub probably, celebrating the latest win of the Cannons over the Wasps." Neville said. "He'll be along later." He looked over his shoulder as Augustus escorted his gran into the room and seated her on the sofa. He then sat beside her, leaving a wing chair for Severus. "Gran, may I start giving out the presents?"

"Yes, Neville." Gran waved her hand for him to give out the presents.

Neville started with Harry. "This for you, Harry."

He gave Harry a fancy envelope and a small box. Harry opened the box first. Inside was a huge Honeydukes chocolate bar, the Friendship Bar, because you could share it with a friend and still have enough for yourself. "Thanks, Nev! How did you know I wanted one?"

Neville laughed. "You only told me about ten times last time we went to Honeydukes." He pointed at the envelope. "Open that one."

Harry did, and found inside a card and in that were tickets to all the upcoming Quidditch matches at Phoenix Pitch. "Wow! Quidditch tickets! Thanks, Nev! That's awesome!"

Severus groaned and looked at Augusta. "I hope you're taking him to at least one."

Augusta laughed. "Not on your life, Severus, my dear. That's what brothers like Algie are for. He's the Quidditch fanatic in this family."

Neville had handed Blaise a similar envelope and box. Only inside his was a huge bag of Droobles Best Chewing Gum, since Blaise loved gum. He also got season tickets and jumped up and down for joy.  "Ha! Oh Alex is gonna be so jealous! And I'm not sharing with him unless he asks me real nicely. Thanks bunches, Nev!"

"Now for ours," Harry said excitedly, rising to crawl behind the sofa and drag out the medium sized crate.

Severus frowned. "What did you buy, Harry Snape? You never got around to telling me."

"You'll see, Papa. It's something Neville has been wanting forever, so Blaise and I put our money together and bought it." He shoved the mystery crate towards Neville. "Hurry and open it, Nev!"

The crate had a huge red and green bow on with a large handwritten tag that said To Neville, From Harry & Blaise.

Neville was as puzzled as the adults and he carefully unfastened the crate latch and opened the door. Then he knelt and peered inside. It was dark except for something soft and furry lying in the corner.

"Huh?" Neville reached in and suddenly the occupant of the crate woke and bounded out.

It was a little white and brown crup, a magical dog with a forked tail that was wagging a mile a minute. Crups were known to be extremely loyal to their wizard masters and ferocious towards Muggles. They also ate everything, including furniture and metal without any ill effects. He had short soft fur, mostly white, save for two brown paws, brown on his tail tips, and a large brown saddle on his back and ears.  He jumped all over Neville and licked his whole face, yipping happily.

"A puppy!" he cried. "I always wanted a pet!" he hugged the little dog. His whole face glowed in delight.

Blaise and Harry gave each other high fives.

But the adults were less than pleased. Augusta looked as if she were going to pass out. "A crup puppy? In my house? Oh, good heavens!"

"Are you allergic, Augusta?" asked Lord Prince.

"No, it's just . . .puppies are into everything and they make a huge mess . . ."

Severus wanted to die of embarrassment. What had Harry been thinking, to get Neville a pet like this without asking him? "Augusta, this was none of my doing. Harry never informed me he was going to buy Neville a puppy." He frowned and beckoned to his son, who was petting the puppy. "Henry Snape, front and center."

Harry looked up, alarm clouding his features. Severus only used those words in that tone when he was in big trouble. But he couldn't figure out what he had done. He rose and came over to where Severus was. "Yes, sir?"

"Harry, why didn't you ask permission before you went and bought a puppy for a gift?"

"I wanted it to be a surprise," Harry answered. "What's the problem? Nev loves him. It's a great gift."

"For him, yes. But what about Gran Augusta? Did it ever occur to you that she never got a Neville a dog because she didn't want to have the responsibility of caring for one this late in life?"

"But . . .Nev needed a pet," Harry's face fell. He looked over at Augusta, who was regarding the puppy as if it were a demon from hell.

"You could have gotten him a toad," she sniffed.

"Gran, please. I'll take care of him all by myself," Neville pleaded. "He won't be a bit of trouble."

No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the puppy jumped out of Neville's lap and went and lifted his leg right on the sofa . . .and Augusta's shoe!

Augusta gasped. "Why you . . .wretched thing!" she yelled, and pulled out her wand.

The puppy cringed and went to hide under the tree, Neville crawled after him, and Augustus muttered a Cleaning charm to erase the puppy's mistake.

"That does it! I want that . . .ill-mannered beast out of here!" Augusta scolded.

Neville burst into tears. "Gran, no! He didn't mean it. He's a puppy. He can't control himself."

"Exactly, and that's why I don't like dogs. Do I look like a tree, Neville Longbottom?"

Harry and Blaise couldn't help it. They burst out laughing at that comment.

Severus was glaring at Harry, feeling very tempted to turn his scamp of a son over his knee for this latest caper. He grabbed Harry by the ear and dragged him into the dining room. "Stop laughing, young man! It's not funny!" he ordered, giving the boy a brisk shake.

Harry quit laughing, seeing by the expression on Severus' face that he was in trouble yet again.  "Papa, I'm sorry . . .but I just wanted to give Neville what he really wanted for Christmas. How come you're mad at me?"

Severus went down on one knee so he could look Harry in the eye. "Son, you should never get a living creature for someone without asking an adult first. Like your parent or theirs. What if one of the Longbottoms had been allergic to dogs? Or they didn't have room to keep a dog?"

"But they aren't and they do have room," Harry argued. "This house is really big. And they have a big lawn with acres of space."

"Even so, you should have asked me first."

"You would have said no." Harry pouted, his lower lip sticking out.

"I would have said to ask Augusta."

"Then she would have said no, and Nev would have never gotten a really cool familiar like I have and Blaise has and you do." Blaise had a Brazilian fruit bat named Julius Caesar as his familiar. "And he deserves one."

"Harry, that's not the point." Severus growled. "I'm afraid you're going to have to return the puppy. Where did you get it?"

Harry looked as if he were about to cry. Return a Christmas present? He couldn't do that! "No! They won't take him back," he cried, though he wasn't sure if it was true. "He was the last of the litter and we got a bargain on him," he said, which was true. The puppy had been the last one available and the manager had given them a discount when they told him they were buying it for a friend. "They'll kill him or something if we give him back."

Severus looked skeptical. "Harry, I doubt that."

"They will! B'cause no one wants a runt, the shopkeeper said so!" He sniffled, then added, "Besides, whoever heard of returning a Christmas puppy?"

"Christmas presents get returned all the time," Severus began.

Out in the living room, Neville was still pleading with Augusta to let him keep the puppy.  "But Gran, you can't return a present! I promise I'll take care of him, you won't even see him, I'll keep him in my room and walk him and feed him and . . .and . . ."

"Don't be ridiculous, Neville! You can't keep a puppy cooped in your room. Dogs need space to run, especially crups."

"He'll make a good guard dog when he's grown, Gran Augusta," chimed in Blaise helpfully. He hadn't been expecting this sort of resistance. Who could resist the puppy's sad brown eyes? He shot a glance at Harry, who looked like he was getting his head bitten off by the elder Snape.

"Not mine!" Harry cried. "Papa, I saved all year with Blaise to get that puppy." He set his jaw firmly. "I won't return it."

"Henry Snape, don't you take that tone with me," Severus warned, his eyes glinting dangerously.

"But it's not fair.  If somebody got me a broom, would you make them return it?"

"That's different. Now, I want you to go over and apologize to Augusta for getting Neville an inappropriate gift and offer to take it back-"

Harry remained stubbornly silent.

Severus put his hands behind his back so he wouldn't be tempted to throttle his stubborn child. Then he began reciting potions ingredients rapidly in his head. A is for asphodel, B is for bezoar, C is for comfrey, D is for dittany, E is for elecampine, F is for foxglove, G is for gargoyle dust, H is for hearts-ease, I is for iguana skin, J is for Jobberknoll feathers, K is for knotgrass, L is for lacewing flies, M is for Mandrake juice, N is for nettles, O is for ox tail, P is for porcupine quills, Q is for quinine, R is for runespoor eggs, S is for sopophorus bean, T is for tubeworms, U is for unicorn hair, V is for vampire blood, W is for wormwood, X is for Xantheria dust, Y is for yeti fur, Z is for zinnia petals.

When he opened his eyes, he found his son had slyly used the chance to scuttle over to Augustus and plead his case.  Humph! We'll see how far he gets, Severus thought, returning to the living room. 

" . . .and you wouldn't want the puppy to be killed, would you, Grandfather?" the little manipulator was saying earnestly.

"Killed? Henry, surely they wouldn't . . "

"Yes, they would. That's what the pet store manager said," Harry embellished the story.  "He said we either bought him or he'd have to . . .get rid of him." He made a slashing motion across his throat for emphasis.

Severus wanted to swat him one.

To his astonishment, Augusta fell for his conniving son's antics. "Kill the puppy? But that's . . .that's inhumane!"

"Then you don't want me to go and dump him in the snow, Gran?" asked Neville tearfully. The puppy was licking his face and whimpering.

"I most certainly do not!" she cried. "What do you think I am . . .a murderer?" she sputtered.

"Then . . .can I keep him?"

"I . . . well . . .I suppose . . .if you promise me on your Name and wizard honor that you will clean up and feed and walk this nuisance without me telling you, then he can stay. But if he chews so much as a thread of my Arabian carpet, or eats a leg of my furniture . . .both you and the dratted animal will be in the doghouse, all right. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Gran." Neville said, then he jumped up and hugged her, and the puppy followed, jumping into Augusta's lap and washing her face.

"Ugh! Little nuisance! Humph!" She frowned at the puppy, then began to pet it. "Nothing but mischief and mayhem, you are!" The crup wagged his tail.

"Hey, that's a good name for him, Gran." Neville said.

"What is?"

"Trouble."

Augustus began to chuckle. 

His former student glared at him, then threw a doily at him. 

The puppy barked and wagged his tail, liking his new name.

Harry got the leash he had bought out of his coat pocket and handed it to Neville. "Here, Nev. Let's take him outside."

"Okay. Come on, Trouble," Neville put the leash on the pup's collar and they raced outside together.

"Augusta, if you want, we can bring the dog back . . ." Severus offered.

"Never mind, Severus. Dog's bonded to Neville now, wouldn't be right to separate them.  Besides, as your grandfather said, Nev does need a companion around here. It must get lonely just being around us old folks . . .maybe this will help him become more . . .confident."

"I still can't believe Harry went behind my back like that," Severus sighed.

"He's a Slytherin, all right," Augustus remarked.  "Too clever for his own good."

Severus rolled his eyes.  He would discuss this further with his son when they returned home. For now he figured he had better have some more wine. 

* * * * * *

Christmas came and went without mishap at Foxfire Hall, except for the amusing habit of the familiars, namely Valeska and Calin, getting their masters their own version of gifts. Valeska gave Severus a freshly killed rabbit, bringing it to him along with the morning paper on Christmas morning, and Calin gave Harry a nice large rat, putting it beside his shoe.  Mystic, who was too old to hunt anymore, brought Augustus a dead koi from the fishpond. 

Though they were less than delighted with the "gifts", the wizards made sure to praise their familiars for their effort. Then they gave the dead animals to Hotspur to dispose of.  The elf quickly cut up the hare and the koi and saved them for treats for the animals, the rat he tossed upon the rubbish heap. 

Harry spent extra time playing with his cat that day as her present, feeding her treats and combing her and putting a big green bow on her. He also brushed and fed Mystic, who appreciated the attention, but left off the bow, for the old tom would never stand for such frippery. Valeska received treats as well, though the proud falcon groomed herself and Severus spent two hours out with her, watching her hunt ducks and pheasant, which they later ate for dinner the following week. Valeska was trained to come to both the lure and a special whistle Severus had made for her, and she never failed to come in when he summoned her. The bond between them was strong, and Severus rarely feared she would go rogue and fly from him. 

The night after Christmas, Harry ate too many sweets and rather than wake Severus with his stomachache, decided to get his own Stomach Soother. He crept into Severus' bathroom, located the medicine cabinet, and found the Extra-Strength Stomach Soother. He didn't bother reading the instructions upon the vial. Little did he know that an improper dose could make a person have vivid dreams, especially a child like Harry.

He carefully measured out two spoonfuls, which was the normal dose for a regular vial of Stomach Soother. The potion tasted sort of like peppermint and strawberry, not a great combination, but it worked almost instantly. He quickly shoved the vial back into the cabinet when he heard Severus cough in his sleep, beating a hasty retreat back to his room. 

He then crawled under the covers, putting his feet next to the warm bulk of his calico cat, and fell asleep. 

Only to wake screaming in terror some fifteen minutes later. He had dreamed he was locked in a dark box and couldn't get out and was slowly sinking or drowning in icy water. The dream was so vivid that he couldn't stop shaking and crying, even when Calin crawled into his lap and purred, her paws wrapped about his neck in a cat hug.

His screams brought Severus at a run, his wand out. "Harry? What's wrong?"

He burst into his son's room expecting to find something threatening him, like a boggart, for there was still one that lived in the attic, but instead he found his son shivering and weeping into his calico's fur. "Harry? What is it? A nightmare?"

His son nodded, his face still hidden by orange, black, and white fur. Calin purred loudly. 

Severus sat down next to him on the bed, ignoring the mess of chocolate wrappers and Quidditch pre-game magazine stats scattered on the floor. "Want to talk to me about it?" he asked, rubbing Harry's back gently. "Must have been a pretty bad one."  Harry used to have nightmares way back when they first came to Foxfire Hall, but he rarely had them now. 

After a few minutes, Harry dragged his face up and used his sleeve to wipe away the tears. He sniffed, his nose had begun to drip as well.

Severus caught his sleeve before he could use it. "Do not do that. Use this," he handed his son a handkerchief he had found in Harry's nightstand. After Harry had blown his nose, he asked again, "Would you like to tell me what you dreamed?"

Harry looked down at his cat, who had settled in his lap, and began to stroke her. "It was . . .I was in a box, it was dark and I was sinking into some icy water . . .I could feel the water coming inside and filling up the box, I was cold and I knew I was going to die . . ."

Severus hugged him gently.  "That wasn't real.  Just your mind playing tricks on you. You know that, don't you?"

Harry nodded, his face against Severus' shoulder. It felt good to listen to the other's heartbeat.  "I know. Sorry I woke you. I didn't mean to."

"You can wake me anytime, son. For whatever reason." Severus told him, nudging a chocolate bar wrapper with his foot.  "I'm not surprised you had a nightmare after looking at how much sweets you ate. Did you eat your entire stocking full, you foolish boy?"

"Err . . .no.  Not quite."

"From what I see here, I'm surprised you don't have a raging stomachache as well."

Harry shifted uneasily. Why did his papa always have to be so observant? He could never get away with anything!

Severus was giving him a pointed Look. "Harry, do you have a stomachache?"

"No," Harry said, pulling away.

"Harry, tell me the truth. No playing the hero."

"I don't. . . .Not anymore."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Harry winced. Severus was giving him his confess-right-now-young-man look and Harry had never been able to withstand that particular glance.  "I . . .err . . .took a potion before for it."

"A potion? Where did you get it?"

"From your cabinet in the bathroom. I took the . . .Extra Strength Stomach Soother." Harry admitted.

"How much?" Severus demanded angrily.

Harry told him.

"Henry Snape, how many times have I told you never take a potion without asking me? That dose was too strong, it ended up giving you nightmares."

"But it's a Stomach Soother. How could it do that?"

"It's a side effect I haven't been able to get rid of, and in children under twelve it will cause nightmares unless the proper dosage is taken. You could have made yourself worse taking that without knowing what you were doing. Why the blazes didn't you wake me?"

"I . . .I didn't want to make you get up," Harry began, guiltily.  "It wasn't that bad."

"No? Bad enough for you to take a potion to feel better," Severus pointed out.

"I just couldn't sleep," Harry muttered, now feeling very stupid. He really did know better. "I . . .forgot to read the warnings on the vial."

Severus shook his head. "Merlin save me from children who think they know it all." He put a finger under Harry's chin. "Look at me.  Next time you have some kind of sickness, no matter what it is, you come to me first. You do not, under any circumstances, attempt to dose yourself. I don't care what is wrong with you, if you have an upset stomach or diarrhea or constipation, whatever, you come to me or call me, am I understood?"

"Yes, sir." He flushed red at the mere thought of telling Severus he had any kind of problem like that.

"Good. Because I'm locking the potions cabinet the way I used to when you were small, since I can't trust you to use the brains you were born with," Severus said sternly.

Harry gaped at him. "No, Papa, don't do that! I'm not a ruddy baby."

"Too late. It's already done." Severus waved his wand. "Lie down and close your eyes.  I'd give you Dreamless Sleep, but since this is a potion-generated side effect I can't do that, so you'll have to go back to sleep the ordinary way."

"Can I have some warm milk with honey?" Harry whined, still smarting from the scolding.

"Warm milk yes, with a few drops of honey," Severus acquiesced. He summoned Lina and she brought the milk for him.

Harry drank it, feeling somewhat better. Then he lay down and Severus tucked him in, placing Calin beside him.  He turned over, and felt a familiar hand patting his back, which was how Severus used to get him to fall asleep when he was small.

"Close your eyes," the deep voice ordered. "I'll keep watch, never fear."

Harry obeyed, knowing no nightmare would disturb him so long as his father kept watch.  It wouldn't dare.

Severus stayed until Harry was sleeping soundly, then he left to return to his own room and catch up on his own lost sleep. His watch read 11:35.

Little did he know he would be experiencing his own gut-wrenching nightmare that night. He woke panting and gasping, the pillow between his teeth to muffle his own scream of rage and terror.  It was a few moments before he could breathe normally again. He had not had a nightmare like that in years, not since he had left Hogwarts and the pressure put upon him by Lucius Malfoy and others of his ilk to join the Death Eaters.

In it had heard the maniacal laughter of Voldemort and the dark wizard had taunted him, saying that it was too late, that he had found Harry Potter after all and now he would finish him off the way he had James and Lily.  Severus had been helpless, his magic refused to work and he had been forced to watch as Voldemort killed both his beloved son and his grandfather. Then Voldemort had made him a slave, forced to live with the terrible knowledge that he could not save his family and all his years of hiding Harry away was for naught.

Severus sat up, casting a Warming charm upon himself to banish the chill.  Must be the night for bad dreams. He looked at his watch. It now read 2:00 AM.  He tried for ten minutes to fall asleep, but the nightmare haunted him despite all his attempts at meditation. Finally, he threw off the covers and decided to use more conventional means of ridding himself of the damned dream.

He was going to get a glass of red wine.

He checked once more upon Harry, who was still asleep, snoring softly, and then he padded downstairs to the drawing room, where Augustus kept the wine cabinet.  To his utter shock he found he wasn't the only occupant of Foxfire Hall awake at this hour.

Augustus was sitting in his favorite recliner in front of the fire, a half-full glass of firewhiskey clutched in his hand.  He was staring into the fire, his face a study in misery.

"You too, Grandfather?" Severus murmured.  What was in the gravy tonight that made us all have nightmares this way? Well, Harry's was potion induced, but I can't claim that for mine or Grandfather's. He moved to the wine cabinet, unlocked it with a soft word, and took out an aged Merlot.  He poured himself a glassful, then corked the bottle and replaced it. "I just settled Harry down from a nightmare also a few hours ago."

Augustus nodded, still looking into the fire, clearly troubled and upset.

He went to sit in the recliner opposite Augustus, sipping the fruity Merlot slowly. Gradually, he felt his heart quit racing. 

For several long moments neither man said anything.

Finally, Augustus drank a bit more of his tumbler of whiskey and said, looking into the fire, "Sometimes the past haunts despite all we do to brush it under the rug and forget it. The memories and regrets return . . .they always return . . ."

"What . . .do you regret?" Severus asked, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Augustus sighed. "Many things.  When you reach a certain age, you start to look back and wonder what would have been if you had done things differently . . . Drusilla always claimed I was a stubborn fool for telling Eileen she was no longer welcome in my home after she married that damn bounder . . .I was angry, she wouldn't listen, claimed she loved that miserable Muggle and he loved her . . .Ha! I could tell from the moment I met him that he was looking for a pretty girl to give him easy money, that he was nothing but a slick-talking bastard."

Severus grimaced. "You don't need to tell me that."

Augustus looked up sadly. "No. I don't. I wish . . .I had swallowed my pride and told Eileen to come home.  I would have protected her and you from the scoundrel."

"Even though I was half his blood?"

Augustus coughed. "You were my blood too, boy! My only grandchild, I would have raised you like a son.  But I was too proud and so was she . . ." He shook his head. "So many mistakes that cannot be undone . . .I am sorry, Severus. I cannot make up the past . . .and that is my greatest regret of all." He took another drink.  "Tell me one thing. Did she die alone?"

"No.  I was there beside her," Severus answered. "She died with all the family she had then."

"He was not there?"

"No. He was in jail," Severus said bitterly. "I put him there. Filed a report of abuse and aggravated assault. He went after me when I came home after finishing school, you see. Tried to break my head with a cricket bat. I used my magic and knocked him into a damn wall.  He came up swinging, hit me once, and then I slammed him a good one and knocked him out.  Then I called the police and he was arrested. Mum and I both testified as witnesses, and I used a Silvertongue Charm to speed up the legal process so he was put away with a speedy trial, instead of letting it drag on for months.  Then we were free and could finally have a decent life."

"Until she took sick."

"Yes.  A year later. Only a year." Severus recalled sorrowfully.  "But we enjoyed that year.  I think she started to get sick before that, but didn't want to let me know.  The letter she wrote was dated a year before she passed.  And Grandfather, she didn't die resenting you.  She wasn't that kind of person."

 "No," his grandfather agreed softly.  "She was like her mother that way. And unlike me." He stared at the rest of the whiskey, then tossed the remainder into the fire. The fire blazed up in colorful flames before dying back down. "Doesn't help any," he muttered. "What brings you down here at this hour, Severus?"

"A nightmare," Severus replied, figuring if his grandfather could admit to what was haunting him, he should be able to also.

"Mmm . . .must have been a terrible one for you to resort to that," he jerked his head at Severus' glass, which was half full.

"I dreamed of Voldemort . . ." Severus admitted quietly, finally able to say the name without the customary hesitation.  "He . . .killed Harry and you . . .because I wouldn't join him . . .and because Harry was . . .his enemy."

"A mere child . . .the enemy of the most evil wizard of our time?" Augustus said softly.  "How very strange. One would think Albus Dumbledore, the self-proclaimed greatest wizard in the world," here Augustus' tone grew sarcastic, "would be more likely to rouse Voldemort."

Severus sensed the older wizard was probing for answers and for a moment he resisted.  Then he met the other's eyes, and saw that Augustus already guessed the truth. There was no point in hiding the truth anymore. He was sick of carrying the burden.  The elder Prince had been speaking of regrets and forgiveness a moment ago.  Well, then, he would see how much Augustus meant those words.

 "True. But the boy is more than he seems.  He is the Boy Who Lived."

"Harry Potter."

"Yes."

"And your son as well?"

Severus was startled. What was it with everyone assuming he would encourage a wife to cheat on her husband? Even if he thought she made a mistake in marrying the git.  "No, Grandfather. I have never had an affair with Lily Potter. In or out of school. I . . .loved her.  But she never loved me. At least not enough for her to put aside the prejudice of her House and trust me when I said I would never follow the dark path."

"She chose the Gryffindor James Potter over you," Augustus stated, finally understanding the depth of his grandson's anguish.  The rejection of the only woman you had ever loved hurt worse than outright hatred. 

"Yes. I never understood it and I never agreed with it, but there you have it. She left me and I walked away and became what I was born to be-a Potions Master."

"You never saw her again?"

"No. I was far too busy with the Academy and even if I had time to socialize, she was another man's wife, Grandfather.  I might have been poor as a church mouse, but I still had my pride.  I would not stoop to taking her to my bed, she was not free and it would have been wrong, I am no lecher."

"So the boy is not yours?"

"Not mine by blood, no.  But he is my son here," Severus tapped his chest emphatically.  "Shall I tell you how he came to be so?"

"Yes, but first I wish you to answer a question." Augustus said and his voice turned suddenly hard. "Why did you hide this from me all those years? Why did you not tell me straight off, Severus Tobias Snape?"

Severus found him flushing as if he were Harry's age at the rebuke.  "I . . .I thought it best if you thought Harry was my son . . .because you were pureblood and Mum always told me that blood was the most important thing to an old House."

Augustus scowled. "You thought I would condemn an innocent child because he was not related to me?"

"At first I did."

"Damn you for an addlepated fool, Severus! Do I look like Albus Dumbledore to you? Do I?"

"No, sir. I am sorry. I misjudged you."

"Humph! Misjudged, aye, you did. I would never have done what that fool lion did and left a baby upon the doorstep of Muggles.  He didn't even bother asking if they wanted him or if they could afford another mouth to feed. Stupidity!"

"He assumed they would take him in. Petunia was Lily's sister."

"Assumed! Pah! You don't assume, not in a case like that! Even a child knows better.  You get your facts straight and you ask.  That was the coot's first mistake."

Severus's mouth twitched at hearing Augustus refer to Dumbledore as a "coot", when he himself could have borne the same label.  "I think he paid them money for Harry's upkeep."

"Oh, yes, money solves all," Augustus sneered. "And did he put a spell on them to make certain they used the money for the boy and not frittered it all away on themselves? No, of course not.  Because bloody Gryffindors assume everyone is honest and aboveboard, and don't put themselves first and foremost.  They think Muggles have the same code of honor as an Old Family.  Ha! People aren't like that. Most people put themselves first and devil take everyone else.  Especially people with a poor relation dumped upon their doorstep." Augustus shook his head in disgust.  "Merlin save me from delusional Gryffindors with dreams of grandeur. Someone should have given Dumbledore a good knock on the head, maybe it might have brought him into reality.  What happened?"

Severus sighed in relief that Augustus' temper was turned away from him for the moment. "As near as I can figure it, they decided after two months that they didn't want him, and instead of contacting anyone from our world they . . .went and dumped him into a manger in a nativity scene in St. Paul's church.  On Christmas Eve. Left him like a sack of groceries, in a shabby blanket on the coldest night of the year.  That was where I found him, Grandfather. In the manger, screaming his lungs out."

"Blessed Merlin! They left him to die!"

"Aye, they did, the bastards.  I followed a star and found him, I was barely making ends meet myself, but I couldn't just leave him there. I took him home to my flat, he was sick with a bad intestinal virus, had me up all night . . ." Severus related the story of that long ago Christmas Eve and morning and how he had suspected the boy had been neglected and abused by his relatives.

"I was desperate. I recognized him from his picture in the paper, and I knew that Lily would have wanted me to look after him, but I dared not let anyone know who I had taken in.  Dumbledore would have taken him from me, he wouldn't have wanted the Boy Who Lived to be raised by a destitute Slytherin Potions Master. And I couldn't allow that . . .he had been hurt enough already by his so-called relatives and I . . .I loved him."

"I can see that. Then you came to me, and thought I was like all those fool stuck-up pureblood jackasses-the Blacks and the Malfoys."

"Yes."

"But after you moved in . . .why did you still keep the truth from me, Severus?" he asked, hurt now evident in his tone.  "Surely you could tell I was not like them, that I loved the child myself.  Why didn't you trust me, damn it? I would have never thrown you out."

Severus hung his head. "I . . .don't know.  I was afraid . . .and it just seemed easier to . . .keep on the way I had begun . . .I am sorry . . .I should have told you long ago . . ."

"You should have," Augustus said sharply.  "Idiot!" he reached over and cuffed the younger man on the ear.  "Did you really think you could fool me for so long? I might be old, but I'm not senile. I suspected for years that the boy was Harry Potter."

"You never said anything . . .why?"

"Because I didn't wish to treat my own grandson like a suspect. I wanted you to come to me of your own accord.  I never thought it would take so long. I suppose you've inherited my stubbornness as well."

"Yes, sir." Severus lifted his head and looked the other in the eye.

Augustus gave him a lopsided smile.  "Is that the only secret you've been keeping from me, Severus?"

"It is. I swear upon my magic and my life."

"Good. Then I can forgive you and we can get on with our lives," Augustus said bluntly. "And you can forgive yourself too and quit wallowing in guilt, Mr. Snape, or do I need to smack some sense into your stubborn skull as well as my own?"

Severus allowed himself to smile a little at that. Augustus understood! He hadn't lost his temper and thrown him out. Relief flowed through him in a vast wave. "No, Grandfather. I'll remember." He rubbed his left ear. Over a hundred or not, the old codger still had a quick hand. 

"You'd better.  Because guilt-stricken martyrs are not ones I would choose for my heir."

Severus choked on his wine. "Your . . .heir?"

"Something happen to your hearing all of a sudden?" Augustus demanded testily. "Of course you're my heir.  Besides being the last of my bloodline, you're the one I would trust with all my holdings and assets.  You've got a good head on your shoulders and know something of how the world works, enough so somebody won't fleece you.  And you're my only descendent to inherit an Elemental Mastery.  You are the only one worthy to be my heir."

Severus was speechless.  To have Augustus' forgiveness was more than enough, but he had never expected the old man to praise him like this, and as for making him the heir to the Prince holdings . . .it had always been a possibility, since he was the last descendent, but Severus had not really trusted that either.  Augustus Prince could have done whatever he wished with his fortune, there was no rule written that he had to give it to a relation.  Even if it was tradition.

Augustus grinned, happy that he had shocked his grandson speechless for once. Then he went on.  "In the event of my demise, you need to know several things."

"Demise?" Severus found his voice. "You're not-?" his throat closed, unable to get the words out.

"No. I'm not dying, not by a long shot." Augustus waved his concern off.  "But you should still be prepared for what will occur when I do pass the Veil.  First, you will feel something of my passing.  An absence . . .of my magical presence.  Second, you will receive this ring, the Prince signet." He showed Severus the heavy gold signet with the green emerald inscribed with the Prince crest.  "Only the lord or lady of Foxfire Hall wears this ring, and only their chosen heir receives it after their death.  It is the key to the manor and the estate, and the magic surrounding it. Only the lord can alter the wards and then only with the ring upon his finger. Oh, and it cannot be worn by a wizard who has embraced the dark. It will reject the wizard then and seek the next possible candidate. Third, you shall have full control of all my assets and holdings, including my vault in Gringotts. I shall spell all this out in my will as well, though the ring coming to you is incontrovertible proof that you are my chosen heir. Fourth, you shall also inherit the title Lord Prince and Lord Thornton, as fitting your station as Head of the Prince family."

"I understand, Grandfather." And I don't even want to think of you dying.  "Thank you, sir. I don't-"

"Severus Snape if you say you don't deserve it, I shall come over there and box your ears!" Augustus growled.  "I am the Lord of Foxfire Hall and I say you do. End of story. I wish that bastard who sired you were here now, I would hex him into pieces for what he did to your self-esteem. And I'd give your mother the edge of my tongue too for allowing him to do so.  Hear me now, once and for all, you are more than worthy to be my heir.  I would not trust an incompetent buffoon with my life's work."

Severus felt his heart swell to bursting. He knew Augustus Prince was a man of exacting standards and it was a great achievement to be acknowledged as worthy by him, a man he respected and loved as he never had his own father. He blinked back tears, he was so overcome.

Abruptly, the elder wizard rose and clasped his shoulder. "One last question, Severus, and then I shall seek my bed. When will you tell Henry?"

That was the one question Severus did not truly have an answer to. "I don't know."

Augustus sighed. "Are you afraid he'll hate you too?"

"Partly. And partly because I don't know how to tell a boy I've raised as my own all these years that I'm not really his father."

"But you are his father, Severus. In every way that matters save one. He is a Snape and a Prince too.  Blood is not everything. Tell him, Severus. He's old enough to understand why you did what you did. And you can always adopt him afterwards, if he consents. Then he'll be your heir."

"Yes, you're right. I'll think on it. But not tonight. I'm too muddled with wine and exhaustion. I'm glad we talked, however."

"Me too. Secrets weigh you down," the lord of Foxfire Hall said sagely. Then he yawned and said, "Well, I'm for bed. How about you?"

Severus finished the last of his Merlot. "Yes. Good night, Grandfather. You do me a great honor."

"Good night, Severus.  I give honor where honor is due, grandson." Then Augustus Apparated back up to his room, feeling better than he had in weeks. He just prayed that Harry took the news well, for it would devastate Severus if he reacted badly to it.  And something ought to be done about those Dursleys as well, they should not be allowed off for what they had done, justice needed to be visited upon them, the old Auror thought grimly.

Late July, 1991

Diagon Alley:

Harry went through his list of school items, checking each one off as he bought it. Severus had taken him now to buy some of his school things so they could avoid the mad rush that occurred in August to buy supplies. He was a week shy of his eleventh birthday, and his Hogwarts letter had arrived a few days ago, addressed to Henry Snape, Foxfire Hall, Yorkshire.

Severus had breathed a vast sigh of relief when he had seen the way the letter was addressed. Apparently, the school still sent out letters by Automatic Magical Messaging Service, and the fact that the wizarding world assumed Harry Potter dead meant that the service would not be addressing a letter to him, but to Henry Snape, since that was how the boy thought of himself. Severus had no doubt that of he went down to the Ministry Archives now and looked in the Hogwarts Registry, he would find Harry Potter’s name marked as “missing, presumed deceased” and Henry Snape beneath it.

He still had not revealed Harry’s parentage to him. It was something that preyed upon him daily, but he could not bring himself to destroy the boy’s sense of self just yet. He wished Harry to go to school feeling confident and happy, not experiencing an identity crisis. He had made a promise to himself that he would tell Harry over Christmas break, once the holiday rush was done. And if Harry took the news well, he also intended to legally adopt the boy in the wizarding way and make him the titular secondary heir to Foxfire Hall as well. He was glad Augustus didn’t needle him over it, the old man seemed content to allow Severus to make his own decision regarding it, though Severus knew Augustus would have revealed the secret to Harry months ago.

But for now, he was taking his overeager son shopping for some of his supplies in advance. They had already ordered robes for school, as well as more clothes for everyday wear and robes and pajamas and shoes as well, one pair of dress and three for all day wear, trainers, and two pairs of boots, plus undergarments. Harry was happy to have the tedious clothes part of the trip done with, now he could concentrate on the important things, like books, cauldrons, potion ingredients, and wands.

He had gotten a superb broom as an early birthday present from his grandfather, it was a new model from America, the Phoenix Starfire 2000, and it was a pro Quidditch racing broom, though the safety charms on it prevented Harry from using it at its full speed just yet. It could fly at over 140 mph, but the charms would only permit it to do 110, which was plenty fast enough for a school Quidditch match, Severus had declared. Harry disagreed, though he’d never flown a broom that did more than 60, but Severus remained firm. And Augustus backed him, so Harry quit wishing he could undo the charms himself and just accepted the fact that he had to wait until third year for the safety charms to be removed. He knew he was lucky his father had allowed Augustus to get him an adult broom at all, much less the fine model he had, and his only regret was that he could not take the broom to school.

“First years aren’t allowed to play Quidditch anyway, so there’s no use in you bringing your own broom,” Severus had told him. “The school supplies brooms for flying practice and this way you don’t have to worry about someone trying to steal it.”

Harry understood, but it still bugged him that he couldn’t take his Phoenix with him and show Draco Malfoy the awesome broom he had. Neville and Blaise had both seen it and he had even let them go up a time or two. Still, he was too excited at the prospect of finally starting school to let anything bother him for long.

“What are we down to?” asked Severus, having shrunken the packages of clothes so they fit snugly in his pockets and Harry’s.

“Uh . . .books and potion ingredients,” Harry answered. He looked slyly at his father. “You want to go and get the ingredients at Slug and Jiggers and I’ll get the books at Flourish and Blotts? So you can chat up Miss Miska again and let her take your picture, Papa?”

Severus pretended to frown severely at his impudent son. “What are you implying, Mr. Snape?”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkled outrageously. “Nothing. Except that maybe you ought to ask her out . . .to lunch or maybe invite her over to the manor when I’m away at school. So you can get to know her better and I don’t have to be around to see you act all mushy and stuff.”

Severus nearly choked upon his bottle of butterbeer. He had been drinking it as they shopped. “What are you up to, Henry Snape? Matchmaking at nearly eleven years old?”

“Well, somebody has to do it,” his son replied impishly. “I mean, you’re not getting any younger, Papa, and you need to start looking for a suitable wife and Miss Miska’s been after you for years, she always asks about you when I go into the shop and she’s probably wallpapered her bedroom with your pictures, she’s taken so many over the years. I’ll bet you five Galleons that if you asked her out she would faint dead away . . .then wake up and start jumping for joy. She really has a thing for you.”

“Henry Snape!” Severus was both astonished and irritated. “I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my personal life . . .I do not need my almost eleven-year-old son arranging dates for me, for Merlin’s sake!”

“But Papa . . .she’ll be good for you. Grandpa says you need to get out more.”

Severus turned red. “The two of you are worse than ten witches reading Rita Skeeeter’s gossip column!”

“Don’t you like her, Papa? I think she’s cute . . .for an older woman.” Harry teased.

“Miss Miska is a fine looking witch,” Severus admitted.

“Then why don’t you date her?”

“Because right now you are my priority, Harry. Later, when you’re at school, we’ll see.” Severus said. “I’ll go get the potions ingredients while you pick up the books. Charge it to the Prince account.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed. He loved going into the bookstore. “Umm . . .can I buy some books for myself that aren’t on the syllabus?” He knew this was one area where Severus never refused him, because the older wizard wished to encourage his love of the written word.

“No more than five, do you hear?” Severus told him, knowing if he didn’t set a limit, Harry was likely to buy half the Recreational Sports and Magical Fiction and Mystery section.

“Okay, Papa. Have fun talking to Sandra,” he called, then he bolted away before Severus could give him a playful smack for being so insufferably impudent.

Severus shook his head, then turned to begin walking towards the apothecary. He had known for years that Sandra Miska “had a thing” for him as Harry put it, but he simply had felt he couldn’t engage in a relationship with any woman while raising Harry, he did not want to get a third party involved in his “Great Deception”, and he couldn’t have a relationship with a witch unless he could be honest with her. Oh what a tangled web we weave when we first practice to deceive, he thought ruefully. Walter Scott, you were a wise man. And too damned right. I’ve built Harry’s life around this lie and I just hope that when he knows the truth, it doesn’t all come tumbling down like a house of cards.

Still, his son was amusing in his persistence and Severus enjoyed sparring with him, there were times Harry reminded him a bit of himself at that age, though without the cynicism and wariness. At least he had spared Harry that, he would not have wanted his worst enemy to live his childhood. Or much of his adolescence either. If nothing else, I gave him the childhood he would have had if Lily and James had not died.

He was so intent upon his own musings that when he reached Slug and Jiggers, he didn’t notice that Sandra was speaking to an old acquaintance of his until he had already entered the shop, and by then Amos Smithers had looked up and saw him. For one instant Severus stiffened, the old dislike flaring within him, and he was tempted to turn about and walk out, for the last thing he needed was Smithers giving him an attitude.

To his surprise, the scarecrow-like apothecary looked uncomfortable as hell. As uncomfortable as Sandra was welcoming. He coughed and looked away, not saying anything.

Severus stood like a nitwit in the doorway until Sandra beamed at him excitedly. “Severus, do come in! I was just telling Amos here about that new potion you invented, the Allergy Suppressant Solution. It’s done wonders for me during the summer, I’m allergic to dust and am always sneezing . . .”

Severus took a few steps into the shop, giving his old boss a brief nod. “Mr. Smithers.”

“Snape,” Smithers said in that familiar raspy tone. “Looks like you made quite a name for yourself since leaving my employment.”

“Severus is brilliant!” Sandra gushed before Severus could reply. Then she looked at Smithers. “You never told me you had Severus working for you, Amos.”

Now Smithers looked even more uncomfortable, as if he had swallowed a Bitter Tears Draft. “Wasn’t much to tell,” he mumbled. “He only worked for me six months or so.”

And during that time you made my life hell, Severus recalled.

“But I’ll bet he was the best potion maker you had,” Sandra stated.

Severus opened his mouth to tell the apothecary why he had come, when Smithers actually responded to the lovestruck woman’s comment.

“He was.”

Severus fought to keep from gaping. Had the world turned upside down? Had he really heard Smithers give him a compliment? Skinflint Amos Scarecrow Smithers who never had good to say about anyone, and especially not his former employees?

Smithers looked at the younger potion maker then and said, very softly, “Never tol’ you that, Snape, but it’s true. Knew you outclassed me the first time you brewed a batch of Memory Restorative. That’s part o’ the reason I was so hard on you, I wanted to make sure you worked up to your potential and didn’t become lazy.”

“Lazy!” Severus snapped. “That would have been impossible, the way you worked all of us like dogs.”

Smithers stiffened. “It was the way I was taught.” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. Did your boy tell you what he’s been up to around the holidays? Did he tell you about the . . .Christmas presents?”

Severus nodded. “He did. If you wish me to tell him to stop, I shall. I would imagine you find him a nuisance, giving you gifts you don’t want or need.”

“No. I . . .don’t mind. He reminds me of . . .my son Will. He was your boy’s age, just ten, when the fire took him and his baby sister Amalie from me.” There was an odd look in the apothecary’s face as he said that.

It took Severus a moment to recognize it and then he saw that it was pain. An old pain, buried deep, now resurfacing. “My condolences on your loss,” he said automatically.

“It was a long time ago. I just . . .wanted you to tell him thank you from me. I had forgotten . . .the good about the holiday till your son gave me a present.”

“Harry’s such a sweet thoughtful boy,” said Sandra.

Severus felt proud then. “Yes, he can be when he wishes to.” He looked at Smithers. “I shall tell him you said thank you.”

“Much obliged, Snape.”

“Amos, maybe you ought to get yourself a little apprentice,” Sandra began. “Someone to keep you company in that old creaky house of yours. There are plenty of orphans to adopt over at Angel Haven.”

Smithers stared at her as if she had just said Voldemort danced the polka in women’s underpants. “Are you daft, woman? Me, adopt a child? Children are scared to death of me! And I have no patience to raise a brat anymore. Back when I was young . . .before the bloody fire . . .but not now . . .As for company, I have myself and my books and my old owl. I don’t need anything else.”

Undeterred by his dismissal, Sandra continued, “Really, Amos. Being a hermit has made you forget the good things in life. A child would remind you of them, like Harry has.”

Smithers snorted. “You’re barmy, Miska. What child would ever choose to live with me? Who in their right mind would allow it either? Leave off with that fool’s notion and go and grind up some ingredients or something. Good day.”

And with that, he swept out of the shop.

“Well, I think I riled him up some,” said Sandra, sounding pleased.

Severus gave her a searching glance. “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course. Amos needs to start feeling something else besides bitterness and hate. Your son helped me see that when he gave Amos a gift. Now I do it too, and he grumbles and threatens to return it or throw it away, but he never does. He thinks if he pretends to hate people, he’ll forget the way it was before, when his family was alive. He thinks that by shutting out the world, he’ll shut out the memories too. But he’s wrong.”

“Some memories remain, despite all you do to banish them,” Severus agreed. Suddenly he had a very sneaky idea. “Maybe I should ask my grandfather to write him. He experienced a similar loss and behaved like a hermit for years until Harry and I came to live with him. Perhaps he can help Smithers rejoin the rest of the world.”

Sandra laughed delightedly. “Smithers get a letter from Lord Prince? Oh, but he’d keel over!” She leaned on the counter, her eyes merry. “What do you need today, Severus.”

He handed her the list of ingredients he had compiled based on the Hogwarts curriculum, which he doubted had changed any since he had attended. “These are for Harry for school, I know the potions professor will supply the students with ingredients from the school stores, but I prefer to get Harry fresh ones, at least for the first term. And don’t you dare discount these, Sandra Miska. You’re undercutting your profits!” He waved a finger scoldingly at her.

“Discount? Why, Mr. Snape, I’m not giving you a discount, because I got these on sale, sir,” she answered, smirking. Then she went to fill his order, leaving a very bemused Potions Master staring after her.

* * * * * * *

Harry met up with Severus outside the apothecary, his arms laden with books.

“Got everything?”

“Yes, Papa. And I only got four books for me,” Harry said, then he sighed in relief as Severus cast a Shrinking Charm and he could put the books away in his pocket. “Now can we go to Ollivanders?”

“Yes, and then we shall have lunch,” Severus said. He had saved the wand choosing for last because if he had done it earlier, Harry wouldn’t have been able to stand going into all the other stores. “I’ve ordered the parchment and inks and quills to be sent to the house, so we won’t need to stop at the stationary shop.”

“Thanks, Papa.” Harry’s eyes fairly glowed as he ran down the street.

Ollivander greeted them warmly, he was quite pleased to see Harry as a customer this time instead of a caroler. “Welcome, Harry Snape! All ready for school? Good. Now, step over here and we’ll see what wand chooses you.”

Harry’s brow wrinkled. “But I thought we got to pick our own wand.”

“Well, Mr. Snape, sometimes the wand chooses the wizard,” Ollivander said mysteriously. “Your father’s did. Went through almost every wand in my shop before one chose him. And it was one that my grandfather had made way back when. Thirteen and a half inches, heart of ebony with a sea dragon scale core. Great for defense and for all enchantments involving water, especially potions.”

“Papa’s a Water Master,” Harry declared proudly.

“So he is, and that’s what the wand knew that I didn’t.” Ollivander said, smiling. Then he began taking boxes down from the shelf.

Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted a wand to choose him quickly or not, but after almost thirty wands, he just wanted one to pick him, of whatever variety. He began to fear that he was a fluke and no wand would choose him. He looked up at Severus with panicked eyes. “Papa . . .”

Severus came and put his hands on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Harry. One will be found that’s right for you. Stop fretting. Every wand here is unique, and you’re a strong wizard, so it must be as well.” He scanned the shelves and spotted a box sitting all the way on top of the last shelf, it looked dusty and untouched. “What about that one?”

Ollivander summoned it down. “Ah. This is the last wand made by my father. It was the best one and the most difficult, he said, and after it he never made another, for this, he said, was his magnum opus—his great work.” He opened the box reverently. Inside was a gleaming spiral wand of a dark wood with a lighter creamy reddish wood handle. “Holly and elder, twelve inches, with a core given to him by a celestial dragon—a single tear, encapsulated in a diamond. We called it the Dragon’s Tear and it has never known a master. This wand, he said, was meant for one who would change the world with his magic.” Ollivander gazed at the small wizard in front of him. “Take it up, Mr. Snape.”

Hesitantly, Harry’s hand curled about the wand. The wood felt warm to the touch. Cautiously, he waved it.

Silver, green, and gold sparks erupted from it and half the boxes on the shelves flew off and whirled madly overhead for an instant before settling down.

Harry nearly dropped the wand, he was so startled. None of the others had ever reacted like that. “I’m sorry!” he apologized. He started to put the wand back.

“No, young Snape! Don’t apologize. Finally the Dragon’s Tear has chosen its master!” Ollivander was grinning from ear to ear. “You shall do great things with this wand.”

“I will?” he stared at the wand in awe. It felt so right in his hand, warm and eager to be used. He began to smile too. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Only time will tell.” The old wandmaker said.

Severus hugged him. “You see, Harry? Nothing to worry about.” He told his son, but he was uneasy. Of all the wands, that one had chosen Harry. Did it mean that the blasted prophecy was right? Was his child destined to fight bloody Voldemort after all? Severus had never believed in the half-baked prophecy Dumbledore touted. Mad wizards were meant to be fought by trained adults, not children, no matter how magically talented. My son will not be a pawn of prophecy! He’ll have to find some other way to change the world. “Put it away, son. You can play with it later, when we’re home.”

Reluctantly, Harry obeyed, sliding the wand back into its velvet-lined box.

Severus looked expectantly at Ollivander. “How much for it?” He expected the price to be very high, considering.

But the wandseller shook his head. “No charge.”

“What? You cannot be serious!”

“I am, Potions Master Snape. For that was the one condition the dragon set when he gave the tear to my father. He said, when the wand finds its master, it must be given freely, and no profit made or else the magic within shall be void. So. For over a century that wand has been here, waiting. Now it goes home. May it serve you well, Harry Snape.”

Severus stared at the old wizard for a long moment before realizing that he was deadly serious. Then he gave a brief nod. “Thank you, sir. Good day. Come along, Harry, you must be starving.” He gently ushered his son from the shop.

Now that the nerve-wracking wand choosing was over, Harry heard his stomach growling loudly. He grinned up at his father as they headed over to the nearest café to grab a bite to eat. Now he was a real wizard, with a wand that could change the world, whatever that meant.

Augustus was also both proud and uneasy when he learned of the wand’s choice. But he did not think it referred to the prophecy. He thought it meant something more, but what that something was he did not know.

“When will you tell him, Severus?” he asked for the second time since that night seven months before.

“At Christmas,” answered his grandson.

“Fitting, I suppose, since the greatest change of both your lives came upon that day,” said the lord of Foxfire Hall, and then he followed Severus from his study and down to supper.

* * * * * *

September 1st, 1991

Platform 9 3/4

Kings Cross Station:

Severus knelt and placed his hands upon the shoulders of his excited and nervous son. “Remember that you are to comport yourself with decorum and dignity, Henry Snape, and try your hardest to not break any school rules. They are there for your safety, as mine are at home, and I expect you to follow them. I do not want to receive a letter informing me that you were caught sledding down the roof or catapulting from your broom into the lake, or dueling another student in the corridors, am I understood? Or else—”

“—or else you’ll ground me for life and wallop me with my broken broomstick, I know.” Harry finished.

“Don’t exaggerate, imp. I never said anything about walloping you,” Severus ruffled his hair.

“Grandpa did.”

“He was exaggerating. Just study hard and don’t talk back to your professors and make me proud. I know you can. And if you ever need anything, write to me and I will send you whatever you need, pocket money, more supplies, your favorite books, Professor Hush-a-bye . . .”

“Papa!” Harry was scandalized. “I’m too old to play with him.”

Severus smirked. “Oh? And are you “too old”, Mr. Snape, to hug your father goodbye?”

In answer, Harry threw his arms around his neck. He would never be too old for that.

Severus’ arms came about him and squeezed him tight. Harry buried his nose in his father’s robe and breathed in the familiar scents of spices and peppermint and sandalwood, all those things that meant his papa and home and he clung to the other as he realized this was the last time he would see his father until Christmas break.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Me too. If you get homesick the first night, don’t feel ashamed. It happens to everyone. Hug Calin, she’ll make you feel better.” Severus told him. Except for him, since being at school had been far better than being at home. Though he had missed his mother. “I’ve given you a few potions, standard ones, in case you get sick and don’t want to go to the infirmary. Things for colds and upset stomachs and so forth. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to send Valeska back home.”

“I won’t. And thanks for letting me borrow her, Papa.” Harry said, his face still muffled by Snape’s shoulder. Then he recalled where he was and quickly pulled away. He hoped no one had been watching. But no, all the other students were going through the same version of farewell and no one had been paying particular attention to him.

“Make sure you fly her every other day and take good care of her, I’ve written you a note to give to your Head of House requesting that she stay in your room with you, since she isn’t comfortable among too many owls. It’s in your first day of school folder.”

“I know.” Harry rolled his eyes. Only his father would bother making up folders for his first week of school, like a professor, he was so bloody organized! “Papa, what House do you think I’ll be Sorted into?”

“Well, Harry, I don’t know. The Sorting Hat will place you as it sees fit, but remember, it’s not what House you’re in that matters, but how well you do in your subjects. That’s what’s important. I’ll be happy whether you’re a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff.”

“What about Gryffindor?”

“Harry, there’s nothing wrong with Gryffindor. Your mother was from that House and I loved her dearly.”

“Okay,” Harry was relieved. He had been a little worried. But only a little. Still, he’d prefer to be in Slytherin rather than anywhere else. He understood Slytherins, having been raised by two of them. “I’ll behave. I don’t want to have my new broom burned to cinders.”

“You’d better,” Severus warned. “The holidays will be here before you know it. I love you, son.” He hugged his child again.

“Love you too,” Harry murmured before squirming free.

“Go on, son. Blaise and Neville are waiting for you,” Severus rose and pointed towards the front of the platform, where Blaise was being hugged and kissed by his mama and Neville given a hug as well from Gran Augusta and a friendly cuff from Uncle Algie.

Harry turned, grabbed Valeska’s cage and Calin’s carrier, his trunk floating behind him, and raced off to meet his friends. “Bye, Papa! See you at Christmas!”

Severus watched as his son and friends boarded the Hogwarts Express. He brushed away an irritating tear and then forced himself to watch until the train pulled away. For the first time in years, he dreaded the coming holidays. For this Christmas, everything would change, and the son who had hugged him so tightly today might hate him then. Troubled, he turned away and Apparated back to Prince Labs, hoping work might ease his burden and the hollow space in his heart made when his son left for school.

* * * * * *

In the middle of the night, Valeska flew over to Foxfire Hall with a letter. It was addressed to Severus Snape, Potions Master, Foxfire Hall Yorkshire.

After feeding and stroking his falcon, Severus opened the letter eagerly and began to read. Some of the letters were a bit smudged and there were a few ink blots upon the parchment, but Severus had long since learned to decipher his son’s eager scrawl.

Dear Papa (and Grandpa too):

I’m writing this in my dorm room, my prefect said we could have an hour to write a letter home telling our parents or whoever about the Sorting and how we’re settling in. Here I go.

The train ride was kind of boring, Blaise and Nev and I all shared a compartment, Nev actually was allowed to bring Trouble, said the Headmaster gave him special permission. He slept almost the whole ride there and so did I. Except when a girl with bushy brown hair burst into our compartment looking for a lost pet rat named Scabbers. Her name was Hermione Granger and she’s a Muggleborn. She seemed nice enough. Blaise found the rat hiding under our seat and we gave him back to Ron Weasley.

Then we invited them to come sit in the compartment with us and I bought everybody some Cauldron Cakes from the trolley when it came by. We talked a bit then I fell asleep and when I woke up we were at Hogwarts.

You never told me how big it was, Papa! It’s even bigger than home! Blaise, Nev, and I shared a boat and were rowed across by this huge man who looked like he’d taken too much Quick Growth potion. He said his name was Hagrid and he was the groundskeeper and gamewarden. I teased Blaise a little, and said not to fall over the side, and Blaise told me I’d better not either, since you weren’t there to rescue us.

On to the Sorting.

Hermione was Sorted first of our little group, because she’s a G, and she went into Ravenclaw. I wasn’t surprised. She’s their type, all brains and a bit of a know-it-all, but that’s okay. She seemed really happy to be put there.

Nev went next and guess where he ended up?

He thought he was gonna go into Gryffindor ‘cause his parents had been in there, but the Hat said he was a Hufflepuff! It was right. Neville’s hardworking and loyal and he’ll make a good badger.

Then it was my turn. I put the Hat on and it started babbling away about where to put me, it couldn’t really decide between Slytherin and Gryffindor and I gave it a little hint and it screamed, “Better be Slytherin!”

I was really glad to go there, Papa, just like you and Grandpa. My new Housemates clapped and I went over and Prefect Flint shook my hand and said “Welcome to the House of the Serpents.” Ron looked kind of shocked, ‘cause of the fact that we’re the House that LV went into also, but really, it doesn’t make us dark. My new Head of House is Professor Malfoy—Zandra Malfoy, she’s a distant cousin of Lucius. She also the Potions Mistress. I was afraid a bit of her at first, but she doesn’t act at all like her cousin.

Draco got into Slytherin too, which I wasn’t thrilled with, but you gotta take the good with the bad.

And Blaise is a Snake too! I was so happy when he got called.

Ron ended up in Gryffindor, but said we could still be friends. So now I know somebody in all four Houses.

The feast was great, it had everything, and yeah . . .I made myself eat some salad, Papa, so quit glaring. But I didn’t overeat, not even dessert.

Gotta stop now, Professor Malfoy says its time for bed.

There was a brief slash and then the letter continued upon another sheet of parchment.

Couldn’t sleep. It’s late, around twelve thirty, but I just can’t sleep, even with Calin all over my feet purring fit to wake the dead. Some of my new roommates snore and one whistles—whistles!---in his sleep and another talks gibberish and it’s keeping me awake. I tried and tried to sleep, but I can’t. I keep thinking about home, and how it’d be quiet and all I’d hear would be the night insects and purring.

The bed’s nice, but it’s not what I’m used to and it’s really hot in here with all these extra people. So I slipped out of bed and figured I’d write the rest of this letter to you. It’s hard to see with only my wand lit up under the hangings.

Damn! My ink spilled.

(large ink blot marred the page)

Tell Grandpa thanks for teaching me that Ink Returning charm, so now I don’t have ink all over me. Just the paper.

Anyway, I just sat there for a long time thinking about Foxfire Hall and wondering what you and Grandpa are doing. I know, I know, don’t wonder about the obvious—you’re sleeping. Wish I could.

I close my eyes and then I see my room and I feel better but once I open my eyes, it’s gone and I’m here. I wanted to be here, sorry, don’t mean to whine, but right now I wish I was home . . .sorry, didn’t mean to write that . . .I really like it here, the other Slytherins are cool.

I’m not homesick, Papa, not really. I just can’t sleep.

Ahh! Calin, no!

(cat pawprints all over)

Sorry, Papa. Calin just walked all over this.

I hope tomorrow will be fun, I think I have potions first and I know I’ll do well in that.

Miss you!

Love,

Your new Slytherin son,

Harry

PS: I think Valeska misses you too!

Severus set the letter aside and smiled tiredly. That makes two of us, son. I couldn’t sleep either for worrying over you, Harry. I’m glad you’re happy with your Sorting and have made friends already. I’ll write him back tomorrow and send him some of Lina’s apricot tarts as well, he loves them.

Then Severus placed the letter in the photo album he had made long ago, along with Harry’s Hogwart’s letter. The album had become more than just a photo album over the years, it was more like a scrapbook full of memories. He had a picture Lina had taken of the three Prince men standing on the porch of the manor, Harry in his new school robes, with Severus and Augustus on either side of him, and underneath Severus had written Harry’s First Day Going to Hogwarts, 1991.

Then he closed the album and went to sleep. Valeska slept on her usual perch beside the bed, she would fly back with Severus’ letter in the morning.

* * * * * *

A week later, Valeska returned with another letter.

Dear Papa:

So far all my classes are going well. I enjoy potions, herbology, and Transfiguration the best. History of Magic puts me to sleep (sorry . . .but it really DOES) That ghost professor could put the undead into a coma. Ron says he died lecturing. His students probably died of boredom. Hermione just read the book in class and she says I should too. DADA is taught by this weird professor named Quirrell who always wears a purple turban and stutters and it’s really boring too! All he does is talk about hunting zombies and he never teaches us anything new. He gives me the creeps, sometimes he looks at me funny. Wish Grandpa could teach Defense, then we’d really learn something. Hermione says just read the book and don’t worry, so I guess I’ll do that. I like Charms too, Professor Flitwick is really cool. He knew Grandpa back when they fought together in the Grindelwald War and he says to tell him he sends his regards and maybe sometime the Unleasher of Earthquakes will come by for tea.

But flying class is the BEST! You’ll never guess what happened. Draco swiped Nev’s Remembrall that his gran gave him before class and I was trying to get it back when Madam Hooch came and we started getting on our brooms. Something happened to Nev’s broom and it started going crazy, flying all over. He crashed right into Madam Hooch and they both ended up going to the Hospital Wing . . .I think he gave her a concussion! Poor Nev, the worst things always happen to him!

Anyway, there we were and I told Draco to give me the Remembrall, but he just laughed and said I shouldn’t be friends with that prissy-arse badger and if I wanted it to come get him. He jumped on his broom and flew up into the air. I got mad then, Papa. And I flew after him. He was good, but I was better. He tossed the Remembrall at one of the castle windows and I . . .just looped up and caught it, one-handed.

I didn’t want it to break a window and lose points for Slytherin.

I thought nobody saw us.

But I was wrong.

Next thing we know, here comes Professor Malfoy, she’d seen the whole thing from the window. She dragged me and Draco down to her office by our ears! Ouch! Then she yelled at us both for a long time. She yells almost as good as you, ‘cept she’s not quite as scary. And she might look like a Malfoy, she’s tall, with the blond hair and icy blue eyes, but she sure doesn’t favor Draco! She gave him the same punishment as me, we had to scrub cauldrons after her last class, and he told her he was gonna tell his father and she just Looked at him and said, “Be my guest, cousin, but your father isn’t your Head of House—I am and my punishment stands. Break rules and you get in trouble. Now quit whining.”

Draco shut up.

But then she did the best thing. She made me Reserve Seeker for Slytherin.

RESERVE SEEKER!

Me, a firstie!

Draco nearly died of envy.

She said she needed a Reserve just in case her Seeker, Johnny Thorpe, got sick or hurt. I could go to practice with the team and everything, but wouldn’t play in a match unless Johnny wasn’t able to. She loves Quidditch, she bet McGonagall twenty Galleons that Slytherin was going to win the Qudditch Cup this year. Last year Gryff won but before that the Snakes held it. I think she loves Quidditch as much as she does potions.

Umm . . .oh and the Headmaster said he gave his permission for you to send me my new broom, and that’s why I’m writing this.

Could you please send it to me? Practice starts next Saturday.

Ron and Blaise said I’m the youngest Reserve Seeker in a century or something and the Weasley twins said they wouldn’t knock me off my broom—they play Beaters for Gryffindor. They can’t wait to see the Phoenix.

How’s Grandpa? Did he ever write that letter to Smithers telling him he should go and adopt an orphan? Have you gone out yet with Sandra? Don’t wait! She might find someone else.

Don’t forget to send me my broom!

Tell Lina I said hi and that I miss her cooking, and tell Hotspur nobody plays checkers as good as he does.

I’ve got a lot of potions homework tonight, Professor Malfoy gave us three feet of parchment to write about bezoar stones and what poisons they can counteract. Then I have two chapters of Transfiguration to read.

Love,

Harry

New Reserve Seeker of Slytherin

PS: Don’t forget to send the Phoenix as soon as you can!

PPS: Am I in trouble for chasing Draco? I just want to know if I’m grounded, so it’s not a surprise when I come home. Does it count that I told you about it myself?

Severus bit back a chuckle when he read Harry’s clever observations about the teachers and made a mental note to pass on Flitwick’s invitation to Augustus. He was not surprised that Zandra Malfoy had made his son Reserve Seeker, she had been a year below him at school and had been Quidditch obsessed then too. Privately Severus thought Zandra might have been as good a potion maker as he was if she hadn’t let Quidditch distract her.

He summoned his quill, ink, and parchment. Harry, Harry, what am I going to do with you? A week into school and you’re already in hot water.

He began to pen a reply.

* * * * * * *

Harry looked up from eating his breakfast to see Valeska flying towards him, clutching a large brown wrapped package in her talons, with a letter attached.

He jumped up from the table, nearly spilling his milk. “Thanks, Valeska!” He fed the falcon a large piece of bacon and stroked her. She meeped at him then went to rest on his shoulder.

“Harry, did it come?” asked Blaise, all excited.

“Yes, but I have to read the letter before I can open it.”

“How come?” Blaise asked.

“’Cause that’s what my father says. I won’t be able to open the package until the letter’s read.” Harry untied the letter and opened it, ignoring Blaise’s sigh of impatience. Everyone at the Slytherin table was gazing at the package in front of their newest member with undisguised envy and longing.

Harry began to read.

Sept. 8th, 1991

Dear Harry,

I am glad to hear that you like at least some of your subjects. I know all about Binns, he was there when I went to school, and it sounds like he’s as dry and monotone as ever. Do as your Ravenclaw friend suggested and read the text. That way you’ll learn something. Do the same for Defense, and your grandfather and I shall tutor you when you come home, Dumbledore never did hire decent Defense teachers, most of what I know I learned myself or Grandfather taught me.

Your grandfather says he shall reply himself to Professor Flitwick’s invitation.

As for Smithers, you will be proud to hear that he had a long conversation with Grandfather and has started proceedings to adopt an orphaned ten-year-old girl named Susannah Lovell. I think they shall do well together, the girl is small as a pixie, but she has spirit and she is quiet and mannerly. Oddly enough, she says Smithers reminds her of her grandfather and the apothecary says she reminded him of the daughter he lost, had she been able to grow up. Perhaps she shall do for him what we did for your grandfather so long ago.

Will you stop pestering me about Sandra Miska, boy? I shall date when I am good and ready to, Henry Snape! I never said she had to wait for me, if that is what she’s doing.

Finally, about the broomstick . . .do you think I’ve gone blind or have lost my senses that you need to put SEND ME THE PHOENIX in practically every other line of your letter? And a postscript?

I am not entirely pleased with Professor Zandra Malfoy’s decision to make you Reserve Seeker. There is a reason first years are not usually allowed to play sports till second year, and that is because you need to acclimate yourselves to the curriculum and concentrate on your studies first. And you know how I feel about grades, Henry Snape. They come first. If I find out you’ve been slacking off in that area because of Quidditch . . .you will be grounded when you get home.

As for your transgression with Draco, you shouldn’t have behaved so recklessly or foolishly, even if it was for a good reason. Next time tell a professor when something like that happens, don’t try and handle it yourself. That’s their job, not yours. Since Zandra already punished you, I shall not bother adding anything to it . . .THIS time. But mark me, get into trouble on a regular basis and you’ll spend your holidays with your nose stuck in a corner of your room, writing lines and counting dust bunnies. But you get points for being honest.

Your grandfather sends his love as do Lina and Hotspur.

Is there anything else you need?

Congratulations on your new position.

Your exasperated and loving father,

Severus Snape

PS: Now you can open your broom. See, I didn’t forget!

Harry smiled ruefully, then began to untie the string on the Phoenix. Unwrapped, he balanced it carefully on his palms so the whole table could see. All the Slytherin Quidditch fanatics gave huge sighs of envy. Then they all asked if they could try it around the pitch, just once.

Harry chuckled, this was a new thing, him having something everyone else wanted. “I’ll think about it.” Then he set the broom down and started to eat, only to be interrupted by his Head of House.

“Mr. Snape, is that a Phoenix Starfire 2000 I just saw you get delivered?” asked Zandra. Her blue eyes were shining like a kid’s at Christmas.

Harry looked up from his eggs and bacon. “Yes, ma’am. My father just sent it to me from home.”

“I see. That is one fine piece of magical wood,” said his professor. “Would you mind if I . . .tried it out when you are done with practice on Saturday? I used to be a fair Chaser when I was in school, but they never made models like that when I played.” There was a distinct note of wistfulness in her tone.

Harry flushed. What could he say to that? “Err . . .sure, Professor Malfoy.”

She gave him a cordial nod. “Thank you, Mr. Snape. Remember to arrive promptly for practice at 8 o’clock in the morning.” Then she left and went back to the staff table, humming happily.

Draco shot a glare at Harry when his cousin’s back was turned. Clearly he didn’t like the idea that Harry had a better broom than he did, nor that his Head of House had asked to ride it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco open his bag and draw out a quill and parchment. Then he began scribbling frantically.

Blaise saw too and whispered behind his hand, “Writing to Papa to complain about how unfair it is that Snape has a better broom and can he get one too?”

“I know.” Harry said, then they both started giggling, until Harry snorted milk out of his nose all over the table.

That made half the guys start laughing and the girls shoot him looks of utter disgust.

“Boys!” snapped Pansy Parkinson. “Can they get anymore gross? I wish we had a separate table, instead of being surrounded by these rude beasts!”

Marcus Flint rolled his eyes. “Don’t look now Miss Prim and Proper but one of those “rude beasts” is the boy your daddy’s going to make you marry someday. So better get used to it.”

Pansy looked highly affronted. “When my father does choose my betrothed I am sure he will take into account that he is a gentleman who knows how to behave around a lady.” She looked haughtily at Harry.

Harry glared back at her, then stood up. “Pardon me, my lady,” he drawled in his best lordly tone (learned from Augustus). “So sorry to offend you, next time I’ll just choke to death.” Then he gave her a bow and sat down.

All of the boys clapped and cheered. “That’s telling her, Snape! Put the hoity-toity miss in her place.”

Huffing, Pansy got up and stalked away muttering something about “barbarians”.

Blaise shook his head, than asked Harry when it was his turn to ride the Phoenix.

“Merlin, Snape, you ought to charge a Sickle a ride,” muttered Flint.

Harry diplomatically told everyone that they could take a turn after practice. After Professor Malfoy had flown first.

* * * * * *

November 1st, 1991:

Harry woke stiff and sore from the events of Halloween night. He knew he was lucky to be alive after doing what he had done, though he very much feared he would be dead once his overprotective father and grandfather discovered what had almost happened last night.

He forced himself to get up and take a long hot shower, dress, and then go into the hall for breakfast. By now it was all over the school, and Harry endured several snarly looks from his Housemates for the lost points and some admiring ones as well, from the girls mostly. That gave him the courage to sit and eat breakfast with his Housemates without feeling sick.

At least until the morning post was delivered.

Harry spotted Warlocke right away, the Great Horned owl was among the largest owls winging its way towards the Slytherin table. And he was also the only owl who bore a conspicuous red envelope in his beak.

“Harry!” Blaise went ghost white. “Do you know what that is?”

Harry remained with his mouth open, unable to speak. He gulped hard. Yes, he knew what it was.

A Howler.

For him.

Merlin have mercy! But I am dead. Somebody fetch a shovel so I can just dig my own grave now.

He would have gotten up to run away but he knew that wouldn’t do any good. Warlocke would follow. So he remained where he was, his chin up, determined to “take his punishment like a man” as Augustus was fond of saying.

“Look!” some of the Gryffindors laughed. “Snape’s got himself a Howler!”

Harry shot them a dirty look. He’d bet his whole bank vault that they’d not be laughing if it were them about to get their arse chewed out.

Warlocke dropped the Howler in Harry’s lap, gave him a look of reproof, then took wing quickly and flew out of the hall.

“Better move back, Zabini,” he told his best friend, then he swiftly opened the red envelope.

Severus’ icy furious tone boomed out into the air. Harry cringed, for this Howler was not only a verbal one, but a visual one as well. A ghost-like image of his father emerged from the red smoke and stood there in front of him, large as life, hands on his hips, and began lecturing ferociously.

“HENRY SNAPE, IS THIS HOW I’VE TAUGHT YOU TO BEHAVE? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR PROMISE TO ME AT KING’S CROSS? MADE YOURSELF OUT TO BE A LIAR, HAVE YOU? YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, YOUNG MAN! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU—NEVER EVER RISK YOUR LIFE? ATTACKING A TROLL WITH A ROCK—ARE YOU INSANE, BOY? YOU CAME AN INCH FROM DEATH LAST NIGHT! BLOODY HELL! OF ALL THE FOOLISH IDIOTIC STUNTS! JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HOME, YOUNG MAN . . .THAT BROOM IS MINE AND YOU’LL BE LUCKY IF I DON’T BURN IT TO CINDERS. . . “

The Snape construct began pointing a finger at Harry then and glaring at him. Harry felt himself go bright red from ears to chin. He wished he could just drop dead. Everyone was cracking up. Well, not everyone. Blaise, Neville, and Hermione were giving him pitying looks. Somehow that was worse.

The Severus image went on, his tone scathing.

“IF YOU EVER PULL ANYTHING LIKE THIS AGAIN, YOUNG MAN, I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND PUNISH YOU IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY, I SWEAR IT! I’LL STICK YOUR NOSE IN A CORNER AND MAKE YOU STAND THERE FOR AN ENTIRE LUNCH PERIOD WEARING A NAPPY AND A BIB BECAUSE THAT’S HOW YOU’VE BEEN ACTING—LIKE A BABY RUSHING INTO DANGER AFTER BEING TOLD A THOUSAND TIMES FIRE IS HOT! DON’T TEST ME. ONE MORE THING. YOUR GRANDFATHER IS ASHAMED OF YOU AS WELL. START THINKING, HENRY SNAPE! WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A VERY LONG TALK WHEN YOU COME HOME, YOUNG MAN!”

The Severus image shook his finger under Harry’s nose before vanishing in a puff of red smoke and leaving a rather nasty stench behind.

Harry, his face flaming in humiliation, longed to crawl under the table. This was a thousand times worse than that time in the toy store. He would have preferred a spanking from Augustus over this.

He eyed the other Slytherins. Some of them were still chuckling, others looked awed and sympathetic.

Then Draco spoke. “Bloody hell, Snape, but am I glad he’s not my father!”

Harry couldn’t blame him. Right then he wished the same thing.

* * * * * *

Harry returned from Quidditch practice that afternoon still in low spirits. His father’s Howler still stung like hell, even though it had been several hours since. Even Flint had said with a kind of rough sympathy, “I’d never want your old man mad at me, Snape. When he reams your arse, mate, he really reams your arse. I was shaking in my boots and it wasn’t even my Howler.”

“Yeah,” was all Harry could manage. What hurt the most was that he hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell his side before his father had torn strips off him. That never would have happened at home. At home, he had always been asked to explain his actions before Severus yelled at him.

He undressed, got into his pajamas and then sat at his desk, staring at the wall, Severus’s words still echoing in his head. He felt his eyes start to well with tears. Furiously he swiped at them. I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to make you worry or make you ashamed of me. He swallowed the lump in his throat, picked up his quill, and began to write, trying to ignore the few tears that splashed upon the parchment.

November 1st, 1991

Dear Sir:

I know you think I’m a disgrace and I just wanted to write you and apologize for shaming the family, I didn’t mean to. What I did was done to help a friend, actually several friends, and while I did act recklessly, it wasn’t for the hell of it. Forgive my language, sir.

Let me explain.

Halloween night, we were all at the feast, and Blaise, Nev, Ron, Hermione and I were all eating together for once. On Halloween it’s not required you eat with your Housemates alone, so I was eating with my friends when Quirrell bursts in yelling like a maniac—“Troll! Troll in the dungeon! Thought you should know!” Then he passes out flat on the floor. Everyone panicked until Dumbledore told all the prefects to get everyone back to their Houses except us Slytherins, since the dungeons weren’t safe we were to stay up in the hall.

About that time I noticed Hermione was missing, and Nev told me she’d gone to the loo, said her stomach was bothering her. She didn’t see Quirrell, didn’t know about the troll prowling. I had to warn her. I took Nev and Blaise with me, Ron had already been rounded up by Percy. Nev had Trouble with him and I had Valeska on my shoulder.

We made it to the girl’s loo and I called out to Hermione. She told me to go away, but I couldn’t. I had a Stomach Soother in my robe pocket, you always tell me to be prepared, sir, and I went in to give it to her.

She had just drunk it when the troll burst through the wall of the bathroom.

It was going spare, smashing everything, Hermione and I were nearly crushed by a flying toilet. She was screaming and crying, and I was trying to get her out of there. Nev and Blaise came in to try and distract it. Trouble charged right at it, tried to bite off its toe, but it kicked poor Troub across the room into a wall. Nev thought he was dead and tried to curse the bloody troll, but he’s never been much good at curses and it didn’t work.

We were screaming for help, but all the teachers were in the dungeons and couldn’t hear us. I HAD to do something. So I used that Summoning charm you showed me and called my Phoenix to me.

While I did that, Valeska attacked the troll, she went for the eyes, and I couldn’t stop her, sir! She was like a bolt of white lightning, she made the stupid thing blunder about trying to hit her. I was really scared she might get hit and then she’d die and you’d hate me forever.

My Phoenix came and I looked around for something to throw at the troll and I found a fist sized piece of cement or plaster. I grabbed it and started to fly around the troll, I needed a clear shot. Valeska drew away and I dove down and threw the rock right into its left eye. Just like in Quidditch.

It started howling and pawing its face but it wasn’t out yet. Until McGonagall, Malfoy, and Quirrell came and Stunned it till it fell down and bound it. McGonagall was both impressed and furious, she gave us points for bravery and then gave us detention. Professor Malfoy was mad enough to chew dragonhide, she took away all the points McGonagall gave us and chewed our ears off and then she sent us to the Hospital Wing to be checked over. Even Trouble, who’s all healed now, went there.

I know I should have gotten a teacher, sir. I thought about it later . . .but there wasn’t time to go fetch one. Honest!

I’m really sorry. But I couldn’t leave Hermione. Can’t you see that?

Please forgive me, sir.

Respectfully,

Your son,

Harry Snape (who is now grounded for life and dead of embarrassment)

PS: Valeska’s fine!!

PPS: Please don’t take away my broom! Please! I’d rather get five with a ruler than that.

He fed Valeska some dried strips of rabbit and stroked her. “I really messed up, girl. But you were magnificent. Thanks for saving my worthless hide.”

To his surprise, the falcon preened his hair, the way she did to no one but Severus.

He gave her a little smile. “Love you too. Please bring this to my father.”

Valeska allowed him to fasten the letter upon her leg, then she finished her grooming before she took wing and flew out into the dusk.

Harry, too weary and heartsick to do homework, curled up on his bed with Calin on his stomach and snuggled with the calico. The cat never held grudges and loved to be held, she was a favorite of all the staff save Quirrell, who claimed cats made him sneeze. Oddly enough, Calin disliked him, she hissed whenever he came by and ran away. Harry thought she was smart, the man gave him the heebie-jeebies too.

He fell asleep waiting for Valeska to return.

* * * * * *

The next morning he woke to find Valeska asleep and a letter on his pillow.

He tore it open, and found a few lines written in Severus’ elegant script.

Harry,

You’re forgiven, but next time, for the love of Merlin, please think before you act. I don’t want to bury you before you’re twenty. I nearly died when I got Professor Malfoy’s letter on Halloween. We’ll discuss punishments and so forth when you come home. Behave, won’t you? And you won’t be dead of embarrassment.

Oh and don’t feel guilty that you couldn’t call Valeska off, she’s very protective of her family and she loves you, foolish imp. As do I and your grandfather.

Love,

Papa

* * * * * *

During the month of November, letters from Harry were few and far between, and Severus and Augustus expected it was because of an increased workload of academics. The single note they got from him was addressed to Augustus.

Dear Grandpa,

Played my first Quidditch game as Seeker against Gryffindor.

WE WON! WE WON! I CAUGHT THE SNITCH!

Love,

Harry (now known as the Flying Falcon)

Slytherin Seeker

December was the same, Severus decided to buy him an owl for a present, so Valeska could return home to be with him, and he tried to ask Harry what species he preferred, but he got back a brief reply of I don’t know. “They must be working his tail off, because he hardly writes anymore,” Severus said to Augustus.

“End of term finals,” his grandfather said.

“Right. He must be studying hard,” Severus said, pleased.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

Harry was working hard. Just not on schoolwork.

He was working hard playing Quidditch, since Johnny came down with Wizard Pneumonia and had to be on bed rest for the rest of the season. Which meant Harry played in every game and practice, and his fame as the best Seeker Slytherin ever had grew and grew. As did his own Quidditch obsession.

And his grades, once excellent, plummeted.

* * * * * *

December 5th, 1991

Hogwarts:

Slytherin had won their last game of the quarter and the whole House was in high spirits, especially their Head of House. She had given permission for the first through third years to stay up an hour past their curfew of ten o’clock and fourth through fifth years to stay up till midnight and the sixth and seventh years could stay up till two o’clock so long as they were quiet. She had also asked the school house elves to supply the common room with various non-alcoholic drinks and snacks to celebrate their win. Zandra even joined them for an hour or two, and one of the guests of the hour was her brilliant young Seeker, Harry Snape.

But the morning after the party was when Harry realized that he was in danger of being put on academic probation for every class save for Flying, Potions, and DADA. He had been so obsessed with winning Quidditch matches that he often failed to turn in homework and his concentration in class was negligible because he was so tired from practice and he barely took notes and his tests were abysmal. His teachers had issued several detentions and warnings and even spoken to his Head of House, but Zandra had brushed their concerns aside because Harry was the best Seeker she had ever had in her House. And in her class, he did well, since he had been studying potions since he could stir a cauldron and use a mortar and pestle. In Defense all you had to do was show up and Quirrell gave out a passing grade and Madam Hooch had long ago given Harry top marks for Flying.

Now, however, there was less than two weeks left of the first term, and Harry knew there was no way he could ever make up the work and even if he aced his finals in Transfiguration, Astronomy, Herbology, Charms, and History of Magic, it might just prevent him from failing those subjects. Might.

He panicked utterly then, suddenly recalling his father’s parting words to him at King’s Cross. Your grades are the most important thing. And his grades were awful. He went to Hermione, who had been bugging him all tern to study and do homework, and practically begged her to tutor him in half his subjects.

“Harry, I told you to study and everything before you started playing Quidditch.”

“I know, I should have listened to you, okay?” he panted. “Please, ‘Mione, you have to help me. If I come home failing anything my father’s gonna kill me!”

She gave him a cross look. “Maybe you ought to have thought about that months ago,” she said, then she relented when she saw the fear in his eyes. “All right. I’ll help.”

But even with most meticulous and studious first year in Hogwarts helping him, Harry barely scraped by, getting the lowest possible passing grade in two subjects, Astronomy and Herbology, an average grade in Charms and Defense, and only in Flying, which didn’t really count, and Potions did he receive top marks. Even so, Harry knew his potions grade could have been higher. And he had basically failed History of Magic and Transfiguration.

And so it was that when every first year was looking forward to going home for the holidays, Harry wished he could stay at the school. Because there was no doubt in his mind that when Severus saw his marks he was going to nail his son’s arse to a wall.

I am dead. Just so very dead. He’s going to have a coronary or a stroke. Maybe both. And I don’t even want to think about Grandpa.

He went about methodically packing up his things, wondering if he would ever see his room again. Today’s Monday and marks will probably arrive Tuesday or Wednesday. I wish there was a way I could . . .change them, but I know the teachers put them on spelled paper to prevent that. I’ll have maybe two more days to live.

On the train ride home he went through three vials of Stomach Soother and still felt like puking. He bit all his nails down to the quick and wished he could jump off the train and hide somewhere. Like in a hole six feet deep.

“How much trouble do you think you’ll be in?” asked Blaise worriedly.

“I’ll probably be grounded for the rest of the holidays,” Harry said gloomily. “If he doesn’t kill me first.”

All his friends winced and Neville said, “Good luck, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing hysterically. Luck? He needed divine intervention.

* * * * * *

December 23rd, 1991:

Harry had been quiet and rather subdued during the two days he had spent home, Severus mused as he poured himself a cup of coffee. At first he had feared the child was coming down with something, but a diagnostic and Harry’s own insistence revealed that he was fine. He was still mulling over his son’s strange behavior when a large barn owl tapped at the window of the drawing room.

Severus let it inside and it promptly delivered to him a large envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest. Severus rewarded the owl and then he set the letter down and finished drinking most of his coffee. By then Augustus had joined him and asked about the letter.

“It’s Harry’s end of term grades, I believe,” Severus said, glancing out the window. It had begun snowing heavily the night before and it was still coming down. “Looks like a blizzard out there.”

Augustus nodded. “We’re overdue for one,” he said, then turned back to his breakfast.

Severus finished his coffee, toast, hardboiled egg and sausage before opening the letter.

He had to read it twice before he convinced himself that he wasn’t reading it wrong.

A vein began to throb in his temple as he fought to control his flashfire temper.

Augustus finished eating a helping of fried potatoes before asking, “Something wrong, Severus?”

Severus’ jaw clenched. “I’ll say there’s something wrong! Take a look at this!” he thrust the report at Augustus, who took it and read aloud:

Potions: 95

Defense: 76

Charms: 77

Flying: 99

Transfiguration: 55

Astronomy: 65

Herbology: 60

History of Magic: 50

Augustus looked as displeased as Severus. “He’s capable of better than this. It would seem he wasn’t studying as hard as we thought.”

“No. He was too busy having a good time,” Severus said shortly. “He failed two subjects! Two! And barely passed another two! Merlin’s bloody arse! What was he doing all term, playing tiddlywinks? Daydreaming?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Augustus suggested.

Severus’s eyes blazed. “Oh, I intend to. Believe me.”

Then he took the stairs to the upper floor two at a time, the paper crumpled slightly in his fist.

Harry was yanked rudely out of a pleasant dream by the warm blankets being tugged off him accompanied by a quick swat and Severus saying furiously, “Henry Snape, get your damn arse up right now!”

The command had him wide awake and sitting up in two seconds, dread sweeping through him like a chill wind.

His glasses were shoved at him and when he fumbled them on, he saw his father standing at the foot of the bed, holding a piece of parchment. He didn’t need to ask what piece of parchment, because his father’s thunderous expression told him all he needed to know. “Sir?”

Severus was counting very rapidly, and trying to control his breathing. He thrust the parchment at Harry and said, very softly, “Would you care to explain, Mr. Snape, how you came by these grades?”

Harry gulped. He stared at the parchment and did not say anything. Seconds ticked by endlessly.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Harry managed a breath, then said, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry? I don’t want apologies, I want to know how you managed to fail two subjects and nearly another two and only get a 92 in potions? What were you doing all term? Playing about with your friends?”

“No.”

“Did you hand any of your homework in? Attend class at all?”

“Yes, sir. I went to class.”

“And did what? Fell asleep?” Severus demanded.

Harry did not answer. He nodded. Then he added quickly, “But I did do my homework. Mostly. Until . . .”

“Until what? Until you decided not to?”

“No. Until I started playing Seeker for the team full time,” Harry admitted miserably. He did not dare to lie to the other wizard, he was already in enough trouble.

“You’re telling me these poor grades are a result of you playing Quidditch?” Severus spat the last word as if it were a curse.

“Ummm . . .sort of.”

“Sort of? Don’t split hairs with me, boy! Answer my question.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t have time . . .I just . . .didn’t feel like doing anything after practice, most times. I was tired . . .” Even to his own ears that sounded lame.

“And you didn’t bring this up with Professor Malfoy? Why?”

“Because I really wanted Slytherin to win this year,” Harry blurted out. “They all said I was the best Seeker we ever had and I won almost all the games when we played and it felt great. Better than studying all the time.”

The instant those words left his mouth he wished he could call them back. They were so not the right thing to say just then.

“Oh. I see,” Severus said in a deadly soft tone. “You thought your precious status as Seeker more important that your grades.” His hands clenched into fists and he made a monumental effort to keep from shouting Just like your bloody father! “Well, I have news for you, young man. Playing Quidditch won’t help you finish school. How many times have I told you, your studies come first, then sports? I thought I could trust you to monitor yourself, or at the very least trust your teachers to do so! It would seem Zandra Malfoy is a poor Head of House if this is the kind of thing she allows her Slytherins to get away with.”

“No, she’s not!” Harry felt compelled to defend his teacher, who had at least had been kind enough to not fail him. “She reminded me to do my homework.”

“When? Inbetween matches? Harry, you go to school to learn magic, not catch some stupid winged globe—”

“Quidditch isn’t stupid, sir!” Harry defended his beloved sport. “It’s the best game ever.”

“Spare me, please!” Severus growled. “That infernal game is the ruination of boys like you! Because of it you, who were once a good student, has failed two courses! They should ban it from the school!”

Harry gasped. Ban Quidditch? “Papa, no! I’ll . . .I’ll study harder next time. Promise.”

“Damn straight you will! Because these kind of grades are totally unacceptable, Harry! You’re capable of getting the highest marks in your year. That is a disgrace!” He pointed to the parchment Harry still held. “And here I thought you stopped writing because you were busy studying. Ha! Instead I find you were busy chasing a bloody globe around on a broomstick. What were you thinking?”

“That I was having fun,” Harry mumbled. “I don’t know.” He dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Fun? Well, I hope you have fun doing chores all over this house over the break, young man. Because you’re grounded from now until you go back to school. That means no friends over, bedtime at eight-thirty, and especially no broom!”

Harry cringed. He had known that was coming though. Any time his father grounded him, he took away his broom. “Okay, sir. I understand.”

But Severus wasn’t through yet. “Matter of fact, I think I’m going to have a few words with Professor Malfoy and her obsession with Quidditch. This is why no first year is allowed to play sports—because they can’t handle schoolwork and being on a team at the same time.”

Severus’ sharp words struck home and Harry felt himself bristle. He hated it when his father treated him like a little kid that needed a grown-up to tell him what to do. “I’m not a baby, Papa! I’m eleven! I can handle myself just fine. I just got a little distracted, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “That’s right. It won’t. Because I’m going to write to Professor Malfoy today and tell her to find another Seeker for next term. Clearly you’re not ready to handle the responsibility of playing a sport and keeping up with your grades. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let Quidditch turn your brain into mush. There’s more to life than catching the Snitch, and I won’t let you waste yourself this way. I’ll speak to Zandra and tell her you’re not allowed on the team until next year, and then only if you bring your grades up in the meantime—”

Harry listened in mounting horror to Snape’s ultimatum. Give up Quidditch? Not play Seeker again? “No! You can’t do that!” he yelled.

“I can and I shall,” Severus snapped. “I’ve indulged you with this sport long enough. There are plenty of other ways for you to spend your free time—”

“How? Brewing boring potions? Reading stupid library books?” Harry spat, his emerald eyes shimmering with angry tears. “Just ‘cause you hate Quidditch doesn’t mean I have to. You’ve never even bothered to learn about it—”

“I know all I care to know. And no son of mine is going to turn into an arrogant gloryhound who only cares about winning matches. You’ve played your last game this year, young man!” Severus declared with icy finality.

Harry burst into tears. “I hate you! I worked really hard to get us into second place and now you’re going to ruin it all!” He raged. “You don’t care about anything except bloody potions, you don’t care about what I want, it’s always what you want, all you care about is following rules, you want me to be a know-it-all and never have any fun! You’ve never cared about me—!”

His son’s words struck him like a dagger to the heart and his carefully honed control snapped. He grabbed Harry and shook him hard. “How dare you say such a thing?” he exploded. “You know nothing of what I’ve sacrificed for you all these years! Nothing! If it weren’t for me you would have died ten years ago, after your bloody Muggle relatives dumped you in a manger and left you to freeze to death! I was the one who found you and saved your life, I took you in and cared for you like my own, and you dare to say I only care about what I want? After all I’ve done for you?”

Harry was stunned. He went limp in Severus’ grasp. “What do you mean? What relatives?”

“The Dursleys! The only ones you had left after Voldemort killed your parents!” Severus continued, the words pouring from his mouth in a torrent. “You’re Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter—” he halted, his temper abruptly dying as he realized what he had said.

Harry stared up at him, his eyes wide. “I’m not your son?”

“No. Not biologically.” Severus began, he had not intended to just blurt it out like that, but the boy had made him so angry . . . He released his hold on Harry. “But that never mattered. I always thought of you as mine—”

Harry shook his head. “I’m really Harry Potter? Not Henry Snape?” Confusion swirled within him. And so did a thick choking sensation of betrayal and hurt. His parents were dead, he was really an orphan, and the man before him had lied to him. “You lied to me. You told me my mum loved you—”

“She did, Harry. I was her best friend.”

“No. No.” He backed away. If he wasn’t Severus Snape’s son, then who was he? An unwanted baby in a manger? Suddenly it was too much. His world had shattered and it was all the fault of the man in the black robes before him. “I don’t believe you! You lying two-faced bastard!”

“Harry, let me explain—”

“Leave me alone! Just get away from me!” he cried, jumping up and racing from the room.

Severus followed. “Come back here!”

But Harry ignored him, instead running up the spiral stairs to the third floor, where the attic was. Severus heard the attic door slam and the click of the lock.

The Potions Master remained where he was, staring up the staircase, the anger draining out of him, leaving behind only hurt and despair. What have I done? Blessed Merlin, why did I tell him that way? Why? Now he despises me.

Severus stood at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the attic, mentally tearing himself to shreds for letting his temper get the better of him. That wretched nasty temper had somehow blindsided him and he had allowed his hurt at the boy’s words to overcome him and now everything had just gone to hell in a handcart. He pinched the bridge of his nose to stave off the pounding headache that was developing behind his eyes and then turned away from the stairs. No sense in trying to talk about anything with Harry now, he was too angry to hear a word Severus had to say.

To run into his grandfather, who had come upstairs to make sure no one had killed each other. “Severus—”

“Grandfather!” Severus flinched upon seeing the elder Prince’s face, which was dark with disapproval. “I . . .you heard what I said to Harry . . .”

“Aye, I heard it, kind of hard not to, as the two of you were yelling like banshees, and I’ve not gone deaf yet, more’s the pity. Where’s the lad run off to?” The elder Prince had caught the tail end of the conversation as he was coming up the stairs and was furious that Harry had insulted Severus that way. Upset or not, no child ought to speak to a parent using such language and they had both taught Harry better. What had happened to the polite respectful child they had sent away to school?

“Up there, in the attic.” Severus jerked a thumb towards the third floor.

“I’ve a good mind to go up there and wash his mouth out with a bar of soap for what he just called you. No child should ever speak to a parent that way!” He looked as if he were about to go up the stairs.

Severus quickly grabbed his shoulder. “Grandfather, no. Let me handle it. You’re right, he shouldn’t have called me a bastard, and I’ll deal with it later. But for now—”

Augustus laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m not talking about that alone, Severus. I’m talking about what he said to you before that, yelling that he hated you and that you never cared about him, it was totally disrespectful. And hurtful.” He put his arm about the younger man. He could tell Severus was very shaken and hurt.

“Yes, but I shouldn’t have told him that way . . .I wasn’t planning on it coming out like that . . .but he just struck a nerve and I snapped . . .I don’t know why . . .”

“Ah, Severus. You’ve inherited my temper, I’m afraid. The words we speak in anger are the ones we most often mean the least and regret the most.”

“Truer words were never spoken. I just hope I haven’t ruined everything.”

Augustus hugged him. “No, you haven’t. It’ll take more than one argument to shatter what you two have. Or one secret revealed. You shouldn’t have revealed it that way, and I’m sure he’s confused and hurt, but you can mend this. It’s not irreparable. Eileen and I went at each other like wildcats before she stormed out of the house and eloped with your ass of a father. We said many bitter angry things to each other and she swore she’d never write to me or talk to me again. But she came to Grace’s funeral, and we talked a little and she told me I was going to be a grandfather, and I said she was still my daughter and she said she still loved me, but she wouldn’t give up her husband. Made me angry all over again, but all I said was, “Come home when you’re sick and tired of him and bring the baby with you.” I wish like hell she had. Then we might have resolved everything.”

“So do I,” Severus said feelingly. What he wouldn’t have given to grow up like Harry had, at Foxfire Hall, with a loving family. “I gave him what I never had and still it wasn’t enough.” He pulled away from his grandfather’s embrace. “Now he hates me.”

“Bollocks, Severus! The boy doesn’t hate you. He’s upset right now, but once his temper dies down . . .You gave him more than most parents, Severus, don’t ever think otherwise. He knows it too. Come, lad. Let’s go to my study, you look like you could use a drink, and we’ll give him time to cool down. Time for all of us to cool down. Then you can go back and talk with him and he ought to come round once you explain why you kept it a secret. He’s not the kind to hold a grudge, he’ll forgive you.”

Severus looked doubtful, but he followed Augustus down to his study. The elder Prince poured them each a glass of red wine, but Severus shook his head and set it down. “I can’t drink this. Not now. My stomach won’t tolerate it.”

“Tea then?” Augustus suggested. Then he called softly, “Hotspur, would you bring Master Severus some strong tea?”

Hotspur appeared and said, “Right away, milord!” Then he blinked away. Poor Master Severus and Harry. What a mess!

A strong cup of black tea with sweetener in it appeared in front of Severus. At his grandfather’s sharp glare, Severus began to drink it slowly.

“Lina,” the master of Foxfire Hall called.

“Yes, milord?” she looked very upset, the house elves always hated it when the family quarreled.

“Bring some tea and breakfast up to the attic for Henry, please.”

“Right away, sir!” Then she vanished.

* * * * * *

Harry was huddled in an old rocking chair amid about a dozen trunks and boxes and pieces of furniture, a tattered quilt embroidered with the Prince crest on it wrapped about his slender frame, his head on his knees, shaking with silent sobs. He didn’t want anyone to hear him cry, he could just make out the murmur of his father’s and grandfather’s voices below him and he knew Augustus was probably getting an earful from Severus.

Who wasn’t his real father.

You’re Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter.

The words echoed and re-echoed inside his skull until he wanted to howl.

No, I’m not! I don’t want to be Harry Potter! I just want to be Henry Snape!

He recalled the morning he received the Howler and how he had wished for a fleeting moment that Severus wasn’t his father.

But the reality was nothing like he had imagined.

He had gone from knowing exactly who he was and where he belonged to . . .what?

An unwanted baby his relatives the Dursleys—his aunt and uncle—had abandoned in a manger? Why had they done that?

More tears fell as he tried desperately to figure out a reason anyone could do that to . . .how old had he been . . .a year?

“Young master, I’ve brought you breakfast,” Lina said softly, popping up and setting down a tray with toast and sausage and a cup of tea on a nearby trunk.

Harry jerked up so fast the rocker crashed into the wall. “Huh? Oh, Lina. I’m not hungry.” Then he added, “You don’t have to serve me anymore. I’m not really a member of this family.”

The elf sniffed. “Don’t be foolish, young master. You are as much a member of this family now as you were yesterday.”

He shook his head. “I’m not. I’m not his son! You heard him say it!”

“I heard him say you were not his son by blood, but that it didn’t matter. Your father loves you, Harry.”

Harry shook his head. “No. Not anymore. Not after what I called him.”

“Silly boy! Words don’t make love cease. He knows you didn’t really mean it. That was your temper talking. Now drink your tea and eat some toast.” She gave him a hug.

He jerked away from her and she drew back, hurt. “Please, just go away, Lina! Just go!”

She disappeared and he dropped his head onto his knees and cried some more for treating the little elf so meanly. What was the matter with him? He was falling to pieces. He looked about at all the old brickabrack and dusty trunks, legacy of the Prince family, and felt himself cast adrift. This was no longer his family and the great manor house that he so loved was not his home. He was not a Prince or a Snape. He was a Potter. The name felt alien on his tongue. Who was Harry Potter?

He recalled Severus telling him that he looked like his mother, Lily, yet he had never seen a picture of her. No, wait, he had—once long ago, there had been a clipping of her in the album his father—Severus—Papa—had made for him. Suddenly he was filled with a terrible need to see that clipping, to find some way to reconnect himself to something.

He rose from the rocker and threw off the quilt. The strong odor of tea reached his nostrils, and he paused to pick up the cup and drain it, not caring if he singed his tongue. He was too thirsty to care. He grabbed a sausage and ate it on his way down the stairs, trying to make as little noise as possible. He did not want to speak to the man who called himself his father.

Not now.

Why did you tell me? I didn’t want to know! A part of his mind screamed. While another part raged that Severus should have told him long ago. Your whole life has been a lie, that part hissed.

He shook his head. No, that wasn’t right. Severus had only lied about his identity. He hadn’t lied about loving him. Had he? If he didn’t love you, then why bother raising you all those years? Why not leave you in Angel Haven? He recalled Lina’s insistence that his father still loved him, no matter that he wasn’t a blood relation.

Confused, Harry slipped into his room, snatching up his broom, which had started this whole bloody row, and took it with him into Severus’ room. He found the album in its usual place, at the end of the row of books atop Severus’ desk, and quickly opened it.

He did not focus on all the pictures, for he knew they would only distract him from his purpose. Find the newspaper clipping. He flipped through a third of the album, scanning pictures of himself and Severus and Augustus at every stage of his life. Back when he was Henry Snape, the boy who belonged at Foxfire Hall, not this stranger whom the wizarding world regarded as some kind of juvenile savior.

That’s not me!

But it was.

He lifted the clipping up from where it had been carefully folded inbetween pictures of his last birthday party and the last snapshot of him going off to school and opened it.

He read rapidly the entire article then stared for the longest time at the picture of himself and James and Lily Potter. Severus had not lied, he did resemble Lily very much, but he could see traces of James as well, in the jaw and his birth father had glasses as well and hair that stuck up like porcupine quills unless he grew it out. These are my parents. He stared and stared at the picture, trying desperately to feel something . . .anything. But the people in the photo simply smiled and waved and he felt as if he were looking at strangers. He couldn’t remember anything about them.

But one thing did stand out. The article stated that Harry Potter had been given to his only living relatives, Muggles by the name of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, and Petunia had been Lily’s sister. They lived in Surrey.

Surrey? How far away was that from here? Could he fly there?

He needed some answers desperately. Answers that he wasn’t sure he could trust Severus to give him. Answers that maybe he wouldn’t even know, because he hadn’t been there to see the Dursleys leave him in some manger. He wanted to know what possible reason they had to throw away a child, why had they hated him, because they had to have done so in order to do such a terrible thing, right?

Maybe then the terrible squeezing feeling would go away and he could patch things up with the man he had thought of as his father. If that was even possible. He knew he had said some awful things to Severus, things that made his stomach twist and shame gnaw at him. Things no well-brought up kid ought to ever say to his parent.

Then another thought occurred to him. Harry Potter was supposed to destroy that crazy dark wizard whose name everyone except Augustus was afraid to speak. The article had mentioned a prophecy and said it was why Voldemort had come to find and kill him. Voldemort had killed his parents because of him. He felt a cold sensation in the pit of his stomach.

There were rumors whispered around Slytherin House that Lord Voldemort would rise again, and this time he would be triumphant, because Harry Potter was dead and the prophecy could never be fulfilled. He had brushed them off as ridiculous superstition, but now . . .what if it were true? Augustus had mentioned once to him that it was possible for a dark wizard to use necromancy to keep himself alive unnaturally. What if Voldemort had done that? And what if he found out that Harry had been hidden all this time at Foxfire Hall?

He shuddered, imagining the dark wizard coming and killing Severus and Augustus.

Even though he was angry at Severus for lying to him, he would never wish him dead. The very thought made him want to vomit. Nor Augustus either.

He didn’t want to be The Boy Who Lived, with the awful burden of this prophecy upon him. It scared him to pieces. How could he fight a dark wizard? He was just a kid, he could barely do basic spellcraft! He groaned. He wanted to go back to yesterday, when all he had to worry about was Severus finding out about his marks.

Worst of all, his being Harry Potter put Severus and Augustus in danger. I can’t let that happen. I don’t want them to die like my . . .my parents. And I don’t really belong here anymore. I need to talk to the Dursleys and then . . .I don’t know what I’ll do. But I have to leave here.

He felt his breath catch on a sob. He didn’t want to go, but he knew he couldn’t stay.

He started back towards his room, intending to get a small bag and throw in a few clothes and say goodbye to Calin, he couldn’t drag the poor cat with him, when he heard the scrape of chairs down the hall and then Severus saying quietly, “I suppose I had better go and see if he’s calmed down enough for me to talk to.”

Harry stuffed the clipping in his pocket and raced back up the stairs to the attic, locking the door.

A few moments later he heard Severus climbing the stairs and then a tap on the door. “Harry? I’d like to talk to you, if I may?”

The Potions Master’s voice sounded weary and regretful.

Harry trembled. He so wanted to open the door and apologize.

“Harry, open the door.”

“No!” he called. “I . . .don’t want to talk to you!” he made his voice all sharp and angry.

“Son, we need to talk.”

“Don’t care. Go away.” Merlin, but I sound like a brat, like Draco.

Severus sighed. “Very well. But I’ll be back in twenty minutes and we’ll discuss this then, whether you want to or not.”

Harry heard Severus’ footsteps retreating back down the small staircase and heaved a sigh of relief.

Then he threw open the skylight on the slanted part of the roof and mounted his broom. Goodbye. Half-blinded by tears, he shot out of the narrow opening.

Right into the teeth of a blizzard.

* * * * * *

Severus went back downstairs to the drawing room to sit in front of the fire and think about a way he could salvage what his temper had torn asunder. He knew Harry would need a lot of reassurance and he intended to make sure he understood that he still loved him, even after all the problems with grades and Quidditch and the child’s attitude, which Severus supposed was normal for an eleven-year-old. He was also going to write a nice long correspondence to Professor Malfoy and chew her out for allowing her Quidditch obsession to interfere with Harry’s academics. Really, she was a teacher, she ought to know better! Granted, this was her first year or two on staff, but still her first priority should be student academics, not sports. No wonder Harry’s grades had gone downhill, if the encouragement he’d been receiving had been towards winning matches. Even so, his son did know better, how many times had Severus stressed grades first?

Temptation, thy name is Quidditch, Severus thought with a weary sigh. He checked his watch. Only seven minutes had gone by. It felt like seventy minutes. Somehow he had to make him see that blood alone did not make a family, and that he had taken Harry in out of love, not duty. He put his head in his hands and massaged his temples.

“Why aren’t you up there talking to him, Severus?” Augustus asked.

“I tried to get him to come down. But he wouldn’t so I decided to give him a bit more time.”

The older wizard sighed. “Severus, you’re the parent, you shouldn’t let him dictate terms to you.”

“Grandfather, I don’t want to push him away, it’s my fault he’s so conflicted.”

“And it won’t get any better the longer you wait, trust me,” Augustus advised. “You need to talk to him now, Severus. Before the hurt festers and he refuses to hear anything you have to say. Go up there and unlock the door and tell him to sit his bottom down and listen to what you have to say before running off in a temper. That was the mistake I made with Eileen. I waited for her to come to me and by the time I made up my mind to go to her, it was too late. Don’t do what I did. Go to him and say what you need to, because the only way you can fix this is by talking it out.”

“Will you come with me? He might be more willing to listen if you’re there.”

Augustus agreed. “Certainly. And I won’t hesitate to Stick his rear to a chair if need be.”

“All right. Just let me . . .gather my thoughts together.”

That took another five minutes, and then Severus rose and together the two wizards went back up to the staircase and rapped upon the door.

“Henry Snape, open this door immediately,” Augustus said, using his old Auror tone.

There was no sound from inside the attic.

“Harry, we want to talk to you, now open the door,” Severus ordered.

Still no answer.

Severus scowled and pointed his wand at the door. “Alohomora!”

The locked clicked open and he pushed open the door. “Harry, stop this and come over here and talk to . . .me.”

He lit up the room with his wand, and found only dusty trunks and an empty rocking chair and assorted armoires and chairs and tables. There was no sign of Harry anywhere. The tray Lina had brought was untouched save for an empty teacup and the skylight was open and snow was softly falling upon the floor in a silvery white mound.

Severus felt his heart seize and he clutched his chest. “No! Blessed Merlin, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Augustus demanded, nudging him aside. He saw the open skylight and swore. “Bloody fool kid! He’s run away!”

“In the middle of a snowstorm,” Severus babbled, his throat closing up. “I have to find him . . .the temperature’s dropping . . .he’ll die without shelter . . .where would he go? I drove him to this . . .all my fault . . .have to find him . . .” For some reason he couldn’t get enough air into his lungs, he was gasping for breath, he struggled to calm himself, but all he could think of was that his beloved child was out in this deadly blizzard alone.

“Severus!”

Something stung his cheek. He blinked.

“Damn it, boy, don’t you dare pass out,” he heard a familiar voice growl. Hands pushed him into a chair. “Severus, breathe, damn it! You’re hyperventilating. Get hold of yourself, Water Master.”

Gradually, Severus came back to himself. His breathing slowed, deepened and then he looked up at Augustus, who was standing in front of him with his hands on his shoulders, looking very concerned. “What happened?”

“You had a panic attack,” came the old man’s voice. “Scared me to death.”

“I did? But I’ve never . . .” he trailed off, blushing furiously.

“You just did.” Augustus said bluntly. “Now stop thinking with your heart and think with your head. Go check and see if Henry’s broom is still here. Because I have a dreadful feeling that the lad flew out of here and if he did . . .”

Severus was on his feet immediately. Then he Apparated into Harry’s room. He saw Patches asleep on his pillow and then he looked over at the broom stand where the Phoenix had been this morning.

It was gone.

“Bloody Goddamn hell, Harry! Are you trying to kill yourself?” his voice cracked and he felt the terror resurface, but this time he did not allow it to grip him. This time his control was enough to keep the terror at bay.

Augustus coughed and he turned. “His broom is gone.”

“So I guessed. That’ll make it harder for you to track him.”

“Flying in this weather . . .he could crash.”

“And probably will, if he hasn’t already,” Augustus stated, his face drawn.

“Can you sense anything, Grandfather?”

Augustus lowered his head, concentrating. It took him a long time to orient his magical senses to Harry’s aura, since the storm interfered with his seeking, and he had to keep pushing it away. But he was an Elemental Master, and he gathered his power and made the wild wind and stinging snow cease. And it was then that he sensed the aura of the child, two miles northeast, still upon the estate, close to the hunting lodge his great-grandfather had built back when hunting was in vogue. Augustus maintained the lodge as well, but mostly for camping purposes, he never hunted for sport.

He opened his eyes. “Severus, I can sense him. Which means you should be able too.”

“Where is he?”

“Two miles northeast of here, near the hunting lodge. I’ve calmed the storm for now, but the best I can give you is an hour, it’s a large front and taxing my strength to keep it out of here.” The Elemental Master was pale, and Severus could see sweat dribbling down his forehead.

“Grandfather! Are you . . .?”

“I’m fine. I know my limits.” Augustus spoke through gritted teeth. “Go fetch him home, Severus. Time was when I could send a storm like this packing in a heartbeat. Now, though . . .”

Severus didn’t bother talking, he could see the strain in the other’s eyes. “I’ll be back.” He summoned his outerwear and then Apparated out into the snow covered grounds.

As soon as his feet touched the snow he could feel the pulsing streamers of life from the trees and the animals and then he felt the pull of a human lifeforce, and he began to snowglide as quickly as he could, moving across the ground like a black streak.

Above he saw a star blazing overhead, silent and still, and he closed his eyes and prayed.

Once again, the star guides me, as it did on that night long ago. Just like before. Bring me to him, please, so that I may save what is dearer than life to me.

The night was eerily still, cold and white, save for the shimmering star in the ebony heavens. Severus never felt the cold or the snow, his power acting as a natural buffer against the elements. I must find him, I won’t allow him to die. I have to tell him I’m sorry and explain to him that he’s still my son. Misunderstandings divided his mother and me, but I won’t let that happen again. Not twice in a lifetime.

He spun out his awareness again, seeking that fragile spark of warmth, the flickering aura of magical power, and upon touching it, increased his speed to something approaching suicidal. His need was so great that it was as if he Apparated across the snowy ground, which he could not do because he didn’t have a clear reference point to Apparate to and a wizard who attempted Apparition without having a clear visualization risked Apparating themselves into a tree or a wall or the ground and killing themselves.

Finally he had reached his son’s side, the boy lay limp and unmoving upon a blanket of fresh snow, the Phoenix lying a few feet from him, miraculously unbroken, though the same could not be said for Harry. And the star which had guided him before now shone down brightly on his son.

For one awful, terror-stricken, breath-stealing moment, Severus feared Harry was dead, until he managed to focus enough to cast a diagnostic and discover that Harry’s wild ride had given him a concussion, a broken nose, a badly wrenched knee, and assorted bruises, plus broken glasses and a split lip. Severus knelt in the snow and turned the boy over, his skin was cold and clammy not only from the chill air, but from shock. Blood stained the snow a brilliant crimson.

Severus carefully melted the snow about Harry, making steam emerge in billows about him, then he carefully removed his cloak and wrapped it about Harry, it was spelled with a Warmth Charm.

The color began to return somewhat to Harry’s waxen cheeks and Severus carefully lifted him in his arms and snowglided to the hunting cottage that was barely five minutes from the spot Harry had landed in. He knew he didn’t have much time left before Augustus unleashed the blizzard again and no form of Apparition or Floo travel was possible with a wizard with a concussion like Harry’s, it might cause imbalances in their blood and brain that would kill them.

Now that he had halted his mad rush to get to the boy, he felt the strain of using his powers at such a quick pace in such a short time. Fatigue swept through him and it was all he could do to concentrate upon getting them to the lodge and Harry warmed up and healed from his accident.

He kicked the door in when he reached the cottage, it was a two-bedroom affair with a small kitchen for skinning game and a lounge area with a fireplace and a sofa with several blankets atop it. Candles in silver candelabras and lanterns were attached to the walls and Severus lit them with a quickly spoken “Incendio!” until the cottage was illuminated. He had dried Harry off with a Drying charm after he had lifted him from the snowbank, and now he Summoned the Phoenix to the cottage, knowing full well his Quidditch-crazy son would look for it the moment he was conscious. He set the broom in a corner and lowered Harry to the sofa, still shrouded in his cloak.

For a long moment he stared down at the child he had rescued yet again from the clutches of the Grim Reaper, and thought how they had come full circle from the manger on Christmas Eve. Once more you are given into my keeping, child, as it was so long ago, so it is again. The star led me to you and once more I shall give you the only gift I possess, the gift of a life and a home and love to replace what was lost. It is the best I can do, for I am only one man, not three.

He lit the fire with a word and conjured a large tub full of warm, not hot water, and left it with some fluffy towels gotten from the lodge’s small bathroom. That he would need later, after he had mended what he could. Then he set to work.

He healed the broken nose first, so Harry could breathe easier, but found that even after the healing spell was complete, his son’s nose had a small bump. Not a truly noticeable one, or a disfiguring one, but a slight imperfection. It had been broken badly at the bridge and those were always difficult to mend. Severus brushed the dark auburn hair away from Harry’s forehead and thought it added character to Harry’s face.

He wasn’t much good at mending torn cartilage, but he could reduce the swelling in the knee and the fluid and then he wrapped it tightly with a waterproof bandage. He would have Harry see a Healer once they returned home.

Then he whispered, “Ennervate!” and Harry stirred, groaned and opened his eyes.

As on that long ago Christmas Eve, Severus was struck once more by the evergreen eyes and the clarity he saw in them. Only this time they were filled with recognition, relief, and not a little pain. “Lie still, Harry. You’ve got a bad concussion, I had to wake you, but don’t try and sit up or move your head too much.”

“Papa . . .hurts . . .” the boy whimpered, for awake he could feel pain throbbing all over. He began to shiver as well.

“I know. I’m going to give you a dose of Pain Reliever in a moment. Just relax.” He sat down next to Harry’s head, and carefully raised it until it was sitting on his lap. Then he called the potion and put a straw in the vial and encouraged Harry to drink it.

Harry obeyed, knowing the draft would taste bitter but after he would feel ten times better.

As the pain gradually dulled, Harry shut his eyes, but Severus quickly shook him awake. “Don’t go to sleep. I need you to talk to me. What’s your name?”

Harry blinked, the pupil of his left eye was enlarged. “Harry . . .Snape . . .I mean Potter . . .”

“Good. How old are you?”

“ . . .’leven.”

“Good. Where do you live?”

A longer pause. “In a big house with . . .Grandpa and you . . .”

“Do you know its name?”

“F-foxfire Hall.”

“Do you remember how you hurt your head?”

“I . . .I crashed into a tree, didn’t see it . . .and fell off my broom . . .M’ sorry, Papa . . .”

Severus could have wept in relief. Harry did not appear to have suffered any memory loss. “Hush, you don’t need to apologize, I’m the one who’s sorry, me and my bloody temper . . .Is that why you ran away?”

Harry shook his head slightly. “Sort of.” He was still shivering.

Severus noted that he might be suffering still from shock and cold and quickly removed the cloak and clothes and placed Harry into the tepid water bath. He kept the boy there for almost ten minutes, gradually increasing the water temperature, until Harry had stopped shivering and said he was no longer cold.

Once he had Harry in soft flannel pajamas and thick socks, he carried the boy into the smaller of the two bedrooms, warmed everything up with another charm and put him in bed. “How do you feel? Still cold?”

“No. Where are we?”

“The hunting lodge three miles north of the house,” Severus answered. “Are you dizzy? Nauseous?”

“Some,” Harry answered, his head was twirling like a top and his stomach felt odd.

“I’ll see what potions are stocked here, meantime rest but don’t go to sleep.” Severus instructed, doing his best to remain calm. He wanted to break down and cry because he had his son back safe, he wanted to shake the boy until his teeth fell out for scaring him to death and then he wanted to hug the wretched brat until he couldn’t breathe.

Harry tried to do as he had been told, but he kept recalling the urgency he had felt to find the Dursleys and to protect Severus and Augustus by leaving. Brilliant plan there, and it all worked out so well too. Guess there’s a reason Grandpa always told me to never fly in bad weather. He looked out the window and saw that snow was falling once more, swiftly, and the flakes were so close together you could barely make out the trees in the distance. He wondered if his Phoenix was buried out there and supposed it must be. Probably broken as well. He glanced over at the nightstand and saw his wand lying there and breathed a sigh of relief.

Breaking his broom was one thing, losing his wand was quite another. He knew Severus would cheerfully skin him and hang him out to dry if he had lost his wand. A wizard’s wand was his life. Or so said Zandra Malfoy. Not that he isn’t going to skin me anyhow, the boy thought, shifting uncomfortably. His head really ached and for some reason his vision was blurry.

He peered over at the newspaper clipping lying next to the wand. He wanted desperately to know why he had been left in a manger like a sack of feed corn, and yet at the same time he didn’t. He was of mixed and confused feelings about his “new” heritage. He had been comfortable being a Snape and a Prince, he was all at sea being a Potter. As a Snape he knew what was expected of him, and even if he didn’t always meet those explanations, he still knew where he stood. This day had gone from bad to worse and right then the only thing Harry knew for sure was that he was safe and his papa would heal him.

But would he tell him the truth about his past? Harry wondered. Could he trust Severus?

He felt suddenly ashamed at doubting the man who had saved his life two times now and had always been there for him, protecting, instructing and . . .yes, loving him. But Severus had kept a great secret from him and right then he felt confused, as confused as Arthur must have felt when he was told that he was Uther Pendragon’s son and meant to rule Britain. The boyhood of King Arthur was a favorite read of his and Harry never tired of reading about it. Like Harry, Arthur too had been hidden away, fostered with Sir Ector, who knew nothing of who the boy really was, and then along came Merlin and he became tutor and mentor to the boy. Arthur never knew his true parentage until he pulled Excalibur from the stone.

Sometimes Harry used to imagine himself as Arthur, but Merlin he always imagined as a stern sorcerer almost like his papa or grandpa, not the traditional bearded elder. I wonder if Arthur felt this confused when he learned about his real parents? Did he want to run and hide under a rock? What would he have been like if Merlin, the great wise wizard, had raised him instead of Sir Ector? What if he’d rather have been Merlin’s son instead of king? I don’t want to be famous, I just want to be ordinary Henry Snape again, the idiot who failed two classes and was going to end up grounded over the holidays. I don’t want to be the Boy Who Lived, and have to kill some psycho dark wizard.

Severus returned with a Stomach Soother and a Headache Remedy to alleviate the symptoms Harry was feeling. Harry took them wordlessly, then he waited for the explosion.

It never came.

Instead Severus pulled up a chair and sat near him, looking at him as if he couldn’t believe he was there, snug in bed, and not dead of hypothermia or whatever. Harry gazed back, his eyes filled with uncertainty. Who am I? And does he . . .still love me even after I was such a disappointment and swore at him like that? How did he find me anyhow?

He decided to start with the easy question first.

“How did you find me? How did you even know that I’d . . .left?”

Severus quirked an eyebrow at him. That gesture nearly made him smile, for it meant that he was asking a question with an obvious answer.

“You know that as an Elemental Master, your grandfather can find a mouse scurrying on the estate. He sensed you through the lifeweb and once I had stepped onto the snow, so did I.”

“A lifeweb?”

“That’s what we Elementalists call the auras of all living things that are intertwined, like a web, both magical and non-magical. But only those of strong talent can use it to find one individual among the many. We could sense your aura and then the general direction you were in. As for knowing how you left, surely you didn’t think a mere locked door would keep me out? And you left a pile of snow and an open skylight, so even a nitwit could tell you had run away.”

“Right.”

“I suppose I should tell your grandfather I have found you,” Severus said suddenly. He called up his Patronus with a flick of his wrist and sent the white doe across the grounds with the message that Harry was alive and they would stay overnight and not to worry.

Then he turned back to the boy in the bed and asked, very softly, “Why did you run away in the middle of a blizzard, Harry? Were you trying to . . .harm yourself?” Severus’ voice grew harsh with emotion and his long-fingered hands clenched to white knuckled fists upon his robe. “Or was it that you cannot stand the sight of me any longer?” He stiffened, as if waiting for a blow.

Harry just looked at him, too astonished to say anything at first. “You . . .you thought I’d try to . . .off myself? Because I went flying in a snowstorm?”

“The thought had crossed my mind, since that’s not normally what one does during a snowstorm.”

“I wasn’t. I’d never . . .” He licked his lips, which felt dry. “Can I have some water?”

Severus summoned a glass, thinking, he’s avoiding my question, he probably doesn’t want to hurt my feelings. “Here.”

Harry took it and started to gulp it, some went down the wrong way, and he began to sputter and cough, which then made his headache worse, until Severus gently leaned him forward and rubbed his back. When he finally managed to get himself under control he felt dizzier than before.

“Sip it slowly,” Severus advised.

Harry cautiously did, and did not choke. Then he said, “I didn’t leave ‘cause of you, well mostly not. I just wanted to find them. . . my aunt and uncle, I mean, so I could ask them why.”

“You risked your life so you could go back to ask those rotten relatives of yours why they abandoned you?” Severus repeated incredulously.

“I had to know . . .and I couldn’t ask you, ‘cause you didn’t ever see them . . .Don’t you see . . .I want to know what I ever did to make them do that? Why would they just . . .leave me like . . .an old shoe or something?” He turned away abruptly, for his eyes were filling up with tears. “Was I so . . .horrible?” That last question came out in a sob, which he quickly choked down and sniffled. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t.

“Never ever think that!” rasped Severus, then he reached out and put an arm about the slender shoulders. “You were a baby, an innocent seventeen-month old baby. You did nothing wrong. How could you?”

“I don’t know,” Harry whispered. “But I must have done something bad, otherwise . . .”

Severus removed his hand from the boy’s shoulder to his chin, gently pulling his face around to look up at him. The emerald eyes were brimming with tears and a pain that was soul deep. Damn those Dursleys! They should drop dead for what they’ve done! “Harry, listen to me. They were rude and wicked people to do such a thing, people without a shred of compassion or human decency in their bodies. I don’t know the exact reason they did it, though I can make a guess. I grew up with your aunt Petunia and she was always jealous of Lily and I because we bore magic and she didn’t. That jealousy grew into a hatred of all things magical and maybe she resented you too when Dumbledore left you on their doorstep. Other than that, I don’t know, but never ever think that you are responsible for what they did. Nothing excuses it, they committed a crime, attempted manslaughter, then covered it up by saying you were kidnapped by a criminal and presumed dead. It was not your fault.”

Now the tears spilled over, making salty tracks down his cheeks, and Severus drew him close.

Harry wept quietly into the familiar shoulder, trying to come to terms with the rejection that had occurred and failing miserably. They left me to die. They left me to die. Sobs tore at him and Severus began to card his hair and hug him. He didn’t even know he had spoken the words aloud.

“I know. Shhh . . .but you didn’t die, you’re a survivor. I knew that the first time I looked into your eyes, you were blue with cold, half frozen, and still screaming your lungs out. . . and that was when I took you in.”

“You didn’t know . . .who I was?” he sniffled.

“No. Not then. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t about to walk away and leave a baby to freeze to death. Cold heartless beasts!” spat Severus savagely. “From then on you were mine. Always mine. You might be a Potter by blood, but you’re a Snape by choice. My choice. And a Prince too.”

Harry lifted his head to look deep into the obsidian eyes. “How?”

“Because your grandfather recognizes you as my heir.”

“But I’m not really your son.”

“Blood is one thing, Harry. You have to love the child of your blood, but you . . .you are the child of my heart and you were chosen by me and that makes you special.”

“Even now, after what I said, and failing school, and . . .?”

“Even then. You needn’t worry that I will stop wanting or loving you, even if you were the worst behaved child ever, I would still call you my son. I wouldn’t be too pleased with you then, but I would never cast you out.”

For some reason, Severus’ admission made him feel worse instead of better, and he blurted stupidly, “That’s why I was leaving. Because I put you and Grandpa in danger. If V-Voldemort comes looking for me, I didn’t want you to get killed, like my parents.”

“And you were leaving to go where? Back to the sadistic beasts? Oh, Harry! Don’t you remember that Foxfire Hall has wards woven into it, wards that make it impossible for anyone to find this place, wards that would protect you against him, you were safer here than you ever would have been in Surrey. There was no need to play the hero.” He gave him a gentle cuff on the back of the head. “Don’t ever risk your life like that again! You hear me?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said automatically. Then he added, “But—”

“But nothing! You do not risk your life, not for me, or Grandpa, not for any reason.”

“But, sir, I . . .I’m supposed to . . .kill Voldemort.”

“Who says?”

“There was a prophecy . . .I heard some of my Housemates talking, they said Lord Voldemort would rise again and he would take over everything because Harry Potter wasn’t there to kill him. I thought it was just a bunch of rot . . .but now I’m Harry Potter.”

“You always were. And that blasted prophecy isn’t to be trusted. A prophecy is only as true as those who believe in it. Otherwise it’s just words on a page or in a globe. I don’t believe in it, the Seer who made it was a charlatan who never had a true vision in her career, but Dumbledore and Voldemort both believed and so I had to hide you away here. Your mother would have approved. She never liked all the pomp and circumstance . . .unlike your father. He ate it up like a starving cat with a bowlful of cream.” He broke off abruptly, not wanting to speak about the Potters just yet, it was a sore topic. “My point is you are not destined or fated to fight a mad sorcerer to the death. Wars are fought by men and megalomaniacs by Aurors, not a boy fresh from his first term of Hogwarts. It’s ludicrous! It’s like throwing a sheep to a Hungarian Horntail and expecting the sheep to walk out eating the dragon.”

“But they call me the savior of the wizarding world in the paper,” Harry indicated it. “And you did find me in a manger, like baby Jesus . . .”he trailed off awkwardly.

“Even He had a choice, Harry. And He didn’t assume the mantle of savior until He was grown and able to make a decision. I don’t care what they call you, let Dumbledore—the only wizard Voldemort has ever feared—get off his high and mighty ass and fight him, and leave you in peace. Your parents died to protect you from the bastard, not to have you throw away your life fulfilling some half-baked prophecy made by a drunk Seer.”

Harry looked doubtful. “Then why do so many people believe it?”

“Because they are afraid and they’ll grasp at anything to keep the fear at bay. They believe it miraculous that you survived the Killing Curse, but I think maybe you were protected by old magic and Voldemort grew sloppy and miscast his curse. When it rebounded, it left you with a scar and killed him.”

Harry felt his forehead. “Where is my scar?”

“Gone. I used a special potion called Scar Remover on you as a baby.” He ruffled the deep auburn hair. “It was a necessary deception. As was the hidden identity. Had anyone known I had you, they might have come and taken you away, so I changed your name to mine. I am sorry I had to lie to you and even sorrier I announced your true parentage in such a way. I was going to wait until Christmas to tell you about it. But “the best laid plans of mice and men, often go awry”.”

“Robbie Burns,” Harry named the famous Scottish poet. He gave Severus a smile. “See, I did study a little.”

“You need to study more.” Severus interjected, then he went on. “I’m sorry if I made you feel unwanted and confused, that was not my intention. I thought you were old enough to handle the truth and to understand why I did what I did. I wanted to give you a normal life, a good life, the life the Dursleys denied you, the life I never had as a child. The Boy Who Lived would have never been allowed to have that, he would have been an overnight celebrity. Hate me for it if you wish, but I stand by my decision.”

“I don’t hate you,” Harry cried. “I just got mad . . .I’m sorry . . .it’s just . . .like getting hit with a Bludger, the way you told me . . .I looked and looked at their picture,” he waved a hand at the clipping. “I look like them but I don’t feel like I belong to them. They’re like strangers and I feel lost . . .”

“Perhaps . . .I can make you feel a little less lost.” Severus offered tentatively. “I can tell you something about both your parents, as I knew and went to school with both of them. I was your mother’s best friend and your father’s nemesis.”

“Am I like them? Besides looks, I mean?”

Severus considered. “You remind me a great deal of Lily in temperament, most times. She could be very generous and kind and she was passionate about defending those who couldn’t defend themselves. She had quite the temper, however, and was quick to defend herself with a wand or her tongue. She loved potions as much as I did, we often worked together during class and both of us were favorites of our potions teacher. She was also remarkable in Charms. We were neighbors and friends before we ever went to Hogwarts, I was the one who first told her she was a witch, and the weird things she could do weren’t freaky, they were magic. We used to meet down by the park . . .”

Harry listened to Severus’s voice go soft, as if he were speaking about someone very dear to him. He listened to Severus tell stories of their shared childhood and then he asked, “What about my dad? You said you knew him too. What was he like? I know he played Quidditch for Gryffindor, says so in the Trophy Room.”

Severus grimaced, for speaking about James Potter was not something he was comfortable with. Yet he had promised the boy he would tell him something about his parents, and he would not lie, he was done with that.

“Yes, your father was an excellent Quidditch player, you get your skill on a broom from him. He was a brave man and a loyal one, though while we were in school we did not get on well at all. James was a prankster and a troublemaker and I was just the opposite and. . .we fought many times over the years. He could be arrogant and biased and he considered Slytherins to be halfway down the dark path because of Voldemort.”

Harry sighed. “A lot of the Gryffs think that. It’s stupid. Professor Malfoy said to just ignore them, that they were ignorant and didn’t know any better. She said we shouldn’t be held responsible for the mistakes of past members.”

“And she would be right. All the Houses have had members both Dark and Light.”

“Then I guess . . .he wouldn’t be too happy I’m a Snake now would he?”

“Harry, I would hope that he would be proud of you no matter what you were Sorted as. He might have been an unmitigated ass to me during school, but I think he would be grateful that you were given the chance to grow up, no matter if I raised you or not. No matter what House you’re in. Any parent wants what’s best for their child.” After a moment, he continued. “Your father was also good at Transfiguration, he came from an old pureblood family, he was wealthy and popular, he was Head Boy along with your mother as Head Girl. However, he trusted the wrong sort of people. He trusted a man named Sirius Black, who was his best friend, and he was betrayed by him . . .”

Harry listened, entranced, as Severus retold the events of that Halloween night, as far as he knew them. When he was done, Harry said, “Thanks for telling me.”

“Does it help any?”

“A little.” Harry bit his lip. “Are you sure I don’t have to be the Child of Light like the prophecy says? Because I’d rather be plain Harry Snape.”

“Harry, you can be whatever you want. The Child of Light does not have to be a warrior, he can be a different savior, one who heals hearts and spirits. Or not, as you choose.”

Harry felt the burden lighten. He smiled and asked, “Do we have to let people know I’m Harry Potter? I mean, I’ll tell Nev and Ron and Hermione and Blaise, but I can trust them. They won’t blab. I just don’t want the rest of the world knowing. Is that a problem?”

“No, But you shall have to present yourself in Gringotts and gain access to the Potter vault of which you are the sole recipient. The goblins need to know the truth, after that, I can file legally for a blood adoption, if you would like.”

“What’s that mean?”

“It means that I adopt you according to an old magic ritual. It involves two witnesses, and a willing exchange of vows and a drop of blood. But you can think on that later, Child of Light,” Severus teased gently.

“Hey, don’t call me that. If I was able to perform miracles like they say, I’d be able to get off my grounding this holiday.”

“Not a chance,” Severus shot back. Then he added, “You have done something miraculous, Harry.”

“Like what?”

“Like bring joy and hope and love back into the hearts of people who had none or had lost that feeling. People like Smithers and Grandpa and me. Or the children at Angel Haven. There’s a miracle right there.”

Harry started to grin. “You know something, Papa? You’re a wise man. And I’m glad the star led you to me.”

Severus hugged him gently. “As am I. For in saving you, I saved myself.” Then he drew away. “Lie back and sleep.”

“I’m allowed?”

“Yes, for a few hours. I’ll wake you up a few times during that time, just in case. There’s a blizzard out there right now and the best thing to do is to sleep and let it snow.”

Harry yawned. He felt so warm and comfortable, and a part of his mind was a little more settled and slowly accepting the truth of who he had been, who he was and who he could become. His eyes shut and he drifted into a twilight state, while Severus kept watch until two hours later, and then he too succumbed to sleep’s siren call.

And all about the cottage, the snow fell in heaps and drifts, covering the small house with a pristine blanket of virgin snow.

December 24th, 1991:

Sometime in the wee small hours of the morning, Harry woke with a pounding headache and an urgent need to find the nearest bathroom. But when he tossed off his covers and tried to stand up, he found his left leg wouldn’t hold his weight, and he fell back onto the bed with a thump and gave a yelp of surprise and pain.

That woke Severus, who was sleeping just in the next room, and had left a lamp on in Harry’s room. The Potions Master jerked up from the bed and ran into Harry’s room. “Harry? What happened? Did you fall?”

He found his son sitting on his bed, grimacing and holding his knee. “I don’t remember hurting my knee. I can’t walk, Papa,” he told him, a note of panic rising in his voice.

Severus hurried over to him. “Why were you trying to get out of bed, son?”

Harry flushed. “I . . .err . . .need the bathroom. And my head hurts again.”

“You sprained your knee quite badly. I mended it as best I could, but you shouldn’t walk on it. You’re seeing a Healer as soon as we get back to the manor,” Severus said, thinking worriedly that the concussion must have been worse than he’d thought. “For now, I can give you a shoulder. Or better yet, I’ll just carry you.”

“No, I can walk if you’ll help me!” Harry protested, then he squeaked when Severus plucked him off the bed as easily as if he weighed nothing and carried him across the hall to the single bathroom. Harry was not a large eleven-year-old, he had not gotten his growth spurt yet, and he had often skipped meals at school, especially when he was trying to cram last month, so he was lighter than an average child his age. And Severus was very strong from hauling about cauldrons and stirring mixtures for hours on end, though his lean frame didn’t show it as much.

“I’ll be back in three minutes,” Severus said, setting his son down in front of the toilet.

Harry just nodded, his face red. This is what comes of flying in a snowstorm, you bloody imbecile, he scolded himself roundly, leaning against the wall for a moment. He sure as hell wouldn’t be doing that again anytime soon.

Severus returned after three minutes as promised and carried Harry back to bed. “Here, take some more Headache Remedy,” the Potions Master handed Harry another vial of the green solution.

Harry did, grimacing at the taste, but it was better than the Pain Reliever. That one nearly made him gag. Afterwards, Severus helped him lie down, and propped up his bad knee with pillows. Harry was wide awake, though, and couldn’t fall back to sleep. His eyes went to the window, where snow was drifting lazily through the air.

It was then that he saw his Phoenix standing in the corner, whole and unharmed. “My broom!” he gasped. “It’s not broken!”

Severus shook his head. “Somehow it survived the crash. Save for a few bent and splintered twigs, but those are easily repaired. You were lucky, Harry. Very lucky.”

“I know,” Harry said feelingly. He would never forget the moment just before he slammed into the tree, it had been a split second of dreadful fear and shock and then nothing until he woke up and saw his father looking down on him. He had never been so relieved to see anyone in his whole life. He wriggled a bit, trying to get comfortable. It was hard, because he was bruised all over, but at last he managed to find a semi-comfortable position, lying half on his side, facing Severus.

“Do you need a Cushioning Charm on the bed?”

“Uh . . .yeah.”

Severus cast it in two seconds.

Harry sighed happily as the bed became soft like a cloud. He relaxed, but even then still couldn’t fall asleep. So he decided to ask Severus a question that had been bugging him ever since the quarrel that morning. “Have you written that letter to Professor Malfoy yet, Papa?”

Severus shook his head. “Not yet. Why? I wish to give her a good piece of my mind, young man, and don’t even try and convince me otherwise. Her first responsibility should be her students’ academics, not Quidditch.”

“I know that,” Harry said softly, not wanting to start another quarrel. “I’m sorry I screwed up, sir. But . . .would you consider not telling her to pull me off the team altogether? I mean, I know it’s what I deserve, but Johnny is going to come back and play next term, so I’ll just be Reserve Seeker again, and go to practice and watch the game mostly. So . . .would you maybe ask her to put me on . . .umm . . .I can’t think of the word . . .”

“Suspension? Probation?” Severus suggested.

“Probation . . .yeah that’s it. So will you? Please?” He gave his father his most pleading look. “I promise you on my wizard’s honor that I will study hard and get top marks next term, and I’m really sorry I said I hated you and swore at you.”

“I still owe you a minute with a bar of soap for that, young man,” Severus said sternly.

Harry made a face. He hadn’t gotten a mouthwashing since he was four, but he knew he deserved it and so didn’t protest. “Will you think on it? I really love Quidditch and I don’t want to give it up forever.”

Severus took a seat on the edge of the bed and said, “I never said you had to give it up forever, Harry. I said you needed to be pulled because you couldn’t handle your academic workload and play at the same time based on this term’s grades. However, I will request that she put you on probation for two months, and monitor your grades closely during that time. If you do well and don’t seem overwhelmed, you may play in a few games as needed.”

“Thanks, sir.” Harry grinned.

“But only if you keep your grades up. That is non-negotiable.” Severus added.

“No, really?”

“None of your cheek, boy!” he half-scolded, rapping Harry’s head lightly with his hand.

“You know, you’d make a good professor,” his son remarked, grinning like a mischievous imp.

Severus looked horrified. “Merlin forbid! Someone would end up dead before a week went by. Probably me, from having a stroke dealing with a classroom full of impudent disobedient brats like you.”

“Nah. You’d have all of us whipped into shape in three days.”

Severus snorted. “I have all I can manage with one of you, wretched imp. Besides, I am perfectly content as a researcher and inventor of new potions, and manager of Prince Labs.”

“And you make better money too.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “How do you know what a teacher’s salary is?”

Harry shrugged. “I asked Professor Malfoy. She told me she’s not teaching for the paycheck that’s for sure.”

“I wouldn’t think so. The Ministry doesn’t pay professors nearly enough for all the aggravation they put up with. Which is why I would never choose it as a profession.”

“I still think you’d make a good teacher. I mean, you taught Blaise, Nev, and me potions before we were in school and we still remember how to brew all of them.”

“Let me put it another way. Would you want me overseeing your every move during school like I do when you’re home?”

“No! Forget I said anything,” Harry said quickly. If Severus were a professor at Hogwarts, he would probably be spending all his free time studying or in detention. Or getting bawled out in front of everyone in the Great Hall.

“That’s what I thought, imp,” Severus chuckled evilly. “Now, close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“I’m not tired.”

“Close them anyway,” he ordered, familiar with this argument.

Harry obeyed, and no sooner had he done so, he was asleep. Severus tucked the covers about him before ruffling his hair affectionately and whispering, “Sleep well, my son.”

Then he glided out of the room, falling asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow.

* * * * * *

When Severus returned to the house with Harry in his arms, they found Foxfire Hall in a bit of an uproar. They were met as soon as they crossed the threshold by an anxious Hotspur. “Oh, Master Sev, you have found the young master!” were the first words out of the elf’s mouth. His grin was so wide it nearly reached his pointed ears. “Lina and I were so worried.” He then turned a reproving glare on the young master. “Master Harry, please do not scare us that way again. Lina stayed up all night scrubbing pots and crying, saying she would have never left you alone in the attic had she known you would be so reckless.”

Now Harry felt terribly guilty for making the two elves worry so much and he hung his head. “I’m sorry, Hotspur. I was so upset I wasn’t thinking. I didn’t mean to make Lina cry . . .I never thought she would miss me that much, especially since I’m not really a Prince by blood . . .”

“You will be after the adoption,” Severus reassured, hoping that would take care of any lingering doubts Harry had about belonging to the family.

Hotspur shook a finger at the young wizard. “The Green Man grant me patience! You are as stubborn as milord Augustus, young master! You have been a part of this family since you were a baby, and Lord Augustus called you his great-grandson. That will never change, simply because you have learned of your birth heritage. You are who you always were, Little One, for love binds more than blood. That is a truth we elves learned long ago. I would not be here now and serve this family did I not love you as heartkin. Nor would Lina. Silly wizards, all this fuss and nonsense over names! Call yourself Potter or Snape, Master Harry, but Foxfire Hall shall always be your home, for love binds you even as it does me.”

Harry and Severus remained with their mouths hanging open, for that was the longest speech they had ever heard from quiet Hotspur.

Abruptly the elf cleared his throat and said, “May I take your cloaks, Masters? Master Harry, you looked like a tree pummeled you, and could use a cup of tea. Master Sev, milord Augustus depleted his powers severely last night controlling that blizzard, but he would insist he is fine and refuses to rest, even after he nearly fell out of his chair this morning at breakfast.” Hotspur said, sounding very exasperated. “Would you please speak with him? He could do himself great harm unless he rests, the stubborn old—” the elf broke off abruptly, having been conditioned to never speak ill of his master.

Severus looked very alarmed and hurried inside. He placed Harry on the comfortable couch in the drawing room and said, “Stay here. I’m going to call Healer Faolin to examine you both.”

Healer Faolin was Harry’s pediatrician, she had been taking care of him since he was a baby, she had seen him through dragon pox and vaccinations and several sprains and a broken arm, he liked her.

Severus tossed down Floo powder and stuck his head into the green flames, after first calling, “Healer Faolin’s office!”

The plump Healer happened to be standing next to the fireplace at that particular moment, and she greeted Severus by name. “Why hello, Severus! You look frazzled, what’s wrong with Harry this time?”

“He had an accident with his broom,” Severus said, and detailed Harry’s injuries. “And my grandfather overspent himself calming that snowstorm last night so I could find my son and I’d like you to take a look at him, if you would?”

“Not a problem, Severus. Just let me finish with my last patient’s vaccinations and I’ll pop right over.” The Healer said cheerfully, then she bustled away and Severus withdrew his head from the flames.

“Now to deal with your grandfather,” he said to his son. He turned around to find Harry with his face in his hands, crying softly. “What’s the matter? Is it your knee? Your head? Harry, please answer me!” Severus shook his shoulder gently, alarmed. His son hardly ever cried when he was injured, unless he was in agony. “Harry!”

Harry lifted his face a half-an-inch from his palms and whispered, “It’s all my fault.”

“What? Harry, look at me, I can’t understand you.”

Harry lifted his head, swiping away the tears with his sleeve before Severus could stop him. “It’s all my fault and now Grandpa might die because of me!” The thought was so awful that he started to tear up again.

“What’s all your fault?”

“That Grandpa drained his magical core because he was trying to stop the blizzard,” Harry wailed. “If . . .I hadn’t run away he wouldn’t have done it and now he could die and it’s my fault!”

Severus stared at his son for a long moment and then he said, “Harry, stop crying and listen to me. Don’t blame yourself for the choices others make. Yes, you did a very stupid thing flying out into a snowstorm, but nobody twisted your grandpa’s arm to use his Elemental powers to halt it. That was his choice and he knew what the risks were. Just as it was my choice to go seeking you instead of calling the Ministry Search and Rescue team. And where in Merlin’s name did you get the idea that Grandpa’s dying?”

“B-because we learned in Charms that if you overspend your magical core you could die,” Harry sniffled.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Severus groaned. “Here, quit sniffling all over.” He gave Harry a handkerchief. “Yes, that’s true, but that only happens if you’ve been fighting or using strong magic for days on end without rest or an untrained wizard casts a spell beyond their skill level and it takes too much magic from him. Your grandfather meets none of those criteria. An Elemental Master can draw upon reserves from the earth to keep from getting to that point. If he was as bad as that, Hotspur would have summoned me immediately, and rushed him to St. Mungos. Healer Faolin will know more when she sees him.”

Harry blew his nose. “You sure?”

“Yes. Would you like to go and see for yourself?” asked Severus.

“Yes, please.”

“All right.” Severus suspected he’d find Augustus in his study at this time of the morning, and he picked up Harry and carried him upstairs. “Son, you need to stop blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control.”

“I’ll try,” Harry said, scrubbing his face with the handkerchief so Augustus wouldn’t know he’d been crying.

As Severus had predicted Augustus was in his study, trying to go over the monthly accounts. But he was quite drained from battling the storm last night and kept nodding off over the ledgers. Mystic was asleep on the corner of the desk, atop a pile of parchment, like a fuzzy black paperweight. Severus and Harry arrived to find him dozing, his dark hair now streaked with gray.

“Grandfather?” Severus called softly.

Augustus didn’t stir.

Mystic awoke, yawned, twitched his whiskers, then went over and meowed in his wizard’s ear.

Augustus jerked up. “Huh? What? Mystic? Must have fallen asleep again, blast it.” He stroked the cat lovingly and Mystic arched his back and purred.

“Grandfather, are you all right?” Severus asked.

“Severus! You’ve returned. Did you find him?”

“I’m right here, Grandpa.” Harry said, he was leaning on Severus’ arm.

Augustus gave a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin! Are you hurt, lad?”

“Uh . . .I’ve got a sprained knee and a concussion,” Harry reported.

“And he broke his nose, but I fixed that,” Severus added.

Relief and anger flickered in the other’s eyes. He straightened and gave his impulsive great-grandson a look of disapproval. “You foolish reckless child! What were you thinking, flying off into a blizzard that way? You could have been killed! What have I told you, Mr. Snape, about flying in bad weather?”

“Not to. I’m sorry, Grandpa.”

“You ought to be, young man! You scared your father and me half to death with your insane stunt! I couldn’t sleep all night for worrying. You ought to be glad you’re injured, or else I’d be tempted to wallop your backside, Henry.”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t mean to scare you, I just thought . . .I didn’t belong here so I . . .”

“You what? Decided to run off? Who ever gave you the idea that you didn’t belong here?”

Harry shrugged and dug his toe into the carpet. “Because I’m not really your great-grandson, I’m a Potter—”

“So? You were a Potter when you first arrived and I’ve known for years who you were and it makes no difference now than it did then.”

“You knew?”

“Aye, lad, I did. And you’re still my great-grandson, no matter what name you give yourself, because I say so.” Augustus declared fiercely. “This is your home and your family and I’ll hear no more about you not belonging here. And if those fools in the Ministry or Albus Dumbledore say otherwise, they’re going to deal with me.” He held out his arms. “Come here, you wretched brat. Welcome home.”

Harry found himself scooted across the carpet by a playful wind gust and into the old sorcerer’s arms. He clung to the tall wizard, and Augustus hugged him hard, easing him onto his lap. “I love you, Grandpa. I’m sorry I made you overspend your powers.”

“Overspend my powers? That Hotspur’s been exaggerating again,” snorted the old man. “Damn worrywart elf! I’m perfectly fine. Just a bit tired. Quit worrying.” He patted Harry on the back, for Harry was sniffling into his blue day robe. “There now, lad. You’re forgiven. I love you too, my Harry.”

Harry froze. “You . . .called me Harry.”

Augustus smiled. “Just this once. You’re upset and injured, I’ll humor you. But don’t ever do anything like that again, or else I’ll break that broomstick and use it for firewood.” He growled gently.

“Okay, Grandpa,” was all Harry said, allowing the wizard to hold him for a few moments more. It felt so good to be back home, safe and loved, despite the scoldings.

Augustus shifted uncomfortably. “Getting too heavy for my knees, Henry.” He muttered, half to himself, and Harry stood up and leaned on the desk. Augustus eyed him. “You going to stand there all day like a stork on one leg, or are you going to sit down in a chair?”

“Oh.” Now Harry felt like a dunce. There was a chair opposite the desk.

“Off with you, lad,” Augustus said gruffly, gently turning him about and giving him a light swat on the bottom.

Harry winced, for though the smack didn’t hurt, his bruises did.

Augustus noticed, of course. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m just bruised,” Harry said offhandedly.

“Bruised? Severus, why didn’t you heal him?”

“I did, partially. But Healer Faolin is coming over to examine him more thoroughly,” replied Severus, rolling his eyes. One minute you’re threatening to wallop his behind and now it’s Severus, why didn’t you heal him? Merlin have mercy! He moved over to help his son into a chair, speaking a Cushioning charm first. Harry sat down gingerly. “Comfortable? Good.” The Potions Master gave his grandfather a frown. “She’s also going to be examining you for spell drain, Grandfather.”

“Me? Severus, I’m fine.”

“No, you are not. Just let the Healer run a diagnostic.”

“That isn’t necessary.”

“I say it is,” Severus set his jaw.

Augustus glared at him. “Disrespectful young whelp! Who do you think you are, dictating to me?”

“Your heir, who’s very concerned about you, Grandfather,” Severus answered back. “Stop being stubborn.”

“Look who’s talking. That’s the cauldron calling the kettle black, Severus Snape!” retorted the elder Slytherin. “Don’t you think I know when I’ve overstressed myself?”

“No. Because you’re like Harry, and think you’re invincible,” Severus shot back.

“Listen to Master Sev, milord!” put in Lina , who had just popped into the room with a tea tray.

Augustus frowned. “Lina, you’re not my mother.”

“Good thing, milord. Because I’d have surely expired from nerves,” the elf said, and smiled sweetly. She set the tray down upon the desk and then she rushed over to Harry. “Master Harry, you’re home!” she cried. She climbed into his lap and hugged him, crying happily.

Harry hugged her. “Hey, Lina. I’m okay, really. I’m sorry I was so mean to you this morning. Don’t cry.”

The elf stopped after a moment, pulled away and looked at him, her hazel eyes wet with tears. “You are certain you’re all right?”

“I’m a bit banged up, but I’ll live.”

“Good.” Then she cuffed him hard on the ear.

“Ouch!” He gaped at her in shock, for Lina had never raised a hand to him ever. “What was that for?”

“Nearly giving me a heart attack, you reckless imp! I thought I was done with that after you turned four and quit eating holly berries. Guess I was wrong, huh?”

“I’m sorry, Lina.”

The little elf shook her finger at him. “I’ve got lots of pots and pans waiting for you to scrub, young master, so you can show me just how sorry you are after dinner.”

“But . . .Hotspur said you were cleaning all night.”

“So I was. Nearly wore out my hands. But the day’s not half done yet and I’ve lots more to cook. There’ll be plenty for you to clean, Master Harry. If you do a good job, you can have dessert.” Then she hugged him again, tears of joy now filling her eyes. “Welcome home, Little One.” An instant later she blinked away.

Harry rubbed his ear. “Merlin, but she was really mad! I’ve never seen her like that.”

Augustus gave a wry chuckle. “You set this household on its ear running off like that, lad. Don’t do it again.”

“No, sir. Promise.”

Just then Valeska swooped into the room with a letter for Severus. She glided down gracefully and perched on his forearm, holding her leg out so he could unfasten the envelope.

“Thank you, bright one,” he crooned, and fed her a tidbit of roasted chicken, which he had in his pocket. He opened the envelope and read the short parchment note there. “Ah. Your Christmas present has come in, Harry,” was all he said.

Harry nodded, then he reached up to pet Valeska, who scolded him in falconspeak and nipped him gently before letting him stroke her. “You’re mad at me too, huh? I’m really sorry. Didn’t think you’d miss me too. Where’s Calin?”

As if on cue, his calico strolled into the room and jumped into his lap, purring ecstatically and kneading him with her front paws. “Hey, I’m not a pincushion!” he objected. The cat ignored him, happily making herself comfortable on her favorite wizard’s lap. Then she fell asleep, waking only when Healer Faolin arrived and gently removed her so she could examine Harry’s knee.

A few spells later and Harry’s knee and concussion were fixed, and Healer Faolin even offered to re-break Harry’s nose and make it straight again. “It won’t take but a few minutes.”

“No!” Harry refused. “I don’t care if it’s not straight, I like it the way it is,” he told her.

“All right then, Harry.” The Healer laughed, ruffling his hair. “Your father did a good job, actually, for a non-Healer. And that small bump makes you look a bit more like him.” Then she turned to examine Augustus. “Lord Prince, what’s this I hear about you wrestling a snowstorm? All of you Elemental Masters are the same, you push yourselves till you collapse and then wonder why.”

“I don’t wonder, I know why,” Augustus said grouchily, but he allowed her to run her wand over him.

“Ah. As I thought. Exhaustion and spell fatigue.” Healer Faolin said. She prescribed several draughts of Magic Replenisher, and a whole day in bed, resting and drinking liquids.

Augustus grudgingly agreed to follow her rules, and allowed Severus and Hotspur to help him to bed. He then slept for two hours and while he was asleep, Severus attended to a few other matters, such as writing a letter to Professor Malfoy and washing Harry’s mouth out for his disrespectful language. Harry had forgotten how much he hated that particular punishment until then, and he vowed to never swear at Severus again—at least not till he was of age.

Afterwards, Harry took a nap, and Severus finished his correspondence to Harry’s teacher.

Dear Professor Zandra Malfoy,

I am writing this to express my deep displeasure with my son Harry’s grades this term. I don’t know if you are aware of it, though you ought to be, that he has failed two core courses this term, Transfiguration and History of Magic, as well as being below average in several others. My son has since informed me that his grades slipped because he was playing Quidditch more than he was studying. That is unacceptable to me.

When he wrote me back in September about gaining the position of Reserve Seeker, I was not happy, but decided to allow him to participate, so long as his grades did not drop. But then you made him a full Seeker and that caused him to pay more attention to sports and forget about keeping his grades up.

I would like to know how it is that you did not notice my son’s grades becoming progressively worse? You should be keeping an eye on all the first years and making sure they are handing in homework and studying for tests and so forth. That is the responsibility of a Head of House, not winning a silly game.

I recall when we were in school together, Ms. Malfoy, you were obsessed with Quidditch then too, but I would have thought you smart enough to not let that get in the way of making sure all your students were performing up to standards. I am very strict with grades, and my son knows this, and I know that my son can make perfect marks if he is not being encouraged to be the next Wronski.

Didn’t your colleagues inform you about Harry’s grades going downhill? I find it hard to believe that Professor McGonagall and Professor Binns would not have done so. Did you choose to ignore them so you could keep your star Seeker? If so it shows a remarkable lack of solidarity and responsibility on your part, not to mention sheer negligence! And you teach potions besides!

I have already punished my son at home, but I would like to extend that punishment and have you put him on academic probation for two months next term and restrict his Quidditch activities until he shows improvement in his marks. I would ask you to monitor him closely and if he shows improvement by the middle of the term, then you may allow him back on the team as Reserve Seeker only. If not, then I shall pull him from Quidditch until he brings his marks up to my satisfaction.

I must say that I am quite furious with your irresponsibility, Professor, and you are lucky I have not reported your negligence to both the Headmaster and Board of Governors. A teacher’s first duty should be to her students.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape, Potions Master

He then sent the letter off with Valeska.

By that time Augustus had awoken and was ready to discuss what needed to be done in order to make Harry an official member of the Prince and Snape family.

Severus settled down in the brown horsehair stuffed recliner at the side of Augustus’ bed and Harry curled up at the foot, facing Augustus, who was reclining on several large pillows. “First, we ought to contact Gringotts and see what, if any, activity has been going on with the Potter vault these past years. I would find it odd that Dumbledore did not arrange some kind of payment schedule with your . . .relatives, Henry,” Augustus began, spitting out the word relatives as if it were foul-tasting. “As a former consultant at Gringotts, I still have some pull with my friends the goblins, and will contact them and explain the situation. They can be trusted to keep any secrets, for they have no interest in the affairs of wizards and are sworn to maintain a policy of confidentiality with customers and non-interference in magical politics and so forth. Plus, as I am a personal friend of Thane Dragonfang, who is the Goblin Bank Manager, we may come and go about our business without anyone being the wiser.”

“What are you saying, Grandfather? You know of a secret way into Gringotts?” Severus asked.

“Not so much as a secret way, but rather a way known only to certain bank employees and goblins,” Augustus said, smirking like a fox who had just swallowed a chicken. “Once they verify that young Henry is indeed Harry Potter, they will release the contents of the vault to him and we shall see what remains of his inheritance from James and Lily. The Potter fortune was quite large, hopefully most of it is still intact.”

Harry coughed, then said, “But Grandpa, I don’t know anything about managing money.”

“Then I shall teach you. But you won’t have to worry about actually managing the money until you are of age. Your father, as your legal guardian and parent shall be in charge of that, as will your personal financial advisor. I would lend you mine, but Adderscale has enough to do with the Prince account never mind adding another.”

“Are they all goblins?” asked Harry.

“Most of the best advisors are. There’s nothing like a goblin to manage your Galleons. They have the best head for figures and they aren’t tempted by gold. Goblins consider gold worthless soft metal. Their society trades in steel coins and by barter, and they value honesty and fair trade above all. It’s something we wizards could learn from. Many of the wars we fought with the goblins were because wizards attempted to cheat them out of land and magical items, for the goblins are wonderful crafters of armor and weapons and magical devices. They have a natural rapport with earth and sky magic, which is why they tend to respect me, as I am an Elemental Master.”

Harry was not surprised. Augustus was one of the most respected wizards anywhere, because of the vast forces he wielded. An Elemental Master was the rarest of mages, such a Talent came along once in several centuries, and those who were born with it quickly learned to be self-disciplined, lest they destroy everything they held dear. Actually, any Master of an Element had to be controlled and of a strong demeanor, lest the powers they conjured go wild. Augustus had told him that once his powers started to show themselves at age fifteen, his parents had apprenticed him to an ancient witch, the last living Elemental Mistress in Britain, called Morgana. Through her he had learned the iron discipline required of one who could summon the powers of wind, water, fire, and earth. Most of the wizarding community respected the Elementalists, and everyone was fearful of what could happen should they anger one.

To be an Elemental Master, Augustus had once said, was to be one with the forces of nature and the planet itself. It was a Talent that demanded great responsibility, which was why it tended to surface late in life, in middle adolescence or adulthood.

Harry wished often that he could inherit an Elementalist’s gift, he would have liked to be an Air Master or maybe even a Fire Master. But since learning of his true heritage, he didn’t think it was likely he would ever be one, since the Talent had to be inherited directly. It tended to skip generations, but there had to be one with the Talent in the direct line of descent somewhere. While magic might show up randomly in a Muggle family, an Elemental Mastery did not. Harry didn’t know if any of the Potters had ever had such a gift, no one had ever mentioned it and it was so rare that even a family like the Princes, who had several Masters, could not be sure a child would inherit it.

But that was all right, he reminded himself. He had enough on his plate as it was, and he was content with just being Henry Snape. As well as the Boy Who Lived, though he could do without that dreadful monicker.

“When will you contact Dragonfang, Grandfather?”

“As soon as possible. The sooner I speak with him, the sooner we can settle our affairs and get on with the blood adoption. You know, of course, that the blood adoption requires two witnesses, both of whom know the true identity of both participants?”

“Yes, I know. I was trying to think of another person whom I trust enough to tell Harry’s parentage to.”

“What about Augusta?” suggested Augustus. “She isn’t a gossipy witch and she was also involved with the events of that Halloween night, she will understand our wish for privacy. And she cares not for fame or fortune.”

Severus considered for several moments. He knew Augustus would not have suggested her if he did not trust her implicitly and Severus liked her, she reminded him a little of Eileen and his grandfather combined. There was really no one else close to the family he would have considered, save perhaps one of the Zabinis. But Annamaria and Marco did not have the old reputation that the Longbottoms had, being a newer pureblood family from Italy. No, Augusta was the wise choice.

“I agree. I shall speak with Augusta while you talk to Dragonfang.” Severus told them.

“Can I tell Neville, Papa?” asked Harry. “And what about Blaise and Ron and Hermione?”

Augustus looked rather alarmed. “Harry, I can see why you would want your friends to know, but I think such knowledge ought to remain within the family. Otherwise, what if one of them says something to someone by mistake? Then word will get out that you’re the Boy Who Lived, and you’ll be hounded by the media and Dumbledore will go out of his way to ensure you try and fulfill that ridiculous prophecy. You don’t want that to happen, do you?”

“No, but . . .isn’t it sort of lying to them?”

“No, once the adoption is finalized.” Augustus persuaded.

“Your grandpa is right, Harry. The less people who know, the better. Three can keep a secret, but only if two of them are dead.” Severus quoted Benjamin Franklin calmly.

Harry thought about it. He was almost sure hot irons wouldn’t drag his secret out of Neville, but what about the rest of them? Ron had a tendency to blurt out the first thing in his head when he became upset and he didn’t know about Hermione and Blaise sometimes tended to tell things to his older brother and sister that he shouldn’t.

“All right. We’ll keep it between us. I’d rather not be the front page headline.”

“I’m proud of you, Harry. That was a mature decision you just made,” Severus told him.

“Thanks,” Harry said, and he felt a warm glow surge through him at his father’s words, a glow that erased the feelings of shame and regret that he had felt for his hasty words before.

“Henry, get me that round stone mirror on my dresser,” Augustus pointed to a hand mirror carved of some odd gray striped stone inset with what looked like rubies, emeralds, and sapphires about the glass. Strange runic markings were etched inbetween the stones and the glass was opaque.

“This? But where’s your reflection?”

The Elemental Master chuckled. “This mirror is no ordinary mirror. It is a Mirror of Far Speaking. With it I can contact Dragonfang and any other goblin in Gringotts without having to go there directly. These are rare magical items and the goblins give them to very few. I am one of those.”

He took the mirror and breathed upon it four times, then called softly in Gobbledegook, “Dragonfang, I would speak with you.”

The mirror glowed with a soft blue light, then a goblin whose skin was a golden cast and had a short goatee and ebony hair cut short like those of the warrior caste appeared in the mirror. He had large slanted eyes of a slate color and a hooked nose and pointed ears. Upon one ear hung a small dragon’s fang set in platinum.

“Lord Prince, brother to Elements, it has been long since I have heard your voice. What would you have of me, old friend?”

“I have a favor to ask of you, old friend. A favor which requires me to invoke client confidentiality,” Augustus answered.

“Ah. Consider my tongue frozen.” He inclined his head to the old wizard.

“Listen then, Dragonfang,” Augustus began to speak rapidly in the language of the goblins, which he had learned long ago.

Harry looked at Severus in puzzlement. “Papa, what kind of language is that?”

“Gobbledegook, the language of the goblins,” Severus replied. “Your grandfather is one of the few Gringotts employees, retired or otherwise, who has bothered to learn their tongue. They respect him for it, among other things.”

The Potions Master rose. “I am going to Floo Augusta and speak with her about your heritage while Grandfather is talking to Dragonfang. Why don’t you have some lunch while you wait?”

“Okay,” Harry agreed, for he was now starving. Lina brought him a lunch that was more like a dinner—turkey with stuffing and mashed potatoes and cranberry sauce. Harry took that to mean she had forgiven him, unless it was so he would have more pots and pans to scrub after dinner. Whatever the reason, he ate heartily, for he had missed Lina’s cooking while he was at school. The food at Hogwarts was good, but sometimes it could be over sauced and rich, while Lina cooked tasty simple meals that did not sit heavily on his stomach.

Augustus and Severus soon joined him at the table, and Augustus informed them that after lunch they would Floo to the Leaky Cauldron as usual and from there he would take them to Gringotts by way of the Goblin Passage, which was a secret road known only to the goblins of Gringotts and those they named friends, which were a handful of witches and wizards.

Harry grew very excited, until Augustus burst his bubble by telling him he would have to be blindfolded.

“What for?”

“Those are the rules, lad. Only one who is named Goblin Friend can see the Passage. Everyone else, and there have been very few who even know it exists, must be blindfolded. The goblins are very tight with their security.”

Harry sighed, then supposed he ought to be grateful he was getting to find out about the ultra secret way at all, considering some of the stories he’d heard about Gringotts security. It was said that you might be able to break into Gringotts but nobody had ever broken out of it. Goblins did not tolerate thieves of any kind.

* * * * * *

Once they had stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron, Augustus led them down the alley behind the inn, where some trash bins were located. There they met two hefty looking goblins with reddish skin and sharp ears and crooked noses, dressed in matte blue tunics and leggings and boots that flopped over at the knee of black suede. They wore half cloaks of black and had slender swords at their belts.

Both bowed low to Augustus. “Lord Prince, it is an honor to see you again,” said one. “Thane Dragonfang awaits you.”

“It is an honor to see you as well,” said the Elementalist, bowing in return, and speaking, as did the goblins, in their own tongue. “These are my grandson, Severus Snape, and his son, Henry.”

The goblins also bowed to them. “As kin of Lord Prince we greet you,” said the first one, this time in English. “But even kin may not see the road we shall travel. Forgive us the necessity of a blindfold.” He removed a strip of what looked like a sheer black cloth.

Then he approached Harry and bound it tightly about his eyes, including his glasses. Instantly, Harry could see nothing.

The other goblin did the same to Severus, though the Potions Master had to kneel in order for the goblin to reach his head.

“Do not fear, young wizard,” came the goblin’s slightly raspy deep voice. “Take my hand and I shall guide you. My name is Striking Arrow.”

Severus’s goblin guide was called Dark Bane, and he pressed a series of bricks in the back wall of the Leaky Cauldron.

A low grinding sound emerged and a section of the wall slide aside. The goblins guided the wizards inside the passageway, the brick wall slid closed and then harry felt a sudden drop. The floor was moving, as if they were on a lift or an elevator of some sort.

Suddenly it stopped and the goblins marched them out.

Though Harry and Severus couldn’t see it, they were in an underground passage made of silvery stone and lit every few feet by crystal lamps that glowed a soft honey color. Goblins do not like bright light, as their eyes are sensitive to it, and the soft light suited them just fine. The floor of the passage was smooth, with no cracks or dips in the stonework.

The only sound was the footsteps of the goblins and wizards as they trod the stone passage.

There were a few archways that they passed on their brief journey, but Augustus did not so much as glance at them. Mind your own business was a favorite goblin expression, and here in their domain, the Slytherin did just that.

Harry couldn’t tell how long it took them to get to Gringotts, he just kept following his unseen guide, until he felt the floor move again and assumed they were now going up in another lift. Finally they stepped out into a private consulting room deep within the bank, and the goblins removed the blindfolds.

Harry squinted against the sudden light, though it was no brighter in this room than it had been in the Passage. He found himself standing at the edge of a white carpet in a room that had wall to wall bookcases filled with books and scrolls of all kinds. In the middle of the room was a huge mahogany desk and a revolving leather chair. In the chair was a large goblin wearing a purple velvet tunic with close fitted sleeves and leggings of soft charcoal with boots that came up to mid-thigh. He was wearing a short cloak of black and purple in a diamond pattern and had a platinum torc with amethysts clasped about his neck. A dagger rested on either hip and his ear bore a dragon’s fang.

Dark Bane bowed and said respectfully, “Thane Dragonfang, I have brought your guests, as requested.”

“Thank you, cousin. You are dismissed.”

Both goblins bowed and slipped out of the door to the right.

Then Dragonfang rose and came to greet Augustus. He swept the tall wizard a bow and then straightened, moving to clasp the other’s hand. “So the Unleasher of Earthquakes comes to see me at last! Well met, old friend!” He gave Augustus a toothy grin.

Augustus winced inwardly, he had forgotten what a firm grip Dragonfang had. Then he gestured to Severus and Harry. “Dragonfang, may I introduce my grandson, Severus Snape, Potions Master.”

The goblin clasped Severus’ hand and shook it firmly. “Pleased to meet you. I have heard much about you, who are considered Britain’s premiere Potions Master.”

“Thank you.” Severus bowed to him, sensing that the goblin was not just a bank manager, but a leader among his people.

Dragonfang turned to Harry, “And you, young wizard, are both Augustus’ great-grandson and Harry Potter, correct?” He shook Harry’s hand as well, but more gently.

“Yes, sir.” Harry attempted a brief bow, trying to copy his father and grandfather, but feared he only ended up looking ridiculous.

“Good. Would you come over here, please? I have been gathering all the information and financial statements pertaining to your vault, Mr. Potter, over the past eleven years,” said the goblin, beckoning them all to the desk. “But first, would you place your hand here, upon this gold brick, so that we may identify you?”

Harry laid his hand upon the gold brick and it shimmered briefly.

“Very good, Mr. Potter!” Dragonfang said, pleased. He had not doubted his old friend’s word, but better safe than sorry. There had been imposters trying to get access to fortunes before this, which was why he always magically checked a wizard’s aura using the brick. Polyjuice Potion only changed appearance, it did not alter a wizard’s magical aura. “Now then, to business. In the reading of the will left by your late parents, it stated that in the event of their deaths, you were to be their sole heir of all their monies, assets, holdings and so forth. But the vault was to be left in care of either your godfather, Sirius Black, or a Ministry appointed official should Mr. Black not be available, while you are under age.”

Dragonfang cleared his throat. “Well, as we all know, Mr. Black was found guilty of murder and betrayal and he is now in Azkaban. The official the Ministry appointed to take care of your account was one Albus Dumbledore.” The goblin shuffled some papers. “I have noted that Mr. Dumbledore had been making regular monthly withdrawals from the account and placing the monies into a Muggle-run bank account for a man named Vernon Dursley. Do you know this person, Mr. Potter?”

“Well, yes, sir. I know of him. He is my uncle.”

“So I see. I have a statement here signed by Dumbledore stating that the money he placed in the account was to be used for your upkeep. However, my good friend Augustus has informed me that the money in this account was garnered illegally, because for the past ten years, you have not been living with your uncle, but with him and his grandson, correct?”

“Yes, sir. You see, my aunt and uncle left me in a manger on Christmas Eve when I was just a baby, about seventeen months old, and I was found by my papa . . .I mean Severus . . .” Harry quickly told his sad tale of abandonment and reversal of fortune and also how the Dursleys had lied about “losing” him when he was three to a Muggle kidnapper.

“Ah. So, these relatives of yours continued to take the monthly stipend from Dumbledore for two more years, as I can see from the account activity, thus engaging in blatant fraud and lying to Dumbledore and Gringotts.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry said, and swallowed hard, for the goblin was now looking distinctly peeved and baring his teeth in a soundless snarl.

“Were they able to be tried under our jurisdiction, they would soon regret their actions,” Dragonfang growled. “The punishment for fraud under goblin law is loss of one’s lying tongue and for repeated offenses, loss of one’s life. Plus restitution would be taken from the family to replace all the gold taken illegally from the vault. However, since they are not part of the magical community, they aren’t subject to goblin law. Too bad.”

“You may not be authorized to punish them for this crime, Dragonfang, but I am not adverse to doing so.” Augustus stated sharply.

“You would risk the Statute of Secrecy?”

“To bring justice to those monsters, yes, I would. They would have killed an innocent baby and then they made money off the boy besides. But that shall be dealt with later. What I need to know is how much money was paid to them and if the rest of the Potter fortune remains intact?”

Dragonfang named a sum that seemed astronomical to Harry for his upkeep. “Dumbledore was being very generous here. I suppose he did not want young Potter to want for anything. According to the will, the bulk of the estate holdings were sold off to pay for funeral expenses and bequests to various charities, including a rather large sum donated to Hogwarts to renovate the Quidditch pitch and the Trophy Room, as well as the potions lab and classroom and the library. There is a small piece of land in Godric’s Hollow left with a tumbledown cottage upon it, other than that, the remainder of the estate is in the vault, total assets valued at 500,000 Galleons, to be held in trust until Mr. Potter comes of age, with withdrawals allowed for school expenses and personal use by Albus Dumbledore or Mr. Potter’s legal guardian.”

Harry nearly fell out of his chair. “Five hundred thousand Galleons!” he exclaimed.

Dragonfang chuckled. “Yes, a tidy sum. Though it’s a pity they sold the land, real estate is premium right now, especially old properties. You will inherit it all on your seventeenth birthday, Mr. Potter. I would suggest that for now you hire a competent financial advisor to ensure you are not taken advantage of.”

“I will, but . . .since Professor Dumbledore has control of my vault, does that mean I have to tell him who I really am in order to gain access to my money?”

“No, for the trust passes to whoever is your current legal guardian. If you are adopted into Lord Prince’s family by his grandson, then the trust would magically transfer to Mr. Snape. Once transferred it becomes part of the Snape holdings and no one save us four would ever know it was once the Potter vault, since it was declared a “defunct account.” The transfer would be recorded in the record books, but I shall invoke the Privacy Seal, which renders any information about the vault to be sealed until the party invoking it—you—releases it. Thus your secret is safe with me.”

The goblin smiled, a rather wicked smile, and looked very pleased with himself. “Might I suggest, Mr. Potter, that it is in your best interest to perform that adoption very soon?”

“That’s what we were intending to do after we finished up here,” Augustus interjected.

“Might I suggest you do it here?” said Dragonfang. “It is private and that way you do not have to be bothered with returning here to sign the transfer documents.”

“That would be convenient, but we need legal adoption papers,” began Lord Prince.

“Not to worry. We have some here for that very reason,” Dragonfang said with a touch of smugness. He opened a drawer in the massive desk and withdrew an official looking piece of parchment.

“Severus, call Augusta Longbottom.”

* * * * * *

Eight minutes later, Augusta was ushered into the office, looking a bit worse for wear. She shot a dirty look at Augustus. “You could have warned me, my lord!”

Augustus smirked. “That you would be traveling the Goblin Passage? Sorry, my dear, but my lips were sealed.”

“Humph! You Slytherins and your secrets!” Then she turned to Harry. “Hello, Harry. You know, now that I am aware of certain things, I must say you do resemble Lily a great deal, not just in coloring, but the shape of your eyes and nose. But you have your father’s chin and his eternally mussed hair.” She set her red handbag and vulture hat, which she had worn ever since Harry had known her, down on a chair. “I think they would be proud of how you have grown, and pleased that you have a family who loves and supports you.” She rolled up her sleeves. “All right. Shall we get started?”

Harry and Severus turned and faced each other, standing about a hand’s width apart. “Take my hand, Harry,” Severus ordered. “This spell is twofold, first the vow, then the Blood-Binding potion.”

Harry gripped Severus’ hand firmly, while Augustus and Gran drew their wands and touched them to the clasped hands.

“Harry Potter, do you consent to this of your own free will, without magical, physical or emotional coercion of any kind?” Augusta began.

“I do,” answered Harry, while Severus replied the same for Augustus. A ribbon of yellow light shot out from their wands and wrapped about their clasped hands.

She continued. “Harry Potter, do you consent to taking Severus Tobias Snape as your legal guardian and surrogate father? Do you agree to love, obey, and respect him in all ways as your parent and understand that he shall have control over your trust fund until you are of age?”

“I do.”

“Severus Tobias Snape, do you consent to make Harry Potter your legal ward and surrogate son? Will you promise to love, protect, and cherish him in all ways as your son, and give him guidance and the comfort of a loving home and family?”

“I do.”

A ribbon of green light joined the yellow, binding them even tighter.

“Harry Potter, do you consent, upon this adoption, to become a member of the Snape family, and to take that Name as your own, before all others, forevermore?”

“I do.” Harry said firmly.

“Severus Tobias Snape, do you accept Harry Potter’s wish, and give him your Name and recognize him as your son, forevermore?”

“I do.”

A blue light twined about the others, pulsing and glistening.

“The vows have been heard, the vows have been witnessed, the vows bind unto death and beyond, by the power of Magic and the Elements!” both witch and wizard chanted the final refrain. “Let the circle be unbroken!”

There was a flare of light and Harry quickly turned his head aside to keep from being blinded.

When he looked down, the multi-colored magical strands had coalesced into a single one the color of blood.

“Severus, where is the potion?” asked Augustus.

“My right pocket.”

Augustus extracted two vials containing a potion of a smoky hue. He also took out a silver needle. He handed one vial to Severus and the other to Harry.

“You must both swallow the potion at the same time, and then I shall draw a drop of your blood and press your hands together. The potion will do the rest. Ready?”

Augusta counted to three, and they both swallowed the potion.

At that precise instant, Augustus jabbed each of their thumbs with the needle, making a single drop of blood well up, then he pressed their fingers together.

Harry felt an icy warmth flow through him as his blood mingled with Severus’, and the potion created a bond between them magically, sealing the adoption. He could feel Severus’ heartbeat as if it were his own for a brief instant, and also feel the love the other bore him, flowing down the bond to wrap him tenderly in its embrace. He had always known Severus loved him, but to actually feel it took his breath away and brought tears to his eyes.

He shut them for a moment and the bloodred ribbon was dissolved into their flesh, making the Blood Binding permanent.

When he opened them, he saw Severus’ own eyes wet with tears and then he moved forward and was caught in the other’s embrace. “I love you, Papa.”

“I love you too, Harry,” Severus said, holding his new son close for another minute before releasing him. Now all that was left was to sign the adoption papers and Harry was now an official member of the Snape-Prince line, and the blood of the former Mage-Kings now ran in his veins.

* * * * * *

Christmas Day, 1991

Foxfire Hall:

Harry sat on the sofa, stroking and feeding his new owl, a beautiful snowy female, some owl treats. She had been delivered that morning from Eeylops, and was the present Severus had spoken of the day before, when he had received a letter from Valeska. He had decided to call her Hedwig. Soon he would write letters to his friends wishing them a happy Christmas and explaining, as if they didn’t already know, that he was . . .sigh . . .grounded for the rest of the holiday and so couldn’t have any friends over, but had to stay home and do various chores about the manor. He was also on probation as far as Quidditch was concerned, until the middle of next term. He knew Blaise and Ron would feel sorry for him with that restriction, but he knew it was a fair consequence, all things considered.

And where once he would have minded being stuck at Foxfire Hall, now he was content to use the time to spend with his family, learning Defense from Augustus and advanced potions from Severus, bonding with his new owl, and helping out Lina and Hotspur. This had certainly been a Christmas to remember, and there was still more to come, since sly Augustus had invited special guests for dinner.

Harry suspected the identity of one of them, and smothered a chuckle behind his hand. Wouldn’t his father be surprised? He hoped that the dinner would go well and maybe that old Christmas magic would encourage Severus to open his heart to someone besides his son and grandfather. Unless he was totally mistaken about the visitor, but he didn’t think he was.

He had caught a bit of a conversation between the two elder wizards in the conservatory as he had been going past, and had lingered to listen, even though he shouldn’t have.

“Grandfather, why is Lina setting three extra plates on the table?” Severus had asked.

“I told her to. You never know who might drop by.”

“What are you up to, old man? You have that sneaky gleam in your eye.”

“What gleam?” Augustus said, feigning innocence. “I simply wish to be prepared should an unexpected guest or two come by.”

“Such as? Augusta, Neville, and Blaise? Did you forget, Harry is grounded until New Years Eve?”

“I did not. Nor would I seek to undermine your authority that way.”

“Then who is coming to dinner?”

“You’ll see,” was all Augustus would say.

Harry was still trying to puzzle out who the other guests might be later on that evening when there came a knock at the door.

Hotspur opened it to reveal three people wrapped in scarves, cloaks, gloves and hats. “Good evening, my name is Hotspur, and welcome to Foxfire Hall! Do come in, it’s too cold to be standing outside.”

Hotspur had their cloaks and gloves and hats whisked away and then Harry, who was peeking about the drawing room door, could see who they were. To his delight he saw the first guest was Sandra Miska, and what she was wearing made his jaw drop.

She was wearing a green gown made of some kind of shimmery material that caught the light and changed to different green hues when she moved. It fit close over the bodice, which was embroidered along the top with crystal snowflakes and curved like a heart. The sleeves came down to a point over her wrists and were close fitting and had more crystal embroidery. The skirt flared out and swirled about her feet almost like a train of fairy gauze and she wore matching green heels. Her hair, which Harry had never seen any way but pulled back in a tail, was left loose and flowing, it fell in waves and curls of deep brown. In it she wore a tiny red poinsettia and her ears were adorned with snowflake earrings.

Harry was stunned. Living as he did with two bachelors, he had never really seen a woman dressed for a fancy occasion, and it knocked him for a loop. He took off his glasses and rubbed them on his shirttail, wondering if he were seeing things. But no, when he put them on, there she was, a sight to behold.

Merlin, but there is no way Papa can resist her!

He got a second shock when he saw who the other two guests were.

Tall scarecrow-like Smithers was dressed in a fine robe of a deep blue shade with gold runes edging sleeves and down the front to the hem. His hair had been neatly combed and slicked back and his harsh face seemed somehow less so as he smiled down at his daughter, Susannah, whom he had adopted recently, his hand resting on her shoulder.

Harry nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand closed over his shoulder.

“Henry, quit lurking in the doorway and go and greet our guests. I’ve taught you better than that.”

“Grandpa! You . . .startled me.”

He looked up at Augustus, who was dressed in his best robes of silver with green trim and the Prince crest on the left breast, underneath he wore matching silvery mesh pants and a long tunic edged in green thread with a pattern of leaves and swirls. His dark ebony hair was now streaked with gray, but it only made him look more imposing and dignified.

“Where’s Papa?”

“He’ll be down shortly. Come along, lad, mustn’t keep our guests waiting.”

He gently shepherded Harry into the foyer.

Harry had on new clothes as well, black pressed trousers and a solid emerald green pullover with black boots and his robes were black with green snakes and holly in wide bands on the sleeves. He had managed with the aid of one of Snape’s hair potions, to tame his auburn mop somewhat, so he didn’t look like a clown in wizard’s clothing.

Harry greeted Sandra and Smithers politely, as he had been taught, but when the apothecary gently nudged his daughter and said, “Harry, meet my daughter, Susannah,” he became tongue-tied.

Susannah Smithers reminded him of an ethereal fairy, she was petite and her hair was like spun silvery-gold, it flowed all about her like a halo, despite her attempt to contain it with a crimson headband set with small crystals. She had huge sapphire eyes that stared all about her in wonder and she was wearing a full-skirted crimson dress with delicate lace edging about the collar and a gold pattern of birds and flowers on the bodice. On her feet were black leather boots with white fur. He half expected wings to be sprouting from her shoulders.

She smiled at him shyly and said, “Hello. I’m Susannah, thank you for inviting us.”

Harry found his voice at last. “Err . . .hello. I’m Henry Snape, but you can just . . . call me Harry. Everyone does except my grandpa.”

“Pleased to meet you, Harry,” she held out a hand to shake.

He took it gently, then remembering the manners Augustus had drilled into him, said, “May I escort you to dinner, my lady?”

The sapphire eyes sparkled and she laughed. “Of course, sir,” she replied and let him take her arm.

“My grandfather made me say that,” he whispered in her ear.

“Papa Amos is a stickler for manners too,” she whispered back, understanding his embarrassed flush perfectly.

No sooner had they turned around, then Severus came down the stairs wearing a black suit and tie with deep forest green robes of a diamond brocade and mirror shined black half-boots. His hair was neatly pulled back into a tail tied with a green ribbon and he looked sinfully handsome.

Sandra took one look at him and had to catch her breath.

Severus’ eyes widened in shock when he saw who was standing in the foyer. His first impulse was to curse a certain matchmaking old Slytherin roundly in his head and his second was to drink in the sight of the attractive witch standing before him. He had never truly looked at Miss Miska before now, he had always been focused on purchasing ingredients and while she had chattered away to him and he had responded, he had never truly been aware of her as a woman and not a shopkeeper until now.

Now he saw the elegant attractive woman he had missed before.

Great Merlin, but I was blind all those years ago. How did I miss what was staring me in the face all this time?

He took two steps forward and lifted her hand, bowed over it briefly in the old-fashioned way, and said warmly, “Miss Miska, Merry Christmas. It’s a pleasure to see you outside of your shop. You really should get out more.”

“Merry Christmas, Severus. I’m most grateful you invited me here.” She smiled back at him.

That was my grandfather’s doing, not mine! He thought, but what he said aloud was, “The pleasure is mine. I’ll give you a tour of the grounds later. For now, may I escort you to dinner?”

“I would be honored,” Sandra said, and she took his arm and together they walked into the dining room.

Harry followed with Susannah, and Augustus with Smithers, and when Harry looked back at his grandfather, the old man gave him a sly wink and a smirk.

* * * * * *

They all sat down in the dining room, with its tapestries and portraits. Susannah looked about and seemed a bit overwhelmed, so Harry said, “We hardly ever eat in here. It’s too stuffy. Usually we eat in the morning room, it’s sort of like a kitchen. We only eat here with guests and on holidays.”

“I wouldn’t want to eat in here all the time either,” Susannah said. “Those portraits all looking at you, they make me nervous.”

“Who, them?” He made a face at Malchior, the fifth Lord Prince, and said, “They’re not as proper as they seem to be. Malchior got drunk and nearly fell off his girlfriend’s balcony late one night, and his daughter Althea liked to sing opera . . .”

He quietly regaled her with all of the ancestors’ foibles until she relaxed and wasn’t afraid she would drop her fork in her lap or dribble soup all over.

Augustus raised his glass of fine white wine in a toast. “To families, old and new, may we all have a happy Christmas and a healthy and productive New Year.”

“Cheers!” Sandra said, and she touched glasses with Severus.

They all drank to that, the adults had wine and the children had sparkling grape cider.

Dinner then appeared upon their plates. There was succulent roasted goose with dressing and mounds of fluffy mashed potatoes swimming with butter or gravy. There was creamed spinach and carrots with rosemary, a delicate lobster bisque, and sweet sausage with white beans over noodles. Warm rolls accompanied everything.

After dinner, Severus invited Sandra to see Drusilla’s garden and the conservatory, among other things, and Augustus offered to show Smithers his rare potion ingredient collection, leaving Harry with Susannah.

“Uh . . .do you like animals? I just got an owl for Christmas,” he said, a bit awkwardly.

“Yes. I love them. We were never allowed animals at the orphanage where I grew up, but Papa Amos says I can have a familiar on my eleventh birthday. That’s in April. Just in time for me to go to Hogwarts.”

“You’ll be a first year and I’ll be a second year,” Harry mused, leading her up the stairs to his room.

“This place is so huge, it’s a wonder you don’t get lost,” she blurted, then blushed because she sounded so stupid. “I mean . . .”

“Sometimes I still do get lost, especially if I go down the rooms in the west wing. That used to be guest rooms when the family had guests stay over for weeks at a time way back during the seventeen hundreds. But here’s my room.”

He opened the door and Calin bounded off the bed to greet him, purring and meowing. Hedwig fluttered on her perch and whoo-ed sleepily.

“This is my calico, Calin and my owl, Hedwig.”

“They’re lovely,” Susannah exclaimed, kneeling down to pet the cat, who immediately began rubbing herself all over the girl and purring loudly. When Susannah stood up to pet Hedwig, there were white cat hairs on her dress.

“Calin, look what you’ve done!” Harry groaned, wondering if she was going to freak out because hair was all over her new dress.

But all Susannah did was brush the hairs away. “It’s all right. I don’t mind a little cat hair.” She stroked Hedwig and said quietly, “I’m not sure if I want a cat or an owl. I’d love to send letters home whenever I wanted, but a cat you can snuggle with.” Calin twined about her legs.

“When I went away first term, my father lent me his white falcon, Valeska, so I could have my own post bird.”

“My mum had a bird once, I can almost remember it, I think it was a canary. It used to sing all day in the cage by the window. I was four when I lost them to a potions accident,” she said matter-of-factly. “I had no one to take me in after that, so I ended up at Angel Haven.”

“Are you . . .glad that Smithers adopted you?”

She nodded. “Yes. I was almost too old to be adopted, everyone always wants the cute toddlers or babies. But he . . .he wanted one my age and he might seem like a nasty bugger but he’s really not. He lost his family in a fire.”

“I know. His bark’s worse than his bite.” Then he asked, out of sheer curiosity, “Uh . . .did you mind giving up your old name and taking his?”

She shook her head. “No, because that meant I was part of a family again and it’s what I’ve always wanted. My mum and dad, they would understand, I know they didn’t want me to be alone forever. So I’m happy to be Susannah Smithers.”

Harry nodded, thinking that was how he felt about his own adoption.

“Do you like to fly?”

“Yes. We had one old broom at the Haven, it could barely get off the ground, but I could always make it fly.” Then she caught sight of the Phoenix. “Is that a real Phoenix Starfire 2000? I’ve read about them!”

“Have a look,” he gestured at it. Then he added generously, “You can try it out if you want.”

She examined the sleek racing broom longingly. “I would love to, but this dress and the broom would not go together. I’d rather you not collapse from shock after seeing my underwear,” she added, giggling.

Harry went red and then he snickered too. “I’ve never had to worry about that, thank Merlin. But I can’t fly until next term.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m grounded. Went flying in a snowstorm and fell off my broom.”

“Goodness, were you hurt?”

“Yeah. I got a broken nose, sprained knee, and concussion.”

She winced. “Ouch! I broke my arm once falling out of a tree.”

“You climb trees?”

“All the time. I’m not the delicate little pixie everyone thinks,” she answered.

“You play Quidditch?”

“No. I never learned. But I like watching it.”

“You do?” Hermione hated Quidditich. “Would you . . .like to come to a game then with me and my friends Neville and Blaise?” The words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“No. I just . . .need to ask my dad if it’s okay.” Harry said, feeling a blush rise up. “Wait here, I’ll be back.”

He rushed out of the room thinking, I can’t believe I invited her to a Quidditch game! I barely know her! Then again, he hadn’t known Smithers either when he had bought him the Christmas present that one year.

He made his way down to the conservatory, hoping to catch Severus showing Sandra some exotic plant or whatever. The conservatory was empty. He peered out the large window into Drusilla’s garden, with its everblooming flowers and spotted two tall forms standing beneath a large flowering plum tree.

Harry stopped dead. Blossoms were falling all about them and they were kissing.

He turned and bolted back inside. I so did NOT need to see that! Holy Merlin!

He did not know how he managed to keep a straight face when Lina called them all down for dessert and they drank hot cocoa and roasted marshmallows over the fire. It was one thing to tease his father about having a relationship, but quite another to actually see it progress, he realized. But he did remember to ask Severus and Smithers if Susannah could attend a Quidditch match with him in the summer.

“Of course. They’re your tickets, you many bring along anyone you’d like,” said Severus.

“Never knew you liked Quidditch, Susannah,” said her father.

“I like it a lot. May I go, sir?”

Smithers nodded. “You may, so long as you mind Mr. Snape there, lass.”

“Thank you. All of you,” she said, smiling.

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, and then he wondered why Susannah’s smile made him feel as if he had butterflies in his stomach.

He quickly took a gulp of his cocoa, wondering what was the matter with him? Maybe it was something in the cocoa?

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Sandra looking at Severus dreamily and thought that maybe that old Christmas magic had worked a bit too well.

At least he did until their guests had gone home some ten minutes later, and Severus whirled on Augustus and said sharply, “Grandfather, may I speak with you in private?”

“Something wrong, Severus?”

Severus did not answer, simply spun on his heel and began to climb the stairs to Augustus’ study.

Harry gazed after them, debating on whether he should go to bed and mind his own business or listen at the keyhole.

Harry climbed the stairs silently, removing his shoes before doing so, and sneaking up the wooden treads in just his dress socks. He was puzzled as to why his father would be annoyed with his grandfather, when he had thought the evening had gone very well. Sometimes he just couldn’t figure the Potions Master out. By the time he reached the study, he could hear Severus’s voice raised in a very annoyed, though not a full-out angry tone.

“Grandfather, how many times must I tell you that I do not need help finding a woman to date?”

Harry flushed. Ah, so that was what this was about. He suddenly recalled the scene he had witnessed in Drusilla’s garden and he felt himself redden to the tips of his ears. Did he really want to hear this conversation? He was tired and he wanted to play with Hedwig before falling asleep and he knew that if he were caught eavesdropping—a thing which both Severus and Augustus regarded as the height of bad manners—he would be in worse trouble than he already was. For once, be smart, Harry, and just go to bed. You’re already grounded till New Year’s Eve, you don’t want to make it worse.

So he ignored that little germ of curiosity whispering in his ear and made himself turn away and head into his room. He spent several minutes petting and playing with both his familiars, neither of whom seemed to mind the other, and then started writing letters to his friends, asking how their holidays had gone. He got about halfway through the one to Neville before falling asleep over his parchment.

* * * * * *

Back in the study, Severus was scowling and glaring at his grandfather. “ . . .do you think I’m some pathetic idiot who can’t find a woman and needs you to play matchmaker, for Merlin’s sake?”

“Severus, I’ve told you before, you need to get out more. Now that Henry’s off to Hogwarts for most of the year, you can finally start having a life that doesn’t revolve around your son. Or your job. From what I saw, you and Miss Miska seemed to be hitting it off rather well.” Augustus said calmly. He had expected Severus to react this way, the young wizard was extremely touchy when it came to personal relationships, and very cautious about letting anyone inside his carefully constructed private space.

“Well, yes . . .but that’s not the point, Grandfather!” Severus protested, feeling suddenly awkward. “I would have asked Sandra out . . .eventually.”

“When, Severus? When Henry is ready to start seventh year? I don’t mean to seem pushy, but I don’t understand why you would turn down the lady when she so obviously is interested in you.”

Severus set his jaw, The last thing he wanted to discuss was his personal life, but he sensed unless he told Augustus something the old man would keep prying. “I had my reasons.”

Augustus gave him a searching glance. “Such as? Were you afraid she would reject you the way Lily once did? Because I can tell you right now that wouldn’t have happened. This isn’t some school romance, Miss Miska—Sandra—is a mature woman who knows when she sees a desirable man—”

“Grandfather, please!” Severus began blushing, unable to help himself. “You make me sound like . . .some midnight fantasy!”

Augustus smirked. “And what’s wrong with that, my lad? As I was saying, you’re no longer that awkward adolescent, you’re a fine upstanding man and I’m not surprised she went for you, Severus. You’re quite the catch, Potions Master.”

Severus snorted. “She doesn’t know me very well. All she knows is what I do and that I can sing Christmas carols . .. “ he broke off, horrified at what had just come out of his mouth.

Augustus grinned. “You’ve been singing Christmas carols to her? No wonder she’s been attracted to you. We Prince men have ever had . . .how did Drusilla used to put it? Ah, yes, voices that could make a stone weep. She always loved it when I sang to her.”

“They were just Christmas carols,” Severus mumbled. “I sang one song to her every time we visited Diagon Alley before Christmas. It’s not like it was anything spectacular, I’m no Taliesin. I don’t why she kept requesting one every year for four years . . .”

“Don’t you? Merlin, Severus, you’re a Water Master, and traditionally a Master of that Talent has the most mesmerizing voice, when he cares to use it in that fashion.”

“What are you saying? That I set out to . . .to deliberately enchant her? Because I did no such thing!”

“Severus, you don’t need to do anything except open your mouth and you’ve got a girl’s attention. It’s not something you ought to be ashamed of. A Water Master’s voice is a powerful weapon. Haven’t you noticed that you never need to raise your voice and most people jump when you give orders? Look at your son.”

Slowly, he nodded. He had always had a soft voice, and never liked to scream at people, because he had grown up in a house where his father’s primary method of communication was a roar of fury, usually followed by his fist. “I don’t like to shout at people.”

“Nor do you need to. Those who command Water have a presence that is second to none, and women adore that silky voice, Severus.”

“How do you know all this? Did . . .she tell you?”

Augustus laughed. “She didn’t need to. Severus, I’ve lived more than three times as long as you have, and I’ve seen the effect that voice has on women.”

“Then why didn’t it have an effect on Lily?” Severus snapped.

“Your powers were not awakened yet. And have you ever stopped to think that you were lucky you never married her, if she was in love with someone else? Or that she didn’t trust you enough to believe that you would never walk the dark path? A relationship built upon mistrust won’t last. Perhaps she was never right for you at all, Severus.”

“No, you’re wrong.”

“I don’t think so. She was the first girl you ever loved, and you never forgot that. But don’t you think it’s time to let her go and allow yourself to be happy again? There’s no reason why you can’t have a relationship and raise a child.”

“I didn’t want to neglect Harry, and I couldn’t tell her the truth about who he was back then, and I didn’t want to have a relationship begin with secrets. It had nothing to do with my feelings for Lily.”

Augustus did not agree with that, he thought much of Severus’ reticence in dealing with women came from both his broken childhood and his rejection by his first love. Severus was one who felt passionately about things, though he did his best to hide it, and Lily’s choosing James Potter over him had cut him deeply, and only increased his poor self-image. Once bitten, twice shy. Still, he knew if he pressed the issue, Severus would turn surly and angry and that was not the note he wanted this Christmas night to end on.

“I agree, honesty and trust are the building blocks of a good relationship. Now that Harry knows the truth about his past, you can decide if you trust Miss Miska enough to divulge it.”

“I don’t know if I do,” Severus cried, exasperated. “Which is why I didn’t want you meddling.”

“Oh, come now, Severus. It’s hardly meddling to wish to see my only grandson and heir settled down before I die. Now shelve that prickly pride of yours and think about this logically. A man in your position has certain responsibilities to the family name.”

Severus half-gaped at him. “What do you mean, before you die? Grandfather, is there something you’re not telling me? Are you ill?”

Augustus sighed. “No, Severus. I am in perfect health for a man of my years. But the fact remains that I am over a hundred years old and I won’t be around forever. So I wish to make sure that you are happy and have a family that you can lean on before I go.”

“I have Harry.”

“I know, but the boy’s no substitute for a lady, Severus,” Augustus said bluntly. “I love him dearly, but what if something should, Merlin forfend, happen to him? You have to think of the future and you need another heir.”

“So I’m to marry for bloodlines, like a prize stallion?” snapped the other, nettled.

“Marry whomever you wish, Severus, but just don’t wait ten years. I think that Sandra Miska loves you, otherwise why in hell would she wait four years for a man who barely noticed her? Don’t be a fool and throw it away. In this day and age, it’s rare for a lady—for anyone—to wait like that for anything. She’s not some lass fresh from school, she knows what she wants, and I think you could do a lot worse. She’s a half-blood, like you, so you even have that in common.”

“How did you know that?” Severus demanded. “She only told me tonight.”

“I’m not deaf,” Augustus replied smugly. “I overheard you at dinner.”

“What else did you hear, old fox?”

“Enough to know that she’d make a good match for you if you quit pussyfooting about and date her. And if I’m wrong, well . . .it wouldn’t be the first time.” The Elemental Master sighed. “And before you get on your high horse, grandson, no, I am not trying to run your life and I don’t believe in arranged marriages like most purebloods do. My parents tried that with me, and it ended in disaster. Yes, I was almost married twice. I was betrothed as a small child to Anastasia Amberly, who later became Anastasia Malfoy when I broke the betrothal after spending months in her company and deciding that we would kill each other were we forced to marry. I had just turned seventeen and we could not abide each other. She was an arrogant prissy thing who cared for propriety and appearance and nothing for honor or integrity and thought I was an uptight stiff and too clever and cunning for my own good. She looked down on anyone who didn’t have a Name or title attached to them and respected nothing save herself. I loathed her, and the best thing I ever did was defy my father and break the contract on the grounds of irreconcilable differences. That left me free to pursue my own career as an Auror, and that’s where I met Drusilla.”

“Did you know when you met her that she was the one for you?” asked Severus curiously.

“Not at first. At first we fought like cats and dogs, she had a temper too, and didn’t know why I had been promoted over her to guard the Minister,” Augustus smiled reminiscently. “But I understood her. She was prickly as a porcupine, but she had what Stasia lacked, honor and integrity and above all compassion, though she hid it well back then, for fear of getting hurt. As you do. Like me, she felt the only way to protect herself from feeling too much was to build a wall about her heart and to hedge it with thorns and pretend she was quite content just being alone, Drusilla Stormbringer, aloof and proud. But I knew how to look past the thorns and see the heart beneath, and that was how I won her regard, for seeing what no one else ever had, that sometimes prickles hide a lonely compassionate soul, just as the reverse is true and someone who seems open and beloved by everyone can actually be cold and manipulative inside, and care little for individuals and more for his own agenda. Such as Albus Dumbledore.”

“You don’t trust him then?”

“No. I have never fully trusted the man, he says he seeks no power for himself, but what a man does not seek openly, he may seek subtly. Sometimes the real power is not in the Minister, but in the one who whispers in his ear. And Dumbledore has a great deal of influence over Fudge. If he didn’t, I daresay young Henry would have been placed as a Ministry ward and never gone to his Muggle relatives at all. It was Dumbledore who convinced Fudge that Henry was better off being raised away from the wizarding world and he who dropped him on the doorstep of the Dursleys without even bothering to speak with them first. Then again, I suppose we should be grateful for that, because you found Henry because of it, and he grew up safe and happy and loved. Heaven only knows what might have been otherwise.”

Severus nodded, most of his anger and annoyance at the other wizard had drained away. “So you think I should give Sandra a chance?”

“I do. And yourself as well. Just because Lily Potter is dead is no reason to become a monk, lad. Let yourself live a little, you’re only thirty-one!”

“With an eleven-year-old son.”

“So? I was your age, maybe a little younger, when I started going out with Drusilla. You’re not too old to start a family, Severus. I think Henry would like a younger sibling. I would like a few more grandchildren around here.”

“Don’t start, Grandfather.”

Augustus contrived to look as innocent as newborn puppy. “What? It’s only a statement of fact.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “I’m sure.”

“You do like the girl, don’t you?”

“Yes. She is easy for me to talk with and she is very attractive, even though she thinks she isn’t. I will invite her out to dinner and see how that goes.”

“Good. That’s all I wanted.”

“Speaking of Dumbledore, won’t he realize we’ve transferred the Potter vault away from him and start asking questions?”

“No, because the transfer was done on a defunct account, and it was done legally and we invoked the Seal of Privacy. Dumbledore will know nothing unless he decides to take money from the vault, but why he would bother doing so when Harry Potter is missing or presumed dead is beyond me. He has no need of Potter’s gold, his family is quite wealthy as well.”

“But not as wealthy as the Princes.” Severus said astutely. Only he and Augustus and the goblin financial advisor who worked for them knew exactly what the Prince estate was worth and it was much more than anyone would think. Augustus was not ostentatious and he lived quietly, but he was also a clever investor and businessman, and he had made the most of his inheritance.

“No. But money isn’t everything. Dumbledore was counting on Harry Potter to fulfill that bloody prophecy, as you well know, but now that he’s a Snape by blood adoption, that will no longer be something he can control. It should be quite . . .interesting to discover how he’ll react if or when he finds out.”

“Yes. And what about those Dursleys?” Severus asked, saying their name as if it were a mouthful of dung.

Augustus’ eyes flashed. “I shall be happy to mete out my own brand of justice to them.”

“And I shall be happy to help you,” Severus said, his demeanor becoming suddenly menacing.

“That we can attend to tomorrow. For now, though, it grows late and I need some sleep. Merry Christmas, Severus.”

Severus hid a yawn. “As do I, Grandfather. Merry Christmas. See you in the morning.”

Then he departed the study and went to check up on his son, as was his wont.

He found Harry fast asleep on his desk in a pool of spilled ink, his hand had knocked it over in his sleep.

Severus shook his head, cleaned up the mess with a brief Neaten-Up charm, then cleaned up Harry with another, and picked him up and put him in bed. Harry never woke, and Severus left him to his dreams.

* * * * * *

Over breakfast the next morning, while Harry was eating his cinnamon and banana pancakes and sausage, Severus looked at him speculatively and said, “Remember when we were at the hunting lodge a few days ago, and you told me you wanted to find out why your relatives left you in the manger?”

“Yes. Why?”

“Because your grandfather and I were planning on a visit to Surrey, to confront your skinflint relatives about that and the fact that they were embezzling funds from your vault. Would you like to come with us? It may help you get closure about them.”

Harry thought about it. The impulse that had made him fly his broom so recklessly into the blizzard was not as strong now that he had been forgiven and had come to terms that he had been adopted and still belonged with a family. Then he had been hurting and scared and searching for someone to give him answers. Still, he did wonder about them—and he would like to see them just once, so he could tell them off to their face, maybe even shock them with the fact that their horrid scheme had not worked, and the nephew they sought to be rid of was still very much alive.

He nodded decisively. “Yes. I want to come with you and . . .see them.”

“I figured you might,” Severus said, then turned back to his breakfast.

“What will you do to them?”

Augustus smiled ferally. “Oh, I will make them wish they had never done such a cruel and wicked thing, which they’ve gotten away with these past ten years. But no longer. I will use their own fear and laws against them. Though that is justice, it is nothing like what I wish I could do to them.”

Harry shivered at those words, for he could imagine the havoc the angry Elemental Master could wreak if he so chose. He could send a tornado or a hurricane to flatten the Dursleys’ house or an earthquake to swallow it or a fire to burn it to the ground. But he would restrain himself, for such was the control of an Elemental Master.

Harry was both grateful and not for that control; he wouldn’t have minded seeing an earthquake swallow the Dursley house, not after what they had done to him.

“Aww, I was hoping to see you summon up an earthquake,” he said wistfully.

“One to knock their house down around their ears?” suggested his grandfather. “The thought had crossed my mind several times. But such a thing would not only be very odd, since Surrey is not known for earthquakes, it would disturb the balance of the natural world and call attention to them magically, which is not what any of us want. It would be more satisfying, perhaps, but it would create problems with the Aurors and maybe even alert Dumbledore. We’re trying to keep a low profile here and avoid getting your name connected with anything remotely to do with Harry Potter.”

“Not even a small one?” Harry pleaded.

“Maybe a small one,” Augustus allowed. Then he returned to eating his own breakfast of scrambled eggs, ham, and toast. “Finish your breakfast.”

Harry took another bite of his pancake and looked out the window at the snow swirling in the wind and another question occurred to him. “Grandfather, will I be an Elementalist too now that I’ve been adopted in the family?”

Augustus looked thoughtful. “Well, Henry, I can’t rightly say. The Elemental gift is a very rare one and sometimes skips generations even when you’re born to a family in the usual way. I’ve never known it to show up in a blood adopted child, but that doesn’t mean it can’t. Like the weather, the gift is often unpredictable. But you might not start showing signs until you’re almost finished with school. Or later.”

“How will I know?”

“Oh, you’ll know. You’ll feel an overwhelming affinity to the element that you shall master.”

“What element do you think I would be a master of?”

“Hmm . . .Sometimes I see that you might be good with fire, since fire is often reckless and you have a temper as well as auburn hair. But other times . . .your skill on a broom and love for heights suggests a bond with Air. It’s impossible to tell until it happens.”

“I would hope I was an Air Master.”

Augustus chuckled, for many children wished for an Elementalist Gift at Harry’s age.

Severus was just as fervently wishing the opposite. He had enough to do with Harry when the boy was up to normal mischief, Merlin only knew what he’d be like with a Wind Mastery.

Once they had all finished up breakfast, Augustus led them over to the fireplace and brought the Floo Network to life. He then had it connect to the Dursley residence at number 4 Privet Drive, after first making sure they had a fireplace available. If not, then they would fly there using a place locator charm.

But this way, Severus thought wickedly, there would be more of a shock. He was looking forward to shocking that bitch Petunia out of the rest of her life. She had always hated him when they were children and was forever threatening to tell on him for using magic or teaching Lily about it, for she knew how Tobias hated it. “Then you’ll get the thrashing you deserve, Snape!” she would hiss and her pallid blue eyes would gleam with glee. “You unnatural freak!”

But time had now proven who the “unnatural freak” was, and it was not him.

“I’ll go first, Grandfather,” he volunteered, then he tossed down a handful of green powder and called out, “Number 4 Privet Drive!”

Green flames whooshed up as high as his head, and he carefully stepped through them, followed moments later by Augustus and Harry.

Normally Floo travel was swift and economical, but that morning it was not, perhaps because this was recent connection, but whatever the reason, the Network spat them out with a loud KABOOM!

Right onto the living room hearth, amid chunks of plaster and soot and wood chips. The two Snapes and Augustus began to cough loudly as they had inhaled some of the soot. Their arrival had been so violent that the wall behind the fireplace suddenly sported massive cracks and pieces of it had tumbled down.

They heard a boy’s voice yelling, “Mum, come quick! The fireplace just exploded! Bloody hell, look at the mess!” He sounded more excited than upset, because normally messes were not a part of the daily routine at Privet Drive.

“Dudley, you know I don’t like that language!” came a woman’s reproving voice.

“Dad says it,” whined the boy. “C’mon, you gotta see it! Wonder how it happened?”

“Duddy, please tell me you weren’t lighting firecrackers in the fireplace again.”

“I wasn’t, Mum. I already did that last week.”

Harry wiped his eyes with his sleeve and thought His mum lets him light off firecrackers in the house? I’d never get away with that!

There were still clouds of soot and dust from the broken plaster settling all over the new Aubusson carpet and white chintz sofa and loveseat when the three wizards straightened up and brushed their clothes off. They had just taken a few steps away from the fireplace, which looked like a bomb had hit it, when Petunia rushed into the room, trailed by Dudley, her narrow pinched face filled with disbelief and horror.

“Oh! Oh! Oh!” was all she could manage to get out at first. Then her blue eyes widened as she saw who was standing there and she screamed, “Who are you and what are you doing in my house? Get out before I call the police!”

“How’d you get in here?” demanded Dudley, eying Harry curiously. He was a tall plump child with a shock of very blond hair, round cheeks, and was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt that had stains on it from lunchtime.

“Through the fireplace,” answered Harry, giving his cousin a look that said obviously.

“People can’t travel by fireplace. What are you, cracked?”

“Don’t look now, but we just did.”

Petunia had one hand on her chest and was breathing rapidly, her bosom heaving beneath her printed rosebud dress with the real lace about the sleeves. “Get out, or I’ll dial the cops!”

“By all means do so, Petunia,” drawled Severus, his eyes hard. “They ought to be here to witness the miraculous return of your beloved nephew, Harry Potter.”

“You’re a liar, Severus Snape!” she spat. “Harry is dead, he was kidnapped and murdered . . .”Her eyes darted to the boy standing next to the tall wizard and then she went pale as a sheet. “No . . .no . . .it’s not possible . . .you’re dead . . .nobody could have survived the cold that night . . .”

“Hello, Aunt Petunia,” Harry said, glaring at her. “Remember me?”

Petunia let out a shriek and then her eyes rolled up in the back of her head and she fainted, landing on the floor with a thump.

“Mum! Oh my God!” Dudley cried. He knelt beside his mother , shaking her. “Mum, wake up!”

“Allow me,” Severus said icily, and he pointed his wand at the unconscious Petunia and a jet of water shot out, striking her right in the face.

“Hey! You leave my mum alone, whoever you are!” Dudley cried, looking like he wanted to tackle Severus.

“He’s your uncle and I’m your cousin,” Harry told him helpfully. “And this man over here is my grandpa.”

“But . . .but I don’t have a cousin,” Dudley stammered, totally confused.

Petunia coughed and woke. “Ahhh! Why am I all soaking wet?” She quickly climbed to her feet, shooting a loathsome look at Severus. “More of your fiendish magic, Snape? You haven’t changed a bit. Still the same sneaking slimy kid from the gutter.”

Severus’ lip curled. “I could say the same about you, Petunia. Still a coldhearted miserable hag who doesn’t even have the decency to see that your own sister’s child is taken care of properly! Lily must be turning over in her grave to see what you did to him—leaving him to freeze to death in an outdoor nativity in a manger on Christmas Eve! So much for your Christian charity, eh?”

Petunia went white, her face drained of all color. “No . . .that’s not true . . .he was kidnapped . . .”

“Don’t bother with the lies, woman!” Augustus said sharply, his wand in his hand, his face hard as stone. “We know the truth, not that cock-and-bull story you fed Dumbledore and the papers about some fake kidnapping from a Muggle child molester! My grandson Severus was the one who found the baby in the manger and saved him from death. We know it all, you didn’t really think you could hide it forever, now did you?” He fastened his gaze on her and Petunia trembled, for the Elemental Master’s eyes seemed to see right through her, into the depths of her soul.

Dudley gaped, then cried, “I’m calling Daddy!” He bolted off to fetch the phone down the hall and dial his father, who was down at his men’s club celebrating the holiday with darts and beer.

“How dare you freaks come here and demand an explanation from me?” hissed Petunia, her eyes glittering wildly with desperation. All these years and now her past had come back to haunt her in the form of an auburn haired waif that looked eerily like her dead sister.

For the first time, Harry spoke, giving vent to the cauldron of anger, hurt, and betrayal seething within him. “How dare you just throw me in a manger and leave me like I was last week’s trash, Aunt?” Things began to shake in the room and a lamp toppled over, mute testimony to the battle raging in the young wizard’s chest. “What did I ever do to you? I was your nephew, your blood, I was a baby! Why did you ever do such a . . .horrible thing?” He felt tears pressing behind his eyes, but he used the anger to dry them before they could fall. He would rather die than show how much she had hurt him.

Petunia flinched as though he had slapped her. Then she drew herself up and returned his glare with one of her own. “You unnatural child! I never wanted to raise you—that crackpot old man dumped you on my doorstep along with the milk and just expected me to take you in. Fool! I had married to get away from all of the unnatural things and people my sister brought into the house—including that one!” Her finger stabbed at Severus. “I warned her that no good would come of her attending that school, but did she listen? No, of course not! Then she married another of her unnatural kind and bred you! And then she had the nerve to get herself blown away and leave me with her brat! I knew there was something freaky about you the minute I laid eyes on you. You had that . . .that Mark on you, like the mark of the devil, and those eerie green eyes like a cat’s, and I just knew you would grow up to be a freak monster like her! And I had a son and I didn’t want you to taint him with your freakishness!”

“So . . .you left me to die,” Harry said in a very small voice. Then he added, “Now who’s the monster?”

Several glass figurines sitting on a shelf exploded into fragments as the young sorcerer’s magic lashed out.

Petunia screamed and cringed. “There, you see! You’re just like your mother, she could always do odd things like that too! And my parents loved her for it! She was always their darling, while I was ignored. But not anymore! Now I’m the one who’s got it all—a beautiful home, a perfect family, and plenty of money, and where is she? Food for the worms—pah!” she spat on the ground. “That’s what trafficking with magic gets you!”

“You’re wrong!” Harry shouted, his eyes blazing. “You don’t know the first thing about magic, bitch!”

Several stuffed pillows upon the sofa shredded themselves.

“You’re the unnatural one, not my papa and grandpa! They didn’t abandon a helpless baby to die in a manger.”

The front door slammed and Vernon charged into the living room, clutching a shot gun. He stopped dead when he saw the three wizards. “Who the bloody hell are you? If you’ve laid so much as a finger on my wife, I’ll blow your head off!” He started to raise the gun.

Only to have the gun wrenched from his hands and bent into the shape of a pretzel in midair, then dropped at Vernon’s feet.

“Never ever threaten my family, Muggle!” Augustus thundered.

He seemed to grow a foot in an instant, and power radiated from him like a blast furnace.

Petunia grabbed Vernon and began crying hysterically. “Vernon, it’s them! They found out what we did, about the manger, and they’ve brought him back to us!” She pointed a trembling finger at Harry.

Vernon went pale. “He was supposed to die!”

“But he didn’t,” Augustus growled, and suddenly the earth shook beneath his feet and more plaster crumbled from the wall.

The Dursleys screamed as tremors rocked the house.

Abruptly, Vernon freed himself from Petunia and started towards the hallway, yelling, “Hold on, pet! I’m calling the police!”

“Wrong.” Augustus stated chillingly.

Vernon was plucked from the floor and hung dangling in midair, his legs and arms windmilling frantically. “Help! Help!”

An invisible hand carried him by the collar of his jacket and plopped him down upon the couch, whose arm suddenly came alive and wrapped about him, holding him fast.

A shrieking Petunia was given the same treatment.

The only one who was let be was Dudley, who was crouching in the doorway, watching in mute terror.

“Silence!” Severus snarled and the screaming and threats stopped.

Augustus walked over to them, still cloaked in that awful majesty, and glowered down upon them. Gone was the indulgent occasionally strict grandpa Harry had always known. In his place was the tough-as-dragonhide Auror, about to interrogate suspects. He did not even bother drawing his wand.

“Now. I am going to ask you some questions, which you will answer truthfully and promptly. Don’t attempt to lie, for I will know if you do so, and then . . .” he trailed off and a rumbling tremor shook the house. “Nod if you understand me.”

Both Dursleys started nodding like marionettes.

Severus canceled the Silence charm.

“Did you intentionally and with malice aforethought leave Harry Potter, your blood nephew, in a manger on Christmas Eve ten years ago?”

“Yes.” Petunia snapped.

“I did. Only way to get rid of the brat,” replied Vernon, glaring daggers at all the wizards, especially Harry.

“Were you aware that the weather was such that Harry Potter would have died if someone did not take him?”

Again, the two replied affirmatively.

“So, you knowingly committed murder,” Augustus stated. “Or would have but for the grace of God. And this was not the first time you mistreated your nephew, was it?”

“We locked him in the cupboard a few times when he wouldn’t quit bellowing,” Vernon sneered. “It’s where freaks like him belonged.”

“I gave him Dudley’s old cast offs and one bottle a day, why bother wasting good money on a creature like that?”

“So you neglected and starved him before deciding to get rid of him altogether? Your sister’s child and you never once showed him an ounce of love and kindness. Why not?”

Vernon shrugged. “I had enough with my own, didn’t need no other damn kid to raise.”

“How could I love the unnatural spawn of magic? Might as well love a piece of gum stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”

There came a sudden clap of thunder and both Petunia and Vernon jumped, or tried to.

Augustus’ face was dark with fury.

“And you dare to call us unnatural? Even a mother serpent cares for her own. Not only did you attempt to murder your nephew, woman, but you invented a false story to cover up your actions, and you also continued taking money for your nephew’s upkeep for over two years, is that not also true?”

“Err . . .yes!” Vernon said. “We deserved compensation for feeding and clothing the little bugger for three months.”

“Compensation?” Augustus laughed harshly. “For what? Some rags and a measly bottle of formula every day? Maybe a few nappies? Such an expense! You got over a thousand pounds a month for Harry Potter’s upkeep. What did you do with it?”

“I invested half in the stock market. Made a killing,” Vernon declared proudly. “Used the rest for Dudley’s private school and to take a few trips with Pet to the islands and fix up the house some.”

“And how much is left of that money?”

Vernon’s brow furrowed. “Quite a bit.”

“I see. You committed neglect, fraud and attempted murder, all so you could be rid of one small baby who had never done you any harm. You are despicable! Cowards who deserve to be flung into a deep hole and buried alive! Wicked creatures who ought to be devoured by manticores a piece at a time.”

Petunia began to sob and Vernon to tremble.

“Were I not a believer in justice, I would happily do one or more of those things to both of you. You would take a long time to die.” The Elemental Master said coldly. “But I have standards and morals, unlike you. Our law states we cannot kill Muggles unless in self-defense. Therefore I shall turn you over to your own authorities and see what they make of you.” He turned to Dudley, who was staring at his parents as if they were strangers, silent tears trickling down his face. “You, boy, call those police of yours! Now!”

Dudley leaped up and raced for the phone.

Augustus drew his wand then and waved it over the two. “You shall confess all to the police when they arrive. I will also make arrangements for your son and see if the police can repay at least some of the money you illegally gained, or whoever is responsible for taking care of such matters. When I am through with you, you shall be lucky to be wearing the clothes you have on,” he said grimly. “And none of you shall be able to say a word about wizards or magic to anyone.” He traced an eternity symbol in the air, it glowed for a moment, then vanished.

* * * * * *

When the police arrived a few minutes later, they found the Dursleys sitting on the couch, Petunia sobbing silently.

Most of the mess had been cleaned up and Severus led Harry over to the officers and began to tell them what had occurred, using his Water Elemental powers of persuasion at full force. The police were appalled and questioned Vernon and Petunia harshly.

The Dursleys condemned themselves by their own tongues, unable to speak anything but the complete unvarnished truth.

The police wrote everything down and also recorded it with small micro recorders for evidence. Then they slapped Petunia and Vernon with a set of cuffs and dragged them from the house and into the squad car waiting outside.

Petunia began to wail about leaving her poor Duddikins until one of the policemen shook her and growled, “Lady, after what you did, you don’t deserve to have kids! Now shut the bloody hell up and get in the car!”

Augustus accompanied them to the station, making sure that the trial was put on top priority and Severus went to each of the neighbors that was home and Obliviated some of their memories, putting a false one on their place of Vernon and Petunia getting arrested for mistreating their son.

Dudley was in shock and all he did was curl up on the couch and stare at Harry. “It’s all true. They really did try to . . .get rid of you, didn’t they? It’s not just some kind of sick joke?”

Harry shook his head. He felt sorry for the other boy. “No. I really am your cousin. My mum was your mum’s sister. And when they were killed, I was sent here to live with you. I don’t really remember it and neither do you, I guess. But everything happened like they said.”

Dudley shook his head. “It just seems . . .so unbelievable. But I heard them . . .they both said they meant for you to . . .freeze . . .” He began to cry. “What’s gonna happen to me now?”

Severus re-entered the house just as Dudley asked that question. He came over to the sniveling youngster and knelt down and said quietly, “Have you any relatives that would be willing to take you in? If not, the court shall place you in a foster facility.”

Dudley thought for a moment. “There’s my Aunt Marge, Dad’s older sister. She’s got no kids, and she has lots of money. She might be willing to take me.”

“Good. We shall mention that to the police when they return here. In the meantime, I shall call her. What’s her number?”

Dudley told him.

Some twenty minutes later, Marge arrived and helped Dudley pack and spoke with the police who had returned by then to see to Dudley. She agreed to take her nephew to live with her, seeing as it was likely that her brother and sister-in-law were going to be staring at the inside of a jail cell for years to come. Marge had known nothing about what had really happened to Harry and though a hard woman, she too was shocked that Vernon and Petunia had done such to a small baby.

“He was a quiet thing, and even if they didn’t want him no more, they could’ve given him to the Sisters of St. Bertha’s to take care of. She shook her head. “Come along, Dudders.” She sailed out of the house with Dudley in tow, a bulldog tucked under an arm. Neither she nor Dudley knew that Severus had silently cast a spell on them that made them unable to mention what had happened to anyone unless questioned directly by a policeman.

Augustus returned from the station, having charmed the law enforcement to speed up the trial and it was almost guaranteed a guilty verdict, since the Dursleys had made an all-out confession about their crimes. “They’ll be in there for life, and all the money they took shall be returned to you, Harry, and the account emptied. This house shall be foreclosed upon by the bank and the two fancy cars out there repossessed as well. Whatever’s left will go to their son, but that will be barely enough to see him through school. His aunt will have to provide the rest.”

“How about the papers?”

“They will run a short piece for a week, nothing on the front page. With luck, people will forget about it in a week or two, and Dumbledore will never get wind of it. It was the best I could do. I shall check back tomorrow and see what the verdict is.” Augustus said, smiling wolfishly. “Oh, and one more thing. I have cast a Dream Haunting upon them as well. Every few days they will be visited in their cell by the vengeful spirits of James and Lily Potter, who will torment them for the entire night and force them to feel every bit of the terror and pain little Henry felt as he lay in the manger.”

“How long will that last?”

Augustus shrugged. “Until they repent or ten years go by, whichever comes first.”

“You make a dangerous enemy, Grandfather.”

“Only if you hurt a member of my family,” replied the sorcerer. He went and hugged Harry. “How are you, my Henry?”

“Okay, I guess.” Harry said. He was relieved that the Dursleys would be made to pay for their crimes, but he felt kind of sorry for Dudley. He turned to Severus. “Papa, would it be okay if I . . .wrote to Dudley once in awhile? I mean, he is my cousin, and I . . .wouldn’t mind getting to know him better. He didn’t look like he agreed with what his parents did and maybe if he got to know me, he wouldn’t get mad that we made the police arrest his parents.”

Severus thought carefully before he replied, “I think you need to give Dudley a little time to come to terms with what’s happened before you start writing him. But after a week or two you may try and correspond with him, first by using the Muggle post and then if he seems to accept you, you may send letters by owl post.”

“Could he maybe visit at Foxfire Hall sometime?”

“We’ll see, son.” He patted Harry on the shoulder. “Your mother and James would be proud of you today. You behaved with admirable restraint and you don’t hold Dudley responsible for the crimes of his parents.”

“Why should I?” Harry asked. “He was a baby too.”

“Very true. I’m proud of you too, Harry. Shall we go home? It’s nearly lunchtime, I believe, and Lina will box all of our ears if we miss it.”

Harry smiled up at him. He felt as if he had regained a little missing piece of himself, and even though the things Petunia had said to him had been beyond dreadful, at least he no longer had to wonder if it was his fault they had dumped him in the manger. And he was now doubly grateful he had been found by Severus and given a good home and a family. He shuddered to think of what might have been had Petunia decided to keep her unwanted nephew. In a way, they had done him a favor. And at least they had gotten what they deserved for their deed.

“Okay, Papa. Let’s go home.”

They Flooed back to Foxfire Hall, arriving just as Lina was setting out the plates and cups for lunch.

* * * * * *

The next morning, as he had promised, Augustus Apparated to the courthouse and watched as the trial of Vernon and Petunia Dursley was held. It was an open and shut case and the judge ruled in favor of Harry Potter and his guardians. The Dursleys were sentenced to life in prison and all their ill-gotten assets were given to Harry. Dudley was made the ward of one Marge Dursley and received whatever money the estate had left after paying back Harry. As Augustus predicted, it was just enough to give the youngest Dursley a decent life, but nothing like the affluence he had been accustomed to before. Marge Dursley was well-off, and the boy would not lack for any necessity, but he would not be the pampered prince he had been before. And perhaps, just perhaps, the revelations about his parents would make him a more compassionate and thoughtful individual, one who strove to be everything his greedy heartless parents were not.

The morning after the Dursleys’ trial, Severus received a letter delivered by a midnight-colored owl. It was from Zandra Malfoy.

Dear Mr. Snape:

I am writing this in regards to your letter, which I received just before Christmas, and due to family obligations have not had a chance to respond to until now. I know you probably believe that I am some Quidditch-obsessed incompetent teacher, though I assure you that was not always the case. I was delighted to discover Harry’s natural talent on a broom and his fabulous reflexes and that was why I decided to place him as my Reserve Seeker. I had asked the Headmaster’s permission before doing so and he approved it. I see now that perhaps I should have asked yours as well, and apologize for not doing so.

Originally, I had never intended to allow Harry to play in more than one game and attend practice, for a Reserve is normally never called to play matches unless the worst happens. And the worst DID happen—I lost my Seeker to a bout of pneumonia not two games into the season. I put Harry in one match, just to see how he did . . .and he was amazing. I then asked him if he thought he could handle playing and his schoolwork and he said he could. He seems like a very intelligent young man and I figured if he couldn’t handle it, he would come and tell me.

I then became extremely busy myself with teaching and brewing and yes, overseeing Quidditch, since Professor Hooch took a holiday in the middle of the term, and so did not keep as keen an eye on him as I should have.

I was not aware of any failure on his part to turn in homework or difficulty concentrating or taking tests in other classes until over midway through the term. When I drew him aside to talk to him, and offered help and to reduce his practice time so he could study, he grew upset and promised he would do better, and I took him at his word.

I was too lenient and should have arranged study times myself, but soon Quidditch was in full swing and to my shame, I am rather obsessed with it myself. But he did well in Potions and I assumed he was doing alright in other subjects until the last week of November, when Minerva told me he was failing Transfiguration. I was horrified and called him into my office and he told me that he had a tutor to help him from Ravenclaw and I also tried to help him, but unfortunately it had gone on too long and Minerva was not inclined to grant him any kind of leeway.

I was very unhappy with him and with myself for missing his obvious decline, and I assure you I do have high academic standards for my House and could kick myself for this mess.

I do humbly apologize and will endeavor to keep a sharp eye on him next term and request frequent updates on his progress in other classes from my colleagues. I will also do as you suggest and put him on probation. I can also keep you informed of his status by weekly letters, that way if you feel he’s slacking, you can encourage him to do better and I shall back you up.

I am most grateful you did not inform the Board and Professor Dumbledore of my blunder, as I really do enjoy working at Hogwarts and teaching potions. I am embarrassed that a man whom I admire for his skill with a cauldron felt the need to scold me like a child and again I apologize.

Respectfully,

Professor Zandra Malfoy

Potions Mistress

Head of Slytherin House

Hogwarts

The sincere apology given by Zandra put Severus in a wonderful mood, and he felt better about sending Harry back to school in January knowing that his Head of House would cooperate and keep a watch over his son. That was all he really cared about, that Harry was safe and happy, and in this particular instance, more the former than the latter.

He was in such high spirits that he managed to overcome his reticence and actually call Sandra and invite her out for dinner, leaving Harry and Augustus at the manor to eat and have some time together themselves. Augustus was teaching Harry how to play Wizard Chess and backgammon and the Eye-Mind game—a memory game that tested how sharp your memory was for seeing things once and remembering what, where, and in what sequence you saw the object. It was a teaching tool used at the Auror Academy and taught trainees to be observant and increased their memory tenfold. It started with ten objects, placed at random around a room or held in a person’s hand. You had four minutes to look at them and then they vanished, or seemed to, and the object was to see how many you could recall after one look, and you were timed as well.

So far, Harry hadn’t yet managed to get all ten, nor beat Augustus, who could do thirty-five objects at a glance. But then the skill took practice, and not even Severus was as good as his grandfather yet. He could get twenty-five.

Augustus explained that learning that game was vital to an Auror investigating a scene, so they could recreate it later and if it happened to be disturbed, it wouldn’t be a disaster on a case.

When Severus informed them he was taking Sandra out to dinner, Augustus winked knowingly, the old fox, and Harry smirked.

“Way to go, Papa! Break a leg.”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going on stage, Harry.”

“I know. I’d tell you to break . . .err. . .something else, but I’d rather not get killed.”

“Brat!” Severus cuffed him gently about the ears. “Behave for your grandfather.”

Harry gave him an I’m-innocent look. “I haven’t misbehaved for him since I was five!”

“Right. It’s only me you forget your manners with,” Severus groused. “I will see you later, Grandfather.”

“Have a good time, Severus,” the elder Prince beamed. “You deserve it.”

“Don’t stay out all night, sir!” Harry called, laughing.

“Harry, you are asking to be hung upside down and tickle-tortured,” Severus threatened, then he took the stairs up to his room to change for the date.

“Hush, lad,” Augustus reprimanded as Severus disappeared from view. “Don’t poke fun at him, he’s nervous enough as it is.”

Harry looked thunderstruck. His father, nervous? It seemed impossible. “Wonder what they’ll talk about? Potions?”

“Possibly, since she shares that interest with him,” Augustus agreed. “Enough, boy! Look at these five objects here,” he gestured to a quill, a golden sphere, and several other inanimate objects. Then he waved a hand and the objects blinked out. “Now, what were they and where were they?”

“One was a golden sphere and you stuck it up your sleeve.”

“I most certainly did not . . .”

* * * * * *

Severus took Sandra to a Muggle restaurant that was about twenty minutes from the manor proper, it served delicious cuisine and was a favorite of his and Harry’s when they chose to dine out while shopping for Christmas presents. It was small but cozy and was not too fancy so as to make you uncomfortable while eating, and featured a steak pie that was to die for.

Severus was dressed semi-casually in neatly pressed dark brown slacks and an ivory pullover with a beige collared shirt beneath it, thus avoiding the need for a coat. At first he worried that Sandra wouldn’t like the restaurant, but she merely smiled and said, “I’m sure it’s fine, Severus. I don’t go much for all those fancy places where you have to count the silverware before you figure out what fork is used for salad and which for the main dish. This place reminds me of a little eatery where I grew up in Manchester.”

Severus sighed inwardly in relief and escorted her inside. She was wearing a pretty printed skirt with sprays of holly all over it and a matching cashmere jumper, sensible black pumps and little gold bell earrings. Her hair was pulled away from her face, but then left to flow in a tangle of curls down her back.

Severus found that look particularly attractive on her, the upswept style was too severe for her face, which was round. She was an entirely different-looking woman from Lily, dark-haired, tall and curved, Lily had been slight and willowy and she had had very noticeable fiery auburn hair, like her son, although Harry’s had darkened as he had grown, till now it was a deep ember color. He found he enjoyed the contrast, and hoped that this time around would end differently from last time.

After they were seated in a cozy corner table near the window and had ordered a glass of chardonnay each, they began chatting about innocuous things. Her shop and his new experimental potions. She asked how Harry was doing and Augustus as well, he was touched by her concern over his family, and asked about her own. Only to discover that she had lost her parents as well, her father to an accident on a broom while playing a friendly game of Quidditch with a friend, a Bludger had caught him on the temple, killing him instantly; her mother followed within the year, unable to cope without her husband.

“I was seventeen and a wreck, I went to live with my Uncle Morris, who ran Slug and Jiggers, and worked for him and actually managed to put myself back together brewing potions. It calmed me and helped me to deal with my loss. And when he died, he left the shop to me instead of my cousins. They never wanted to work there anyway, my cousin Libra hated potions and anything to do with them, she ended up moving to Scotland and becoming a tour guide there. And my cousin Mark was never interested either, he runs a clothing shop in Hogsmeade. But it was all for the best, since we all ended up doing what we liked best.”

“That’s important, because if you don’t, you generally tend to be miserable and make others miserable as well,” said Severus.

They ordered dinner, he had the steak pie and she had a stuffed chicken breast, and both enjoyed their dinner immensely. They each had a piece of cherry pie and argued a bit over paying the bill. (Severus won)

“That was delicious, Severus. I haven’t tasted food that good since my Mum passed. Now I’m so stuffed I can hardly move!”

“Would you care to take a walk on the grounds? I find a walk helps the digestion,” Severus asked, then could have kicked himself for sounding like a Healer. Some romantic he was!

“I would love to,” she agreed. “Foxfire Hall is known for its gardens.”

“Yes. My grandmother loved gardening and so does my grandfather. With his Earth Mastery, he can make a tree grow out of a stone if he wanted.” He gently took her arm and they Apparated back to the manor.

They began to walk across the back lawn, with Severus pointing out the orchard where all kinds of fruit were grown and the large pond where they skated in winter and swam in the summer.

Abruptly, Sandra stumbled, her heel catching on a tussock. “Oh, I’m such an idiot!” she cried, as Severus grabbed her, her face flaming. “I should have changed my shoes.”

He gestured and her shoes became suede half-boots, lined with sheepskin. “Better? Forgive me, I should have suggested it myself.” He held her a little longer before letting her go.

She gazed out at the snowy landscape and the star-studded sky and said, “I love the winter. Sometimes it can be cold and harsh, but if you look closely, you’ll find it has a rare beauty.”

“Yes.” He began walking again, not wanting her to get chilled.

She leaned into him. “Do you like stargazing, Severus?”

“Yes,” he replied, though the thing he most wished to gaze upon was right here on the ground.

They walked a bit further, naming constellations and recalling their old Astronomy teacher, Professor Nighthawk, with fond exasperation. Professor Nighthawk was famous for his endless homework assignments, though he had retired several years ago.

“I’ve heard you’re a Water Master,” Sandra began.

“I am,” Severus said warily, wondering just what she had heard about them. “Although I haven’t yet mastered everything my Talent can do. That will take years.” He looked at her. “Are you cold?”

“Just a little.”

“Let’s go back to Drusilla’s garden,” he suggested. “Take my hand.”

She did and the cold no longer chilled her. “Is that . . .?”

“Part of my Mastery? Yes. And here is another part,” he wrapped an arm about her waist and began to snowglide across the lawn.

Sandra grinned and laughed as they slipped across the snow, arriving breathless and panting at the garden gate. “Oh, heavens! That was wonderful. I can’t remember the last time I’ve had so much fun. Your Talent is amazing.”

Severus blushed unused to such praise. He opened the gate and they stepped from winter into spring, as the enchantment upon the garden made the weather always warm for the flowers and fig trees and ivy that grew here. They sat down on one of the padded stone benches and Severus asked if she would like a cup of mulled cider.

“That was also a specialty of my grandmother’s.” He told her, then he called softly for Lina.

The little elf appeared and bowed to them, then giggled and whispered, “Master Sev, it’s about time!”

She blinked away before he could scold her for her impertinence.

“About time for what?” asked Sandra.

“Never mind,” Severus muttered, flushing. He had forgotten that nothing that occurred at Foxfire Hall was secret for long, the two elves knew almost everything that happened beneath the manor’s roof.

Lina returned with their drinks, and they sat there, slowly sipping them. Minutes passed, until Severus could no longer stand the silence, and asked, “Would you mind, Sandra, if I asked you a rather personal question?”

She looked up at him curiously. “No. Not at all.”

He paused, then said, “I couldn’t help but wonder what it was about me that made you . . .wait so long for me to notice you? I am sure that you must have had many other suitors, men who were far more handsome and who weren’t obsessed with potions and who . . .didn’t have a child to raise. And, as you know very well, I can be oblivious as a post sometimes. If I had been you, I’d have hit me over the head with a cauldron long before now. I mean, I am hardly the most eligible bachelor wizard in Britain.”

“To me, you are,” she whispered, clutching her mug tighter. But despite the sudden fluttering in her stomach, she lifted her eyes and met his gaze steadily. “Doubtless you’ll think me a silly romantic twit, but you did ask,” she reminded him, biting her lip nervously. He remained quiet, save for a small nod, his dark eyes alight with interest. Clearing her throat, she said, “When I was thirteen, and suffering through my first crush on a boy—a fifth-year Quidditch player—I asked my mother how you knew when you truly loved a man. Here’s what she told me. You know it’s true love when you feel an invisible connection in his presence, sort of like the connection you felt when you picked up your wand for the first time. You also know it’s the real thing when the attraction you feel does not waver, or fade, or get forgotten, even if you’ve not set eyes on him in months. And when you see him next, it’s like you were looking at him for the very first time all over again. That’s how I felt when you walked into my shop that first time to purchase scarab beetles, I think it was. A part of me said—look, that man standing there is the one you’ve been waiting for all of your life. And it didn’t matter that you were two years younger, or the heir to a great family, or even than you had a child. I thought at first you were married and even then I still dreamed of being with you.” She admitted, flushing.

“Go on,” he urged.

“Later, I learned you were a widower, and I thought, if I am patient, one day he’ll notice me, I don’t care how long it takes. Because that’s the other thing my mother told me. Love can’t be coerced, it must happen on its own, freely. And each one must recognize the other. Then and only then will there be a true union of heart, mind, and body.” She took a sip of her cider. “Well, I had recognized you long ago, Severus. I was simply waiting for you to see me. When your grandfather issued that invitation, I decided that was my chance to make you see more than the apothecary in her black robes. So I took it, and here we are.”

She smiled uncertainly at him. Did he think she was a twit for telling him all of that? But no, he had asked her.

He clasped her left hand in his, and the touch of his fingers upon hers sent a quiver throughout her. Warmth flowed through her and for an instant she was tempted to give into her desire and kiss him again as she had done on Christmas. But she restrained herself. This time, she would let him set the pace.

“Here we are indeed,” he said quietly, gently caressing the back of her hand. “You must think me a blind fool, not to see what’s been right in front of my face for years. And you would be right. I made myself look away, because I felt I wasn’t free to start a relationship while raising my son. Also, there were other considerations . . .” he hesitated. Should he tell her the truth about Harry? Or should he wait until he was surer of her discretion?

Years of being closemouthed urged him to keep his silence. For now. He had time to go slowly. Sandra wasn’t going anywhere. She believed he was meant for her. Those words made him grow warm and the ring of ice he had sheathed his heart in the afternoon Lily had walked away began to melt.

Augustus was right. The past was prologue. It was time to start anew. Very slowly, he brought his hand up and caressed her cheek.

“And now?”

“Now my time is my own, and I choose to spend it with you.”

Her opposite hand came up and cupped his cheek. Their eyes met and in them flared something hot and wild, like magic unleashed, and in that instant there was no more hesitation or awkwardness.

He drew her to him, and she lifted her face to him, and their lips met.

As before, he found himself responding to her with a passion he had never known he possessed. He had only kissed Lily before this, but he soon discovered kissing Sandra was as unlike that first fumbling awkward adolescent kiss as a raindrop was to the ocean. There was no awkwardness here, because he already knew the most important thing of all—she wanted him. With Lily there had never been that assurance, he had loved her, but was always uncertain if she returned his feelings. With Sandra there was no doubt.

She kissed him back with all of the pent up desire and longing she had been feeling for four years, the way she had never kissed a man in her life. It was both exhilarating and frightening and delightful. A part of her wondered in dazed amazement if it was always like this. The one or two times she had allowed boys to kiss her at school had never felt this way—all-consuming, breathless, she was swept away by a tidal wave of emotion, and all she could do was ride the crest until he drew away.

“I’ve never . . .” he began.

“Me either . . .” she whispered. Then she smiled and said, laughing, “I guess my mum was right after all.”

He laughed huskily. “So was my grandfather.” Then he lifted his mug in a toast. “Here’s to us, come what may.”

“Here’s to us, and a new beginning.”

They clinked mugs and drank, unaware of a pair of green eyes that watched through a crack in the curtains.

* * * * * *

Harry hadn’t intended to see that, he had simply been bored after Augustus had stopped playing the Eye Mind game and had gone into his study to work on some business documents. It was not yet bedtime, he was allowed to stay up on holiday until ten, and even though he was grounded, Severus hadn’t changed that. Harry was grateful.

But after an hour or so of puttering around in his room, trying out new spells, or at least the incantations, since he wasn’t allowed to use magic outside of school, and reading a bit, he decided to go down and look out at the garden. Drusilla’s garden had always fascinated him, it was a living breathing entity all of its own, and it had been made with loving care by the great-grandmother he wished he could have known. From what Augustus said of her, he knew they would have gotten on like a house on fire. Augustus had shown him pictures of her and spoke of her often, but Harry didn’t ask too many questions because he knew sometimes it upset his grandfather to speak of her.

So he had gone down to the conservatory and looked out of the window, expecting to see flowers and shrubs and trees. What he didn’t expect was to see his father and Sandra kissing again. He had frozen for an instant, then quickly jerked back, almost falling on his bottom. Merlin, but did they have to do that all the time now? What was it with adults and kissing?

He had heard some of the older boys whispering about snogging—as they called it—and hot girls and once he’d woken up from a nightmare and overheard Captain Flint discussing something about wands and cauldrons to another boy that hadn’t made a whole lot of sense to him. It was very confusing. So far he didn’t think he would ever feel like kissing a girl, not even Susannah Smithers. She was cute and he liked her, but not enough to do that.

He quickly scurried up the stairs and called Lina to bring him a glass of warm milk and some gingerbread. Then he thanked her and sat down at his desk to eat and drink his snack. If you kissed a girl twice did that mean you liked her or loved her? Did it mean that his papa was going to marry her?

If he did marry her, I’d have a mother. Sort of. I wonder what that would be like?

Were all mothers like Annamaria Zabini, who liked to cook and bake and scold Blaise for running about without a jacket and shoes and playing Goblins and Ogres in the house? He liked Annamaria, even if she sometimes called him “poor baby” in Italian and pinched his cheek. She always made the best pasta and always told him “Mangia, mangia!” when he ate over there and gave him second helpings.

Would she be strict sometimes, like Gran was with Neville, and would he have to obey her like he did Severus?

He drank the last of his milk and set the glass on his desk. Lina would pick it up tomorrow. All the questions inside of his head swirled about and made his head hurt. He decided to go to bed. He could think about mothers tomorrow.

* * * * * *

But the next morning he woke up with a scratchy throat and a runny nose and congestion in his chest. He came down for breakfast, only to eat and then be ordered right back to bed by Severus. Harry had not been sick in a long time and he tried to protest, but his father would have none of it. Severus made him take a hot shower, gave him a mild PepperUp Draft, and had Lina bring him a tray with tea with honey and lemon as well as a glass of ice water.

Harry sulked. “Papa, I feel fine. I’m just sneezing.”

“You’ve caught a chest cold and if you’re not careful, you could get something worse, like bronchitis. Now you are to stay in bed and not get up except to use the bathroom. Lina will bring you more tea or water or whatever you need.”

“But I don’t want to stay in bed!” Harry argued. “I’m not sick—achoo!” His assertion was spoiled by a series of sneezes. He took the handkerchief Severus gave him and blew his nose. Then he repeated stubbornly, “I’m not sick.”

“Harry, don’t argue facts.” Severus said implacably. “Now go back to sleep or read, but don’t argue with me.”

Then he left before Harry could press the issue.

Harry flopped down on his bed. His calico woke from her nap, gave him a reproving look, then went back to sleep. He ran his hand over her fur. “I hate when he’s like this,” he told Hedwig, who was blinking sleepily on her perch. “I’m not sick, I just don’t feel all that great because my nose is running and my throat is sore. But it won’t kill me to go out and play in the snow for a bit. Honestly! He fusses worse than somebody’s grandmother.”

It was then he remembered the questions he had for Severus last night, and he thought about telling Lina to bring Severus back so he could ask them, but suddenly he started to feel sleepy. I’ll just close my eyes for a bit. That’s all. I’m not really tired . . .I just woke up . . .

In a moment, he was out like a light.

* * * * *

Unfortunately, Harry’s cold grew worse, and he developed a cough as well, and that meant another two days in bed. But by then he was too sick to care and stayed in bed willingly. Line brought him her special vegetable and chicken soup to eat and he had rounds of potions to take. Those he wasn’t so thrilled with and sometimes fought with Severus about taking, but he never won.

On the third day he was allowed out of bed for half the day, he slept away the morning and then came down for tea. That afternoon, Augustus was in a meeting over at Gringotts with his financial advisor, so Severus and Harry had tea alone. It was the perfect opportunity for Harry to ask some of the questions that had been puzzling him for three days.

But he was unsure where to begin, so he drank two cups of tea and ate some scones slathered with butter before he asked casually, “So, have you seen Sandra lately?”

“Not very much, since I was busy taking care of you,” Severus replied. “I saw her briefly in the shop when I stopped by to pick up more ingredients for my potions. She says she hope you feel better soon and gave me a box of Honeydukes chocolates to give you.” He produced a gold foil wrapped box of chocolates and handed them to his son. “Now mind you don’t eat yourself sick.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I won’t.” He took the box and set it down next to his plate for later. Then he took a deep breath and asked, “Umm . . .I was wondering . . .if you kiss a girl more than twice, does that mean you love her? Because you kissed Sandra twice, so does that mean you’re going to marry her? If you do marry her, will you dip your wand in her caldron, because some guys at school said that’s what you do after you’re married to a hot girl.”

Severus spit his tea out all over the table and went into a coughing spasm for about five minutes after Harry’s barrage of questions.

He certainly had not expected those questions to come out of his son’s mouth right then. Although he supposed he should have, since now he was dating, that topic was bound to come up some time. It was only natural that Harry be curious and Severus had sidestepped the issue until now. He’s old enough to know about it, Severus. He wished Augustus were there to help explain it. Then, on second thought, he was glad the old man wasn’t there, to snicker at his fumbling attempts.

“Papa? Are you okay?”

“I’m . . .fine . . .”Severus wheezed, finally managing to get the spasms calmed down. “You just . . .took me by surprise, asking me those questions. When did you see Sandra kiss me?”

Harry blushed. “Last night. I went to look out the window of the conservatory at the garden and . . .I saw you.”

“Ah. Well, that’s what adults do when they’re . . .ah . . .attracted to each other.”

“Does it mean you love her?”

Severus coughed. “I . . .like Sandra very much. It’s a bit too early for me to say whether or not I love her. I need to get to know her better.”

“Does she love you?”

“I think she may,” Severus hedged.

“If you do love her, will you marry her?” Harry asked frankly.

“Probably yes. Why? Would it bother you if you had a mother?”

Harry thought about it. “Umm . . .not really. I mean, I never had a mother, least not one I can remember. Sandra’s nice, I like her. She could be my mother like you’re my father. It would be different . . .in a good way.”

“It would take some getting used to.” Severus agreed. “But right now, Harry, we’ve only just begun dating and we’re far from an engagement.”

“Huh? What’s that?”

“It’s when I propose marriage to her with a ring and she accepts.” Severus explained.

“Oh. And what’s with the wands and cauldrons?”

Severus flushed. He was almost hoping Harry would have forgotten that question. “Wands and cauldrons. Hmmm . . .well . . .that phrase you heard—”

“Dipping your wand in her cauldron,” Harry prompted helpfully.

“Yes . . .that doesn’t actually have anything to do with wands or cauldrons. It’s an another way of describing . . .sex. Which is how babies are made.” Oh, sweet Merlin, I sound like a blithering idiot! I need a handbook or something. He rose to his feet. “Stay here. I need to find a book in the library. I’ll be right back.”

“A book? Can’t you just tell me?”

“Yes . . .no . . .a book will make this much easier . . .something with medical illustrations . . .” Severus muttered, half to himself. How the hell do other parents do this? I should have asked Annamaria and Marco how they did it. What if I’m going about it all wrong? Then he’ll be confused and awkward. I wish I could just tell him the stork delivers babies!

Fifteen minutes later, Severus was showing Harry an anatomy book with illustrations of the male and female reproductive system. Harry was a little grossed out at first, but then he became interested in how a baby grew inside the uterus, and asked some very intelligent questions for which Severus didn’t know the answers to.

“Harry, why don’t you read the chapter in this book? It will explain all of that.”

“All right,” he agreed.

Severus then went on to detail a few other things, like contraceptive potions and charms, he figured he might as well go the distance, because he would only have to answer questions later.

By then Harry was blushing too and then he said, “Okay, we can stop now.”

Thank Merlin! Severus sighed in relief, and mopped his brow with a napkin. “If you happen to have any more questions like that, Harry . . .just go and ask your grandfather. I’m sure he’ll be happy to answer them.”

Harry looked horrified. “Papa, how would he know? He’s old and Grandma’s dead.”

Severus choked on his tea for a second time, nearly asphyxiating with laughter. Oh, Harry! There’s never a dull moment with you.

Just then Augustus walked into the small dining room. “Severus, are you all right? I hope you haven’t caught Henry’s cold.”

“No. I just . . .swallowed the wrong way.”

Augustus patted him on the back. “Mind if I join you for tea?” he asked, seating himself to the left of Severus at the head of the table. He spied the book Harry had been looking at and said, “Interesting book you’re reading, Henry?”

“Umm . . .yeah. It’s about sex and babies getting born.”

“Ah. Very interesting. The facts of life.” He turned and winked at Severus. Then he poured himself a cup of chai and served himself some ham and pickle sandwiches. “I take it your papa has educated you thoroughly?”

Harry nodded. “He told me all about it.”

“That’s good to know.” Augustus began to eat. “Good job, Severus,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.

Severus said nothing, pouring himself a glass of lemonade, since his tongue was scalded from hot tea and the other hot topic of the afternoon.

He looked at his son then and said, “Harry, if you’re finished, why don’t you go and write a thank you note to Miss Miska for giving you the chocolate? And write Blaise and Neville as well and see if they would like to come for New Years Eve?”

“But I’m still grounded.”

“Not for New Years Eve.”

Harry jumped up so fast he nearly upset the teapot. “Oops. Sorry. I’ll go write them right now! Can they sleep over too? And can Nev bring Trouble?”

Severus groaned. Three kids and a crup were just what he needed. “All right. As long as you don’t keep me awake all night and you look after the dog. If I find a mess anywhere . . .”

“I know. I’ll be walloped into next week,” Harry shot back. “Thanks, Papa. Oh, and why don’t you invite Miss Miska to the party? That way you’ll have something to do besides read all night.”

He ducked his father’s playful swat to his behind and raced from the room, laughing like a wicked imp.

* * * * * *

January 31st, 1992

Diagon Alley:

Sandra heard the bell over the door of her shop ring, and she quickly wiped her hands on a rag and hurried into the front of the store to greet her customer, she had been decanting Bubotuber pus into small jars and hoped she hadn’t gotten any of the foul-smelling stuff on her hands. She was wearing her green apothecary apron over her black robes, which she straightened as she walked through the curtained alcove to see Severus waiting for her, leaning casually on the counter.

She drank in the sight of him, they had not seen each other in over a week, for she had massive orders to fill for St. Mungos and other companies and he had been busy as well, doing research on a potion that could replenish magical fatigue in two hours. At first, he didn’t notice her, he was too intent on perusing the new items she had added to her display over the counter—rare ingredients, unbreakable vials, knives that remained ever-sharp, and cauldrons that were self-heating.

“Hello, stranger,” she greeted, and he turned.

He smiled at her, eyeing her leisurely, enjoying the way she flushed slightly. “Hello, Sandra. Are you ready to go to lunch?”

“Just let me take off this apron and wash my hands. I thought you were a customer.”

“I may purchase that self-heating cauldron later.” He replied.

She chuckled and hurried back into her small lab and washed her hands in the sink. Then she hung the Closed For Lunch sign on the door and Severus took her arm and they walked out into the street.

“Where shall we go for lunch this time?” she asked. “It’s your turn to pick the restaurant.”

Severus looked around as they walked down the cobblestone way. Finally he spotted what he was looking for, a small café right next to the ice cream parlour. “How about the Sandwich Wizard?”

“Sounds good to me,” she said. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a dragon.”

In the month since they had begun dating, she found herself falling even more deeply in love with him. And it was not just because of his face or his voice or the fact that he was heir to one of the Great Families—those who had wealth and power and could trace their ancestry all the way back to Merlin and beyond. No, she loved him because he could make her laugh and he treated her like a lady and didn’t sneer at her for being a half-blood shopkeeper. He was considerate of her feelings and he never demanded she take him to bed, the way one of her early boyfriends had, as if she were nothing more than a prostitute. He was a genius and a far better potion maker than she, but he never talked down to her and he always listened to her opinions. She respected him for that. He also didn’t buy her frivolous gifts, he kept things simple.

She had received two bouquets of roses and lilies from him, a pretty good luck cat made of jade and jet that sat on the back shelf of her shop by the counter, and a soft scarf that he said matched her eyes. He had also delivered to her shop a crate of rare potion ingredients and refused to take any payment from her. “This is for all those discounts you gave me all those years.”

“Severus, I can’t! It’s too much!”

“It’s not. You gave me something much more precious.”

“Like what?”

“Your heart. Next to that, what’s a few dried flowers and animal hair?”

She had been so moved she cried, and had to turn away to dab her eyes with her sleeve.

But it was not always sweetness and light with him either. They had gotten into the occasional quarrel, since he did have a temper and tended to get grouchy and irritable if something didn’t go right at Prince Labs. Then he would snap at her and she, who was not a meek little mouse, would snap back. Once they didn’t talk to each other for three days.

But then they made up and forgave each other, and discovered that the quarrels did not mean the end of their relationship. It added a spice to it that was quite interesting, as a matter of fact. Neither of them was perfect, but then, she did not expect that. Nor did he. With him, she could just be herself, and that was the greatest gift of all.

Over her hot pastrami on rye she asked, “How is Harry doing at school? Is he staying out of trouble?”

“Yes, and it’s a miracle,” Severus answered, chewing his hot roast beef. “But Professor Malfoy has been keeping a stern eye on him and sending me weekly reports and all is well. His grades are good and the only complaint he has is that his Defense professor could make a stone gargoyle pass out, he’s so boring.”

“Defense? That used to be a fun class when I was in school.”

“Not under Professor Quirrell, according to Harry. But he has my grandfather and me to tutor him over the summer, and he has to learn to take the good with the bad when it comes to academics. So, have you come up with any ideas for my grandfather’s birthday present? I’m fresh out of them.”

“His birthday’s Februrary 14th, right?”

“Yes, on Valentine’s Day. He says that Fate played a cruel joke on him, because when he was an Auror, his colleagues used to tease him about being more a lover than a fighter.”

“Seems to me like he was both, if half the stories he told me about him and your grandmother are true.”

“They are. Grandfather would never lie about that. He truly adored my grandmother. Much the same as I do you.” He murmured.

“You’re sweet, Severus.” She smiled back at him. “Now, about the present. It’s hard buying something for a man who has almost everything. What sort of things does he like?”

“He’s an intellectual, like me, but he does enjoy his crime novels and he likes Muggle things. He’s very difficult to buy for because when I ask him what he’d like, he says nothing!”

Sandra thought, trying to remember what her father liked. Something that maybe Augustus wouldn’t have. “He shaves, right? With a spell?”

“Yes. Most wizards do, unless they’ve been brought up Muggle. In my case, I had to teach myself, because I would never trust my father near my throat with a razor. Later, however, I learned the spells because it saved time. Why?”

“Well, since he likes Muggle things, I was thinking maybe you could get him a Remington razor, not a cheap flimsy one, but a nice one with a holder, though not an electric one, since it’ll short out with his Elementalist aura. And maybe some Old Spice aftershave and shaving gel? My father used to love that brand and I still remember how good he used to smell when he would kiss me goodnight before he went out for dinner with my mum. I think that Augustus would enjoy trying it out. What do you think?”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea. We can shop for it tomorrow, since you’re off tomorrow, right?”

“Yes.” They had planned on spending the day together, it was her one Sunday a month that she had off, and she usually spent it relaxing in her home. But ever since she started dating Severus, she found she spent more time away from home than in it, which suited her perfectly fine.

She paid for the bill before he could do so, he scowled at her.

“You did that on purpose!”

“Of course. Otherwise you’d never let me pay for anything.” Then she kissed him lightly and glided out of the café.

Shaking his head, Severus followed. The Hat should have put her in Slytherin, he thought ruefully, for at times Sandra Miska could be as cunning and sneaky as a snake.

He bid her goodbye at the entrance to the shop, giving her one last lingering kiss before saying, “I’ll see you tomorrow, my sneaky sorceress.”

Then he Apparated away and she turned and went into her apothecary, the taste of him still lingering on her lips.

* * * * *

The next day, after the shopping trip, which was a success, Severus took her to a pretty little lake in the Highlands, bringing along a picnic lunch made by Lina especially for them. Valeska soared overhead, hunting the wild Highland hills for game. His familiar was happy to fly somewhere other than the manor grounds for once, and she also got along well with Sandra. He was very glad to see that, since he trusted Valeska’s judgment, and the falcon was choosy with whom she allowed to get close to her. Valeska allowed the apothecary to stroke her and even deigned to sit on her shoulder for a few minutes. Severus watched his winged beauty fly for a few more minutes, he never got tired of it, then he returned his attention to the ground.

He was slightly nervous, because he had spent all of last night pondering whether to reveal his best-kept secret to Sandra that afternoon. He had been seeing her for a month and a half, give or take a few days, and during that time he had come to know her very well. He learned that she was steadfast and loyal and highly intelligent, being a Ravenclaw, but she also had a kind heart and a way of knowing things about people before she spoke to them. He had gradually revealed to her his lonely broken childhood, and his friendship with Lily, though not that he had once loved her. She had been surprised at his humble beginnings, but not condescending. He found they shared so much in common—they both were half-bloods, both orphaned at a young age, both had to make their way on their own, and they shared a love of potions and books and magic as well.

She also adored Harry and had said on numerous occasions that she wouldn’t mind having him as a son.

She made him feel comfortable, he resonated with her as he had never done with anyone before. She understood him and accepted him for all that he was—even his sharp tongue and flashfire temper. He remembered the first time they had quarreled and how terrified he had been that it was over, because the one major quarrel he had ever had with Lily had spelled the end of their friendship. But Sandra had accepted his apology and forgiven him and then it was forgotten.

What had started out as attraction had somewhere along the way bloomed into love, a tender and passionate love, a love that he was almost certain would last. But the true test of it would come today, when he told her the truth about Harry. Then he would see if their love would endure.

He maintained his silence until they had eaten their fill of lunch, then he said quietly, “There is something that I need to tell you, Sandra. Something that has been kept a secret in our family for years.”

“What is it, Severus? Do you keep an insane cousin chained up in the basement?” she asked, trying to lighten his mood. “Sorry. I don’t mean to make fun. You can tell me, Sev. I won’t betray you.”

“I know. But I must require Wizard Oath of you. Do you trust me? Will you swear it now, without knowing what I am about to reveal?”

She thought about it for a total of twenty seconds before she nodded. “I trust you.” Then she took out her wand, pointed it at herself and said, “I, Sandra Ilyana Miska, do solemnly swear that I shall keep your secret for as long as you have need or till the end of my days. May my magic leave me forever if I am foresworn.” A glittering strand of silver light shot out of her wand and coiled about her neck.

“Thank you, my love.” He said, then he drew in a breath. “My son is Harry Potter.”

Sandra looked puzzled. “What? But that’s . . .impossible. Harry Potter is dead, everyone knows that. He died when he was three from some Muggle kidnapper.”

“No. That was a lie. His relatives no longer wanted him, so they put him in the manger of St. Paul’s nativity on Christmas Eve ten years ago, and that was where I found him. Harry Snape was born Harry Potter, the son of James and Lily, who was once my best friend.”

She gaped at him. “Hold it! You’re telling me that your son Harry is actually the Boy Who Lived? That he never died and that you’ve had him all this time?”

“Yes. I recognized him by the scar on his forehead and from an old newspaper clipping I had saved.”

“But Harry doesn’t have a scar. He’s not really your son? You were never married?”

Severus shook his head. “He is my son now, because of a recent blood adoption. But no, I was never married to Lily. I have never had a wife or a child of my own. Harry is mine by choice. I used a special potion I invented to remove the scar from him so no one would recognize him. I was afraid they would take him from me and so I hid him.”

“Who would take him from you?”

“The Ministry, Dumbledore. They would have never let me keep him.”

“But why?”

“Because when I first found him, I was a struggling Potions Master working for Smithers . . .”Severus said, telling her the entire story. “Harry has only recently learned the truth himself. I was afraid to tell him, afraid that he would despise me, but he doesn’t, thank Merlin! He still loves me. He still accepts me as his father.”

“Of course he does! You’re the one who’s raised him and loved him all these years. Hells bells, Severus, why wouldn’t he love you? You saved his life!”

“And you? Are you angry that I didn’t share my secret with you from the beginning? Can you forgive me my cautious nature? I did not want to go on without letting you know the truth, for a relationship founded on lies crumbles like grains of sand.”

She laid a hand on his arm. “I am glad you told me. I know it’s hard for you to trust, because of what happened with Lily.”

“You know about Lily?” He stared at her. “How did you find that out?”

“Your grandfather happened to mention it to me one day, when I arrived early for dinner and you were still at work. It was about three weeks ago and I was sitting in the parlor waiting for you when he came in and told me to be patient with you, that you might need extra time before you felt comfortable with me because of Lily’s choice and how it had hurt you.”

“Damn that meddling old serpent!” Severus swore, embarrassed. “He always has to stick his nose into my business.”

“Severus, he loves you. He wants to make you happy. He wanted to make sure I understood. He didn’t do it to be cruel or to mock you.”

Severus laughed harshly. “You don’t think me an idiot, for falling in love with my best friend? Who then turned around and chose my rival because she thought I would end up a Death Eater?”

“You were fifteen, Sev! We’re all fools at fifteen. I was. Lily sure as hell was for leaving you. But I’m glad she did, because if not, there would be no us. And no Harry either. The past is gone, let it go. I’m not Lily, Sev. I won’t walk away. No matter what happens, I’ll stay. That’s my oath. Trust me on that.”

He could hear the truth in her voice and see it in her eyes.

At last he could finally let go of the past, and let the old hurt heal. For he had found, all unknowing, one who would stand by him, who would be there for him, a partner for all seasons. Just like Augustus had found Drusilla.

He drew her to him then and kissed her, celebrating without words a love rekindled from the ashes of the old, a bright soaring flame that would never burn out and never fade away. I love you, Sandra. He thought as he kissed her.

And somehow he knew she heard him.

* * * * * *

February 14th, 1992:

They celebrated Augustus’ 105th birthday quietly at Foxfire Hall. Lina had baked a special cake of four layers each one with a different kind of filling. The cake itself was white and there were layers of strawberries, bananas, peaches, and chocolate cream. It was frosted with a light whipped cream and tasted heavenly.

Though the house elves did not normally bestow presents upon their wizard families, Hotspur declared that the 105th birthday was special and he and Lina gifted Augustus with a sacred oak leaf that had been fashioned into a cloak clasp. The leaf had been gathered from a magical black oak whose roots drank from a magic spring.

“It is an honor to serve, milord Prince.” The elf said gravely, handing Augustus the box. “Happy Birthday!”

“Thank you, Hotspur. It is an honor to be served by you and Lina,” said the master of Foxfire Hall. He was quite touched by their gift and pinned it upon his cloak immediately, exchanging the bejeweled crest for the simple preserved oak leaf.

He laughed when he opened Severus’ gift and said he would put it to good use. Sandra had brought him a basket with all of his favorite snacks and drinks inside.

“You didn’t really have to do that, my dear.”

“But, sir, it’s your birthday! I can’t come to a birthday party without a gift,” she pointed out.

“Severus, when are you marrying the lass?” Augustus asked then. “We need to keep her in the family.”

“Someday soon, Grandfather. If she thinks she can put up with this family.”

“If she hasn’t run now, Severus, she’s never going to. Now go out and buy her a ring.”

“What’s your hurry, Grandfather?”

“I just don’t want you to make the poor girl wait another four years for a proposal, Severus.”

Severus rolled his eyes. “Here. Open your present from Harry. It just arrived today.”

Augustus carefully undid the blue wrapping paper about the skinny box. It was wrapped inexpertly, so he knew Harry had wrapped it himself. Inside the box was a wooden case with one hundred and five collectable wizard stamps, some of them very rare limited editions.

Dear Grandpa,

I wasn’t sure what to get you until I saw these really cool stamps in a case at the post office last time I was in Diagon Alley with Papa getting my school stuff. The lady selling them said some were as old as Methuselah, and I thought, well my grandpa’s probably been around that long, and he’ll like looking at them. Hope they bring back some good memories!

Happy birthday!

Love,

Henry

PS: Has Papa popped the Question yet? Just wondering!

“Old as Methuselah, am I?” Augustus chuckled. “Severus, what are we going to do with that boy?”

“Heaven only knows,” his grandson said dryly, then he cut them all a slice of cake.

It was delicious, but Severus really didn’t enjoy it as much as he should have. He was worried about Augustus. The older wizard seemed to be insisting that Severus marry soon, and while he tended to shrug it off, a part of him wondered if Augustus truly were in good health. Could he be hiding some kind of ailment, some terminal illness? Severus felt his heart freeze.

Later on, while Augustus was sitting in Drusilla’s garden, dreaming of other years when his wife had been there to celebrate anniversaries and birthdays, Severus broached his concerns to Sandra.

The apothecary witch did not brush them aside. “He doesn’t seem sick to me, Severus, but you never know.”

“That’s what worries me,” Severus said. He looked at her and said softly, “You know that I love you, don’t you? I just didn’t want to rush things.”

“Oh, Severus! Don’t you know I would marry you tomorrow if you asked? I don’t need a lengthy courtship. Four years was quite long enough. I love you with all of my heart and I do want to have more children before I’m forty.”

“So do I.” He knelt down and removed a ring from a fold of his pocket. “Will you marry me then, Sandra Miska? I promise I will keep your heart safe and never let it go.”

“I will, Severus Snape.” He slid the ring, an old platinum band with a single emerald flanked by two diamonds, on her finger. “And I promise you the same.” She was smiling, her eyes bright with tears. Then she looked at the ring and gasped. “Severus! This is . . .it’s gorgeous! Where did you get it?”

“It was my mother’s. The one thing I kept besides her letters. I hoped someday to give it to a very special lady. And now I have.”

He rose to his feet and kissed her, sealing their promise the way lovers had done since time first began.

Afterwards they discussed possible dates and decided on a June wedding, after Harry returned home from school. Severus said he would go and pick Harry up next weekend and bring him home, so they could tell him the good news in person. He didn’t think his son would be too surprised and he wanted to share his joy with him.

Then they went inside to tell Augustus, and the old Slytherin hugged Sandra, hugged Severus, and then said, "Finally, Severus!"

June 20th, 1992

Hogwarts infirmary:

The boy who had once been known as Harry Potter tossed and turned feebly in his sleep, trying without success to wake up, but the Sleeping Draughts and Pain Relievers he’d been given by Madam Pomfrey prevented him from fully awakening. He was in a great deal of pain from his burned hand and wrist, as well as suffering from an almost lethal magical drain, but still a part of him struggled against the comforting embrace and oblivion of sleep.

Some of his dreams were nightmares, and he wished desperately for his father to come to him, but he knew his father was far away. Even so, he couldn’t help calling for him, or for anyone who might hear him. Over and over he moaned and whimpered and called, “Papa! Papa!” or “Grandpa! Help! Why is this happening?” and sometimes even “Sandra, please! Where are you? I wanna go home. Please . . . take me home . . .”

He thrashed about, or tried to, for Poppy had taken the precaution of Sticking all but his head and neck to the mattress, so he didn’t roll on his bad hand and injure it further. She had used all her Burn Salve on him at the first application, and had to go ask Professor Malfoy to make more.

In his half-aware, drugged state, Harry heard voices nearby, but did not recognize them.

They were Poppy and Zandra, who had just entered the Hospital Wing with the potion the medi-witch had requested. Zandra had turned her head to stare sadly at the whimpering boy in the bed and asked, “How long has he been like that?”

“Since I dosed him with my strongest Pain Reliever and Sleeping Draught,” Poppy replied. “He’s in a great deal of pain, I didn’t want him to suffer so long, but it couldn’t be helped. Whatever made that burn on his hand and wrist wasn’t ordinary, it was magical and it doesn’t respond to standard healing spells, Zandra.”

The Potions Mistress shook her head. “You mean Albus didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“That Harry faced an incarnation of You-Know-Who?”

“No! You cannot be serious!” Poppy was open-mouthed with horror. “But . . .but he’s just a boy!”

“I know. But one with extraordinary gifts,” Zandra said, a note of pride in her voice.

“But . . .I thought he was dead!”

Professor Malfoy shrugged. “That one would find a way to cheat Death of his due, if anyone could. And so he has.” She cast another half-admiring glance at Harry, who was calling once again for Severus. “Poor child! Why aren’t his father and grandfather here? And his stepmother?”

“Because Albus refused to let me send word to them,” Poppy replied tightly, her eyes dark with disapproval. “When I suggested it might help Harry’s recovery, he just smiled that infuriating smile and said he didn’t want to get Severus and Augustus and Sandra upset! That he would tell them later and then he left.”

“But that’s . . .ridiculous! He’s been badly injured and he obviously wants them here!” Professor Malfoy cried angrily. “They deserve to know what happened to him! Have the Zabinis and Augusta Longbottom been told about their children yet?”

“They were here about an hour ago and they took their children home. Mrs. Zabini asked after Harry and I . . .I fibbed and told her that Severus was coming for him.” Poppy admitted. “I don’t know why I covered that old fool’s arse!”

“Force of habit?” Professor Malfoy said, but she wasn’t really asking a question. She moved over to Harry and began to unwind the bandage about his arm. “Poor youngling! What a mess we’re in now. The Dark One’s returned, two of my House and a Hufflepuff are singled out by him, and Quirrell, that useless tosspot, has disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“Yes. No one’s seen him since yesterday afternoon.”

“Rather odd.”

“He’s a coward,” the Potions Mistress said dismissively. “Probably run home to hide under the covers.” She held out her hand for the salve.

Poppy handed her the jar and watched as the teacher gently smeared it upon the child’s hand and wrist, which were red and blistered. “See what I mean? Spell damage or something.”

“Mmm . . .” She finished applying the salve and then Poppy conjured fresh bandages. Professor Malfoy looked at the medi-witch and asked softly, “You’re not thinking of obeying the old coot, are you?”

“He ordered me not to speak of it,” Poppy wrung her hands agitatedly.

“With magic? He bound you?”

“No, but . . .he made me promise to wait . . .”

Zandra rose from where she had been crouched by Harry’s bed, and gently smoothed his brow, which felt hot and feverish. “You need to give him a potion for his fever, Poppy. And I made no such promise. I’m going to owl them right away—their child’s life is at stake and there’s no reason why they shouldn’t be here!”

“Zandra, are you sure that’s . . .wise?”

“No, but it’s right. I owe Severus Snape a favor and this is how I’m repaying it. Albus can go hang! Him and his bloody secret agenda! Is the Stone safe?”

“I . . .I don’t know . . .I assume so . . .”

“Well, if his Majesty hasn’t mentioned anything, it’s probably safe somewhere. Might I borrow a quill and some parchment?”

“Be my guest,” Poppy gestured to the desk near her office.

And as Professor Malfoy began writing, Harry drifted back into that gray area of sleep, and back into memories of what had come before . . .

* * * * * *

April 15th, 1992

Foxfire Hall:

Harry had come home for Easter break, two months almost to the day that Severus had proposed. He was excited and just a bit nervous at having a new mother about the house, as Severus had said, it would take some getting used to. He had written to Dudley telling him of the planned wedding, since he was the only relative whom Harry felt should be kept updated on what events were going on in his life besides his best friends. They were all delighted that he would finally have a mother, and Blaise teased him unmercifully, saying he would have to watch his step now, since mothers were notorious slavedrivers who made you pick up your room twenty times a day and wash behind your ears and scrub the kitchen floor with a scrub brush until it was so clean you could eat off it. And eat all kinds of gross vegetables and tell embarrassing stories about you when your friends were over.

“Just wait, Harry. You’ll see. Your life will never be the same. Mamas can be awful pains.”

“I’m telling yours you said that, Zabini,” Harry threatened lightly.

“I take it back,” Blaise said hastily, for only a fool invoked the wrath of Annamaria Zabini. Or little Josephine, who, being the baby, could get away with almost anything.

“Besides, my papa makes me do almost all that stuff now, so what’s the difference?”

“Because now you’ll have two of them doing it,” Captain Flint replied, having heard their conversation while making bedchecks that evening. “Trust me Snape, you think your dad’s on your arse now, just wait till you’ve got him and the old lady on you. You’ll think you’re living with an echo.” Then he added, “But sometimes mums are easier to sweet talk. Now get some sleep.”

Dudley had said he hoped the woman his dad married was a nice one and treated Harry decently, and Harry thought that was nice of cousin to wish that, all things considered. Dudley had told him that he was getting on well with Marge, though moving to a new school had been difficult at first. But now he had made new friends and liked it. Harry was glad and hoped Dudley would have a better life now and not grow up spoilt. He doubted if Marge allowed Dudley to light firecrackers in her fireplace.

Sandra had come over for Easter dinner, which was roast goose and plum sauce along with fried potatoes and asparagus in cream sauce and chestnut stuffing, followed by a fig cake and a cherry pie with vanilla ice cream. She had made the pie, Lina had made the rest of the dinner, and they had all stuffed themselves. Harry did notice one difference right off, Severus and Augustus were more talkative now that Sandra was around. And Severus, normally so reserved, smiled more often, and Augustus did also.

They played gin rummy after supper, and Sandra taught Harry how to play the card game, and laughed when he won. “He’s got a natural poker face. Must be something he learned from you, Sev.”

“Yes,” said her fiancée, deadpan.

Augustus had given Sandra a potted orchid and some shimmer lilies from Drusilla’s garden to put in her shop window. Shimmer lilies were a magical flower that shimmered with rainbowed light inside their petals, especially at night. Their petals were particularly prized for use in Potions of Clarity and some love potions as well.

“Grandpa really likes you,” Harry confided in her shyly after the card game, while they sat in the drawing room.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because he never gives away flowers from Grandma’s garden unless he thinks you’re worthy of them. And he gave you two, so he really likes you.”

“I’m glad.” Sandra said, smiling. “You know, I was afraid of meeting him at first. The famous Auror Augustus Prince, Unleasher of Earthquakes. I thought he’d take one look at me and tell me I wasn’t good enough for his grandson.”

“Grandpa’s smarter than that. He knows you make Papa happy, and that’s worth more than any silly pureblood pedigree. Though he can be kind of scary sometimes, when he yells,” Harry admitted. The two were alone in the drawing room, Augustus having called Severus into his study to show him some recent statements from Gringotts regarding the Potter vault.

“I can see that,” Sandra said. “And how about you, Harry? How do you feel about me marrying your dad?”

He looked her straight in the eye. “Good. He needs you, Sandra. And I always wondered what it was like to have a mum.”

She put her arm about him. He was so earnest and so hopeful that she just wanted to take him in her arms and hug him to death. “I’ll try my best to be a good one,” she vowed. “Is there anything you would like to ask me, Harry?”

“Umm . . .what do I call you?”

“You may call me Sandra. If you’d like to call Mum, that would be fine too. But you don’t have to right off.”

“Okay.” Then he asked, “Are you a dragon when it comes to homework? And do you think I need to eat five servings of green vegetables a day, because I really don’t like them all that much. Do you like Quidditch? Papa doesn’t care for it, he takes me to games because he knows I like them. And sometime during the summer, could I come and help out sometimes in your shop? Or will you sell it once you marry Papa?”

Sandra’s eyebrows rose into her hair. “So many questions, Harry! Let me see, which one shall I answer first? You are always welcome in my apothecary, and I would be happy to teach you a bit about what I do when you finish school. I will still be working in it even after I’m married. I know I won’t need to work, given the Prince fortune, but I’m not the kind to live a life of leisure. Your papa knows this. As for homework, I do think it’s important, and if I feel you need reminding to do it, I shall remind you.” She bit back a laugh, as she said, “As for vegetables, so long as you eat enough of them to remain healthy, I won’t make you eat five of them. Any rules your father has already in place will remain so, I won’t come here and start throwing a whole new set at you. And just so you know, I believe in compromise, as long as it doesn’t involve something that may risk your life. If you don’t like a decision I make, you are free to ask me why and I shall explain it to you. I shall try to be fair and reasonable, and expect you to extend that same courtesy to me. Respect me and I shall respect you. And if you ever need to talk, about anything, you can come to me. Even if it’s to complain about what a beast your father is. I keep secrets very well.”

“Really?”

“Really. And I like Quidditch, though I can’t fly to save my life. So if you have an extra ticket sometime, I wouldn’t mind escorting you to a game.”

He grinned at her. “Awesome! Papa never complains, well not loudly, but I know he’d rather be home, brewing or reading a book rather than on the pitch.” Harry said quietly. “Do you like animals? We have two cats, two owls, and a falcon here. But I really want a dog too. Though not one that eats everything like Nev’s crup Trouble.”

“Crups are known for their cast iron digestive systems,” chuckled the witch. “Didn’t your father tell you what I have as a familiar?”

Harry shook his head.

“I have a black wolf-dog named Magnus. He guards my house during the day while I work. And he’s grown far beyond the stage where he chews things or makes a mess in the house. He’s very large, but he has a gentle temperament with family members and friends, though he’s very protective otherwise. He took to your father right off, though it took Sev two visits to admit he liked my “hairy walking carpet”.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “Is he smart? Can he do tricks? Trouble can balance a ball on his nose and walk on his hindlegs.”

“Magnus is very intelligent. He can find anyone or anything if I ask him to and I’m sure he can learn whatever you care to teach him.”

“Does he like cats?”

“He tolerates them. He won’t chase them if I tell him not to.”

“When can I meet him?”

“Next time I visit, I’ll bring him with me. I’m sure you two will get along wonderfully.”

Harry sighed happily. Now he finally had a mother and a dog. He turned to Sandra and said, “I’m glad Papa’s marrying you.”

“Me too, Harry,” then she hugged him tentatively, and to her surprise, he hugged her back.

* * * * * *

His mind spun him down another path, to another time, where he romped on the lawn over Easter break with the big black dog, who looked like he was pure wolf, with massive shoulders and paws. Magnus had intelligent green eyes that followed Harry’s every move, and no matter how he tried, Harry could never fake him out when he threw balls and sticks for him to fetch. Neville visited and brought Trouble, and at first the two bristled at each other, but Trouble soon submitted to the older dog, and after that they were friends.

Magnus watched the younger dog, and growled softly when the crup tried to dig up Augustus’ prize rosebushes or went to chew on Harry’s boots that he had left beside the pond.

Harry flew with Neville about the pond, tossing a Quaffle back and forth, and laughing at Nev’s attempts to catch a fluttering Snitch.

They played until Sandra called them in for lunch, and the two dogs accompanied them, laying beneath the table while the two boys ate, and snuck them scraps when Severus and Augustus weren’t looking, since they both believed feeding a dog at the table turns them into beggars.

* * * * * *

“Surrender the Stone to me, boy! Surrender it!” a shrill vicious voice was screaming.

Harry whimpered. No, he did not want to remember that. Not yet.

He shut the evil voice out of his head and turned and fled down yet another corridor of memory, to a day of sunshine and blue skies and vows exchanged between his father and his beloved apothecary . . .

June 14th, 1992

Foxfire Hall:

Harry stood to one side of the archway formed of roses and shimmer lilies at the heart of Drusilla’s beautiful garden, dressed in his best summer robes with a lightweight suit of gray cotton beneath them. He was standing next to Marco, his father’s best man, as a second attendant to Severus. They were waiting for the bride to appear and be escorted up beside the crystal fountain to speak her vows.

The wedding date had been pushed up from its original date of June 24th due to an odd premonition Sandra had dreamed. She was normally not one to put much stock in Divination, despite the fact that on her father’s side had been many accurate Seers, for his was a Russian lineage rich in magic. “My great-grandmother Tatiana was a famous one, and they say she used to cast horoscopes for the czars in their palace, but I never had the Sight.” But in early May she had a strange dream, and then it occurred again, and she had told Severus that it would be best if they moved the wedding up a week or so. And so they had moved it to the weekend before Harry’s final week of school. Harry had gotten special permission from the Headmaster to attend the Friday nuptials and miss his last Charms class.

Severus looked extremely handsome in his brand new wedding dress robes, emerald green with a gold satin border, studded with jet and beryls along the cuffs and collar. His white silk shirt even had a small row of pearl buttons down it, and was tucked into tailored black slacks tucked into black dragonhide boots lined with green felt, whose tops were folded over neatly to show the lining. His hair had been trimmed, and then left to fall in a natural wave almost to his shoulders.

He waited nervously in front of the fountain for Sandra and her attendants to appear, wondering in a flash of panic if she’d had another premonition that morning that had told her not to get married. While he mentally scolded himself for his foolishness, he glanced about at the intimate gathering present at the ceremony.

Neither he nor Sandra wished to have a huge wedding and opted for a small private ceremony at the hall with a handful of guests. There was Augusta Longbottom, Amos Smithers, a few of the shopkeepers in Diagon Alley who had known Sandra a long time, Annamaria and her twins, and the bridal party, which consisted of Marco Zabini, Harry, Sandra’s cousin Libra, and Augustus, plus the various familiars.

Valeska dozed on a branch to the side, and Magnus lounged along a walkway, and the two cats dozed in the sun along the garden wall.

Just then, an invisible band began playing a traditional wedding march, and Severus saw Libra, a pretty blonde witch a little younger than he, marching through the archway, strewing rose petals as she did so. She was dressed in soft spring green robes with hints of lavender and rose in them and matching slippers.

The guests watching applauded politely when she reached the fountain and took the place to Severus’ left, turned and faced the arch where Sandra was walking through, escorted by Augustus.

Having no father living to walk her down the aisle and give her away, Sandra had asked Augustus to perform this service for her, knowing he would enjoy being made a part of their special day. She knew too that he had never had this chance with Eileen, and she hoped it might alleviate some of the guilt he still carried. She knew he appreciated her gesture deeply, for when it came time to walk to the garden from around the back of the manor, the long way around instead of straight through the conservatory, he had kissed her cheek and said, “I thank you for this, daughter. Come, mustn’t keep your new husband waiting.”

Sandra’s heart was beating so loudly beneath her gorgeous silk and satin bridal gown that she feared the whole world could hear it. She had worn her mother’s bridal gown for this momentous event, and counted it lucky that she and her mother had been the same size, so she didn’t need to alter it. Eileen’s ring was on her left hand, and atop her hair was a beautiful Italian lace veil held in place by a crown of blue forget-me-nots and morning glories. The veil had been a gift from Annamaria, sewn by her own hands. She had borrowed Libra’s eternity knot earrings and the only other piece of jewelry she had on was a seed pearl necklace upon which two S’s entwined and they were accented with diamonds. That had been Severus’ bride gift to her.

She had given him a pin, a gold and diamond eternity knot. He was wearing it upon his dress robes, she noticed as she came towards him.

As Harry watched her approach, he thought he had never seen anyone look more . . .radiant was the word he thought he wanted. Sandra seemed to glow from within, her face luminescent with joy. Her dress of ivory silk, lace, and satin was breathtaking. And so was the fact that everywhere she stepped along the ground a wildflower grew. Harry suspected that was Augustus’ doing, for an Elemental Master could do small magics like that with barely a thought.

If you weren’t aware of Augustus’ advanced age, you never would have known he wasn’t the sixty-five he appeared. Beyond a few streaks of silver in his short dark hair, he did not resemble a man that had just celebrated his 105th birthday. He was dressed impeccably in silk gold robes and a custom-tailored black suit and he carried himself with all the grace and poise of a man three times his junior. He walked slowly through the arch and down the rose petal strewn pathway towards the center of Drusilla’s garden, the crystal fountain that always ran pure spring water all throughout the year.

Though today the elves had charmed it to run sweet Moscato d’Asti, a flavorful bubbly dessert wine.

Augustus stopped and handed Sandra to a waiting Severus, but not before he had given the bride a kiss and said, “May you be blessed and know the love I shared with my wife for so many years.” Then he whispered in her ear, Harry was the only one close enough to catch it, “And if he gives you any trouble, come see me and I’ll straighten him out.”

Harry smothered a giggle and so did Sandra.

Then Augustus stepped back to go and stand with the other guests.

Marco Summoned a golden chalice encrusted with rubies and pearls and filled it with the Moscato. On the opposite side, Libra Summoned a silver platter upon which rested a dense pound caked filled with nuts and cranberries and flavored with cinnamon along with a silver knife.

Severus took the chalice from Marco, and then he faced his bride, the chalice held out between them. “Sandra Ilyana Miska, I, Severus Tobias Snape, offer you this Chalice of Commitment, and with it my Name and my vow to protect you always.” He took a sip and the chalice glowed. Then he passed it to Sandra, who said, ”I accept it,” and took a sip. The chalice glowed brighter. Then she handed it back to Severus.

“I further vow to give you my body and my heart, without reservation, to honor and succor you, forsaking all others, for all the days of my life.” He drank a second time and again the chalice glowed even brighter. Once more he handed the cup to her.

“I accept it, and offer my own pledge in return.” Then she drank and the chalice suddenly blazed with golden light, consecrating the ritual. Then it vanished.

Sandra turned and took a slice of the wedding loaf and bit into it. “This is the sacred bread, blessed by a house elf of the Old Ways, and I, Sandra Ilyana Miska, offer this to you, Severus Tobias Snape, along with my vow. You shall always be welcome in my home and my heart, may you never be absent from the one or long away from the other. Eat, and be welcome.” She passed him the rest of the slice of cake.

He ate it, then said, “I accept your hospitality and love, my lady.”

She took a second slice of cake, and ate half and then spoke her second vow. “I further vow to give you my body and my heart, without reservation, forsaking all others. I shall honor and succor you, protect you with all of my magic, for all the days of my life.”

Once more he took the cake, ate it, and then repeated the words of acceptance.

Then it was Harry’s turn. He came forward with the simple gold wedding bands, engraved inside with the other’s name and wedding date and proffered them. Severus took Sandra’s and slid it on her finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, and make my final vow. By the laws of magic and in sight of these witnesses, I claim you, Sandra Ilyana Snape, my wife.”

Sandra took Severus’s ring, and placed it upon his finger. “With this ring, I thee wed, and make my final vow. By the laws of magic and in sight of these witnesses, I claim you, Severus Tobias Snape, as my husband.”

Then Severus drew her into his embrace and kissed her, long and deep, to seal the vow.

The fountain suddenly leaped up and showered the participants with water and rose petals and then changed back into wine.

Everyone was clapping and cheering, and Marco winked at Harry. “Now that’s what I call a kiss!”

When the happy couple finally came up for air, they turned and faced their family and friends and announced that all were to share in their bounty and the wedding loaf cut itself into enough pieces for all to taste, as was tradition. It was said that those who ate the wedding loaf would have good fortune in love for the coming year.

Then the bride and groom moved among the guests, accepting congratulations, and Harry’s stomach growled and he hoped they could eat something soon . . .

* * * * * *

Abruptly he was wrenched out of the comforting past and thrust into a sequence of memories that would ultimately lead to the nightmare he didn’t wish to face. But he was helpless to stop his mind from dragging him down . . .

* * * * *

June 19th, 1992

Hogwarts:

“Where’d Nev get to?” Harry wondered, looking about the empty lawn behind the greenhouse. He slanted his best friend Blaise a questioning glance. “He was supposed to meet us after the game.”

Blaise shrugged, clearly at a loss. He was still high from the big win. Slytherin had finally beaten Gryffindor for the Quidditch Cup this year, thanks to Harry’s excellent maneuver on his broom at the last second, catching the Snitch just before game time was up. Flint wanted to have Harry declared a god, and paraded about with him on his shoulders, screaming, “Yeah! Snape rules! Slytherin kicks arse!” for almost ten minutes before he calmed down.

Harry was congratulated by nearly his whole House, Professor Malfoy, Neville, Hermione, and Oliver Wood, the Gryffindor Captain. Ron seemed inclined to sulk over the victory and so Harry just left him alone. He wasn’t minded to put up with the other’s griping right then. It had been a fair match and he had played his best game ever. If Ron had a problem with that, too bad.

But he didn’t want to think about Ron just yet. He wanted to find Neville so they could have some butterbeer and soft pretzels with mustard and Cauldron Cakes to celebrate Slytherin’s victory. “Maybe he’s back in the Hufflepuff common room?” Harry said, thinking out loud.

“Guess we could try there.”

They started back towards the castle. It was dark, they had finally managed to slip out of the Slytherin celebration party going on back in the dungeons, and wanted to host their own get together before curfew. The Hufflepuff dormitories and common room were next to the kitchens, so Blaise and Harry went through a door to the right of the main staircase and down a set of stairs to stop in front of a still life painting of a bunch of goldenrods and fruit just across from the kitchen entrance.

“Now what?” Blaise asked. “Can we knock on the painting? Or should we just wait for someone to come out?” He cast a wistful glance at the kitchen entrance. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” Harry said. “Playing Quidditch works up an appetite and I was too nervous before the game to eat much. Let’s get a snack and then we can ask the elves how to get the Puffs attention when they’re inside the common room.”

“All right.”

They made their way into the kitchen and some friendly elves happily served them some apple crisp and ice cream and huge glasses of chocolate milk. When they were done, they started to ask one of the elves about the Hufflepuff common room when they saw the still life portrait creak ajar.

The two Slytherins rushed towards the kitchen entrance and saw Neville step out into the corridor.

“Nev! There you are!” Blaise exclaimed.

“We’ve been waiting for ages for you to—hey, Nev!” Harry called, but Neville seemed not to hear him. He had an odd expression on his round face and his eyes were strange too. They looked almost . . .vacant. “Nev, hello! We’re over here!”

Neville turned and walked right past the kitchens, moving down the corridor towards unknown territory for the first-years, who had been instructed early on by Professor Malfoy to not go exploring in the dungeons, for there were many small side passages and catcombs where they could get lost and might not be found for days.

Neville walked purposefully down the corridor, muttering softly to himself.

Blaise exchanged glances with Harry. “That’s strange. It’s like he didn’t even hear us. Or see us. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Harry said, and followed Neville down the corridor.

“Hey, wait up!” called Blaise, and he ran after Harry.

They soon caught up with Neville and tried once more to get him to notice them, but it was as though he drifted in a fog. He neither saw nor heard nor responded to them.

“He’s been bewitched, Harry,” Blaise declared.

“Bewitched? But who would want to do that to Nev?” Harry cried angrily.

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s a prank.” Blaise waved a hand in front of Neville’s face. “Longbottom! They’re giving away free donuts in the Great Hall!”

Harry elbowed him in the ribs, hard.

“Ow! Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” Blaise glared at him. “And he’s like deaf or something. Like an automaton or a zombie.”

Harry was thinking hard. There was something about the way Neville was behaving that reminded him of something Augustus had once told him during a Defense lesson. “No . . .wait. Blaise, I remember my grandpa telling me once that people under the Imperius Curse behave that way, if they’ve been given orders to by the person who put them under it. They do what they’ve been commanded to do until the task is done or the curse lifted. Blaise, Nev’s been cursed with an Unforgivable!”

Blaise gaped at him. “But Harry, if you’re caught casting them, you go to Azkaban! Who would know a curse like that and cast it?”

“Somebody evil,” Harry replied. Then he stopped because Neville was now pressing a series of bricks in the right wall. “What the hell? Oh, a secret passage!”

“To where?”

“Maybe it’s some kind of secret way to a treasure vault?” Harry quickly followed Neville inside the gaping hole, and so did Blaise. The door slid shut behind them.

“Great! Nev, I sure hope you know the way out,” muttered Blaise. “Lumos!”

Harry drew his wand and cast the Light spell also, and so did Neville a breath later.

They were in a stone passage that smelled of dust and decay. Harry wrinkled his nose and sneezed. But Neville just ignored them and continued on down the passage.

“I never knew this was here!” exclaimed Blaise.

“Hush! Your voice echoes,” Harry hissed. “What if there’s some monster down here? It’ll hear us.”

Blaise quickly shut up.

Then they heard Neville muttering, “Take the passage down to the chamber with the mirror. Look in the mirror and get the Stone. Look in the mirror and get the Stone. Then give it to Professor Quirrell.”

“Quirrell!” Blaise whispered in shock. “He must have put the Imperius on Nev!”

“To get the Sorcerer’s Stone!” Harry breathed. There had been rumors floating throughout the school that something Important was being hidden away at Hogwarts, up on the third floor corridor or somewhere else. Rumors had it that the attempted break-in at Gringotts had come about because the Stone was there, and the goblins had removed the Stone and given it to the Headmaster for safekeeping and Dumbledore had hidden it somewhere. Several Sytherins had attempted to find secret passages and such, but after Professor Malfoy caught two fifth-years trying to break down a wall with a pickaxe and a mallet, she forbade anymore discussion of the Stone and searching for secret passages.

“But that must mean that Quirrell’s a dark wizard!” Blaise whispered fearfully.

“Or that he works for one,” Harry said, because he couldn’t imagine stammering scared-of-his-shadow Quirrell as a dark wizard. Dark wizards were scary and tough, not incompetent bumbling idiots.

“What are we gonna do, Harry? We can’t let Nev get the Stone.”

“Shh. We’ll deal with that when and if it happens,” Harry said firmly. “For now, we just see where he goes.”

They followed Neville down the twisty passage for what seemed like hours but was really only ten minutes, until they came to a door, a large wooden one with iron hinges and a big long handle.

Neville turned the handle and they went into a rectangular chamber where a stone dais was set up on the right side. Upon it was an ornate mirror with the letters ERISED on the top of the frame.

Harry and Blaise hung back near the doorway, unsure if there was anyone else lurking in the room, which was so big most of the corners were deep in shadow.

Neville crossed the room rapidly, his eyes glazed and fixed unerringly upon the mirror. He came to stand in front of it and the mirror swirled and then Harry couldn’t see what happened because Blaise was peering about in front of him and blocking his line of sight. He went to push the other back and suddenly Quirrell appeared out of the shadows.

“Well, boy? Did you get it?” he demanded.

Harry was shocked to hear a non-stuttering voice come out of the professor’s mouth. This voice was strong, deep, and not at all like Quirrell’s usual reedy stammer. Had it all been an act?

“No, Master,” Neville said flatly. “I’m trying. But all I see are my parents.”

“Try harder! You must want the Stone!” Quirrell urged. “Focus on it as your heart’s desire!”

“Yes, Master.”

Neville tried again and Quirrell tapped his foot impatiently against the stone floor and huffed. “You just can’t get good pawns these days, honestly!”

Suddenly Harry sneezed, though he tried to muffle it with his sleeve, but it was too late. Quirrell spun around, quick as a viper striking, and he spotted the two boys loitering at the entrance to the room.

“Well, well, what have we here? Friends of yours, Longbottom? Two curious little boys come to take a peek at what’s down here, I presume?” The deep voice was mocking and sent a shiver down Harry’s spine. The voice sounded terribly familiar. Where had he heard that voice before?

Quirrell peered at them sharply and crooked a finger at them. “Young men shouldn’t lurk in doorways, it’s bad manners. Come here, into the light, where I can see you.”

Blaise shook his head. So did Harry. But there was something in the smooth deep voice that cajoled them into moving first one step and then another, despite their obvious terror. Until they were standing ten feet in front of the Defense professor, but this Quirrell was somehow different from the one they knew.

He was taller, carried himself proudly, not hunched over, and his eyes were . . .eerie . . .like a snake’s. They fastened on Harry and he found he could not look away.

“S-s-o!” he hissed like a serpent. “My old friend Lucius was right. You did survive after all!” he threw back his head and laughed, and the laughter was the kind that sent shivers down both boys’ spines, for it smacked of the damned and insane.

Harry struggled to break that gaze with all of his might. But he could not.

Abruptly the laughter ceased and Quirrell’s face seemed to undergo a transformation. It began to melt and reform itself into a different face—one with elegant cheekbones and a pleasing nose and mouth, a face that most women would have called handsome. All save the eyes, which were cruel and evil, showing the dark soul within.

“How clever of Lucius to figure it out!” continued the professor, smiling. “One Memory Restorative later and it all falls into place. You were hidden away at Foxfire Hall, weren’t you, boy? The one place I and mine could not penetrate. Protected by a fool Potions Master and an aging toothless Auror! But not anymore! Now your secret is out.”

Then suddenly Harry knew who it was he faced. The murderer of his parents. The scourge of wizarding Britain. “Lord Voldemort!” he cried aloud.

“Recognize me?” sneered the other. “Yes, I have returned at long last. Finally found a willing body to inhabit.” He gave a sniff and looked down at himself, his lip curling. “Could have done better, this body is weak and stunted, but beggars can’t be choosers. Took me years to get this body acclimated. But once I have the Stone, things will be different! Oh yes, they will! For then I shall be as Nicholas Flamel . . .immortal!”

“Not if you don’t have the Stone,” Blaise managed to say, half-defiantly.

Voldemort sneered. “Be careful, snakeling. You are bold instead of wise and that will get you punished. Know your place and be still!” His hand lashed out then and smacked Blaise hard across the cheek, knocking the small boy to the ground.

Blaise yelped, shivering.

Harry managed to wrench his gaze away from those burning eyes. “Leave him alone, you murderer!” He put a hand on his wand and drew it.

“Tsk. Tsk. Never draw a wand, boy, unless you know how to use it! Didn’t your cracked old grandda teach you that? Or your pitiful foster father, Severus Snape? No? Then I shall have to! Lesson number one—never make yourself vulnerable!”

He flicked his wand at Neville, who turned obediently from the mirror. “Yes, Master?”

“Attack them! Now!”

Neville drew his wand. “I hear and obey, Master!”

“Cast a Burning Hex. Incendio!”

Neville obeyed and a gout of fire shot out of his wand right towards Blaise.

Blaise screamed and scrambled away, yelling, “Aguamenti! Merlin’s bloody balls, Nev! Snap out of it!”

The flames were doused by his Water Charm, but Neville just looked at him with that blank stare and advanced again.

Voldemort implanted a spell into his mind and he turned and attacked Harry, his wand conjuring a swarm of bees.

Harry was petrified, for he had learned recently over Easter that he was allergic to bees when he was stung by one and now there was a whole swarm of them. But he gripped his wand and shouted, “Protego!” which was the first Defense spell he’d ever been taught.

A glowing blue sphere encased him and the bees struck it and bounced off. They struck repeatedly and were repelled until they died from trying to sting the impenetrable globe. “Nev, stop! Fight him off!” he cried. “You can do it!”

But Neville could no longer hear him. Harry’s shield vanished and he called to Blaise, “We’ve gotta knock him out somehow.”

Blaise chanted a Leg-Locker jinx, but Neville, following Voldemort’s orders, countered it.

Harry tried a Body-Bind, it too was countered.

Then Neville cast the Tickle Curse. “Rictumsempra!”

And Blaise was helpless laughing and rolling over on the floor trying to escape invisible fingers.

Harry sensed Voldemort was toying with them and that frightened him, for he had seen Mystic and Patches toy with a mouse before they killed it and he knew snakes sometimes did so as well.

“Why are you doing this?” he demanded. “Why can’t you get the bloody Stone yourself, instead of using Nev like this?”

“Because it’s more fun to use him this way. Don’t question, Boy Who Lived! Between you and him, you have made my life a living nightmare! Do you understand?” Voldemort yelled. “If not for you, I would still have my body, not this pathetic borrowed husk! I would still have my power! Why could you not have died that night like all the others? Why?”

Harry scrambled away from another hex Neville threw and felt the stones explode where he’d been moments before. He knew two things then. He must free Neville from the curse and get the Stone. He wished he knew how to do either of them.

Frantically, he gazed at the mirror. Help me, please. Help me save my friend and defeat this crazy bastard. Help me!

He looked into the depths of the mirror. And then he saw what he needed to do. He felt something heavy inside his pocket, patted it, then whirled about and tackled Neville to the ground. He pushed the tip of his wand against Neville’s temple and cried, “You are released! Neville, you are released! Know yourself! You are released!”

The wand of the Dragon’s Tear breaks all enchantments and bindings if commanded to do so. And so it broke the curse upon Neville Longbottom.

“H-harry?” he groaned, seeing his friend for the first time. “I-I-m sorry . . .” Then he fainted, utterly drained by the magic he had cast and the knowledge that he had been used to hurt his friends.

“It’s okay, Nev.” Harry murmured. Then he rose to his feet and faced his parents’ killer.

“Now it’s just you and me, Potter,” chuckled the Dark Lord. He shot a contemptuous glance at a stricken Blaise, who lay unmoving upon the floor, spelled unconscious. Blood trickled from a cut on his brow. “Pitiful, the Slytherins they’re turning out these days.”

He advanced upon Harry. “Where is the Stone, little one? I can feel its presence, where is it? If you have it, give it to me.”

“Why should I?”

“Because I say so!” Voldemort thundered, incensed. A minute later he calmed and said softly, “Come now, child. I shall make you a bargain, yes? All good Slytherins love a bargain and you are a snake too, I see! How ironic! Your father must be turning in his grave! Two Lions producing a Serpent!”

“Just because my birth parents were Gryffindors doesn’t mean I have to be one.”

“True. Listen, snakeling. Give me the Stone and I shall make you master of all you survey. We can rule together, you and I, Master and Dark Apprentice! Anything you desire shall be yours. All you have to do is . . . give . . .me . . .the Stone!”

“No. That’s not a bargain I’m willing to make, Voldemort!” Harry shook his head violently.

“Fool! I offer to share my power and glory and you dare to spurn me! Impudent wretched child!” stormed the wizard.

“Yes.” Harry stood his ground, his wand out. “I won’t go dark. My grandpa and my two fathers and mother taught me better than that. Not for all the power or all the magic in the universe would I join you, Mr. Riddle!” Harry jeered, recalling then Voldemort’s true name.

“Surrender the Stone to me, boy! Surrender it!” Voldemort screamed shrilly, grabbing Harry by the wrists and shaking him.

Suddenly both of them felt a terrible burning pain, and they screamed in agony.

“What . . .arghh . . .is happening . . .ahhh . . .to me?” wailed the dark wizard.

“Get off . . .ahhhh . . .my hand . . . it burns . . .!” Harry sobbed. He struggled to break free, but the Dark Lord had a grip like a vice.

Desperately, he stabbed his wand at Voldmort’s face, and when the tip connected, it made the other scream, for the dragon’s tear within would not tolerate such a twisted soul, and repelled Voldemort with great force.

The dark wizard was slammed backwards against the wall.

Harry crumpled to the floor, half-unconscious from his wand’s magic and from the pain of the protection spell woven into him by his dying mother.

Voldemort staggered to his feet, ready to try once more to get the Stone from the boy, who still held it in his hand, but then the door to the chamber was thrown open, and a familiar bearded figure entered, his purple robes flying.

“Tom, leave Harry be!” Dumbledore ordered, and light shot out of his wand at the dark sorcerer.

But Voldemort ducked and scuttled into the shadows. “Another time, old man! This victory is yours, but the war is not over yet. I shall return!”

And with that he touched a stone and a secret passage swung open and he vanished through it. His body was badly weakened and he could feel it dying even as he ran.

Dumbledore hurried over but could not find the correct stone to open it. “Damn!”

Then he turned back and went over to Harry. “Harry Potter! What a marvelous discovery!”

Those were the last words Harry heard before he tumbled into unconsciousness.

* * * * * *

June 20th

Hogwarts infirmary:

Severus Snape rushed into the infirmary, totally abandoning his normal reserve and nearly knocking a startled Poppy to the floor. She opened her mouth to chide him, but then closed it upon getting a good look at his face. It was drawn and filled with a terrible desperation. Plainly he thought he had been summoned to his child’s bedside to watch him die.

He arrived at his son’s bedside and reached out a hand to touch Harry’s brow. The child moaned at the cool touch, and he whispered brokenly, “Harry, you’re going to be all right. I’m here. Papa’s here. Right here.” He examined the bandaged wrist and hand at a glance and then shot the medi-witch a look. “How long has he been this way? What are you dosing him with? And why did I receive a letter from Professor Malfoy instead of the Headmaster regarding my son’s injuries?” That last was said in a growl.

Poppy hurried over. She had seen parents in various states of emotional upheaval come through here, but she had never seen one so totally close to snapping as Severus was and something told her that an unleashed Snape was a bad thing to have happen. “He came here last night, the Headmaster brought him and Longbottom and Zabini,” she said quickly.

Two more people came in then, the newly married Sandra Snape and Augustus Prince. Both wore expressions of concern and fear and Augustus looked furious as well. They approached the bedside and Augustus bent over the small boy. “He’s alive, praise God and Merlin.” He shot a death glare at the medi-witch. “And just when, pray tell, were you going to inform us of his condition, madam? When he was being measured for his burial shroud?”

Poppy winced at the tone he used. “Forgive me, Lord Prince, but I was forbidden to contact you right away.”

“Forbidden? By whom?”

“The Headmaster,” she replied.

Augustus swore under his breath. “Meddling, manipulative, bloody son-of-a bitch! Who does he think he is? God?”

Sandra stared at her father-in-law in shock. She had never seen him so close to the edge of his control and never had she heard him swear in mixed company. Then again, Harry had never been so gravely injured before and the knowledge kept from his family. She went to Severus and placed a hand on his rigid shoulder. “Sev? How is he?”

“Not . . .not all that good. He has a massive amount of spell drain and a badly burned hand and wrist, a magical burn that only responds to potions, not spells, and he’s been unconscious since he was brought here . . .”

“Sev, he’ll pull through. He’s strong.” She turned to Pomfrey. “What potions do you need? I’m an apothecary, I can get whatever you need fast.”

Poppy rattled off potions and Sandra Summoned them wandlessly through the Floo Network.

While she was doing that, Severus and Augustus both joined hands and Augustus began tracing a pattern with his wand over Harry’s heart and muttering an ancient spell in a forgotten Latin dialect. Together, they transferred some of their magic into Harry, giving him some reserves to draw on so his magical core didn’t burn out.

It took about five minutes and afterward both men looked weary. But color had come back into the child’s waxen cheeks and he breathed easier.

Poppy returned to check on him and stared. “What did you do? He looks much better now.”

“We gave him some of our magic,” Severus answered.

Poppy blinked. “Albus tried that, it didn’t take.”

“That’s because Dumbledore isn’t blood related to him,” Severus said tightly.

“Neither are you, Severus Snape,” said the Headmaster calmly from the doorway. “If Lucius Malfoy’s letter did not lie, the boy you claim is your son is actually Harry Potter.”

Severus stood and whirled about, his black eyes glittering. “That boy there is also my son! I have blood-adopted him and he is my heir. And even without that, I am the one who raised him these past ten years after his so-called blood relatives abandoned him in a manger to freeze to death. So don’t you bloody tell me I’m not his father!”

Dumbledore came into the room, one eyebrow raised. “Now, now, Severus, calm down. I was merely stating a fact, you needn’t shred me with your eyes that way, my boy.”

Severus snorted, his hands clenching. “If I had my way, old man, you wouldn’t be shredded with my eyes. You’d be fertilizer!” Suddenly the temperature in the room plummeted ten degrees and everyone shivered.

“Severus,” Sandra warned.

Severus quickly brought his wayward Mastery back under control. No way would he let Harry catch a chill.

“Why did you not tell us straight off that the tyke was in grave danger, Albus Dumbledore?” snapped Augustus, coming forward to confront the other eye to eye.

Sandra and Poppy took a step back, for it was like watching two dragons about to attack.

“Augustus, my boy, I simply did not want to alarm you. I wanted to wait until he was stable before I informed you—”

“Don’t you “Augustus, my boy”, me, Dumbledore! The boy could have died and we never would have learned it until too late! You wanted to keep a lid on it because of how it happened, didn’t you? You didn’t want us to know that Voldemort has returned!”

Albus paled. “How do you know that?”

“A little bird told me,” sneered the elder Prince. “How did Voldemort manage to infiltrate this school? And why would he do so?”

“There was an object hidden here that he wanted very badly,” began Dumbledore. “I told Nicholas Flamel I would keep it safe . . .”

“Flamel?” Augustus pounced on the name like a cat on an unwary squab. “You mean to tell me you had the Sorcerer’s Stone here . . .in the damn school? Here, among innocent children?”

“It was perfectly safe and no child was allowed past the third floor, I had protections surrounding it, and the staff helped me . . .”

“And one of your staff was a bloody traitor! You stupid addelpated fool! How could you place children in danger that way?”

“It was the last place anyone would have looked,” the other protested.

“Ha! Looks like your logic is flawed, Headmaster! Because Voldemort knew exactly where to look, since you revealed the location yourself. And then he used my Henry and those other two boys as his catspaws.” Augustus began to tremble and several bottles and jars rattled upon their shelves. A small tremor shook the room, followed by a strong gust of wind and the fire flared up in the grate and rain lashed the windows outside. The Elemental Master was becoming dangerously agitated.

“He couldn’t get at the Stone, Augustus. He tried and failed. And in the end, Harry managed to do what he could not, proving that he is indeed the child of the prophecy, born to defeat him.”

“To the devil with your bloody prophecy!” Augustus exploded, and there was a crack of lightning and a crash of thunder. Everyone jumped. “Is that all you give a damn about? Finding someone to battle that bastard in your stead? Well, you’re not using my great-grandson! Not on my watch. You stay the bloody hell away from him, Albus, or so help me I will duel you into a drooling imbecile!”

The Elemental Master’s eyes burned with a terrible light and his wand was out.

“And I’ll help you, Grandfather,” said Severus. “That’s why we hid him all these years. So he could grow up as a normal child and not some bloody pawn on a chessboard!”

“Peace! I didn’t come here to fight with you,” Albus held up his hands. He looked sadly at Severus. “You can’t protect him forever, Severus. If he is meant to fight Voldemort—”

“He’s not,” Severus cut him short. “And he never will be. I don’t believe in your vaunted prophecy, and he’s not your damn savior either! He’s a boy who deserves to grow up to be a man. Not your hero. Go find another poor sod to do your dirty work, old man. Or better yet, fight Voldemort yourself!” He turned away then, to sit beside his son and hold his hand.

“Where is Voldemort anyhow?” asked Augstus shrewdly.

“Gone. He escaped through a passage.” Albus replied.

“Was he injured too?”

“Yes. Badly, from what I could tell. Possibly fatal, but even so it means nothing. He’s Marked the boy and if he’s created a . . .” He paused and waved his wand, putting up Anti-Eavesdropping wards about the infirmary. “ . . .Horcrux inside Harry then . . .”

Augustus’ eyes narrowed. “You miserable bastard!” he spat. “You thought Henry was a Horcrux!”

“The signs were there, Augustus. You cannot deny it. The scar on his forehead, he survived the Killing Curse because of Lily’s protection spell and love, but I believe that some piece of Voldemort was implanted within him when the curse rebounded.”

“And even if that were so—which it isn’t—you were going to wait for him to die, is that it?” Augustus snarled. “You are lucky that you’re not a grease spot on the floor, Dumbledore. Take a good look at Henry there. Where’s that Mark? I’ll tell you where it is! Gone these ten years. Severus removed it with a Scar Remover he invented. If the scar were magical, it wouldn’t have vanished. But it did. Which means your theory is wrong! Furthermore, anyone evil would never have made it through my wards. Anyone with such a stain on their soul would have triggered the protections and he would have been unable to cross the boundary. Even a little baby. My wards don’t discriminate. But they didn’t. Which makes your brilliant theory null and void.”

“Impossible! I have done research, as a student Tom Riddle inquired about Horcruxes to his professor and sought information on them . . .”

The boy in the bed stirred and opened his eyes. He had been close to waking and the quarrel had drawn him right up through the gray realm. “Grandpa’s right . . .he told me himself . . .” Harry rasped, startling them all.

Severus opened his mouth, but Sandra gently covered it. “Hush, Sev. Let him talk.”

“ . . .said he needed a new body, that Quirrell’s was falling apart . . .it wasn’t useful to him anymore . . .couldn’t handle his magic . . .he said it took him years to . . .acclimate it to him . . .don’t understand what he meant . . .”

“I do, Henry,” Augustus said softly. “It means that bloody Riddle is a Body Snatcher. A wizard who has learned how to survive on the astral plane as a spirit and then to return and possess a younger body as he chooses. It’s both harder and easier than making Horcruxes.”

“He said he wanted the Stone to be immortal . . .” Harry whispered, coughing.

“Yes, he would.” Dumbledore nodded. “Without the Stone, he would have to seek a new body every few years, for possession takes its toll upon the host.”

“Rest now, son,” Severus said, removing his wife’s hand from his mouth.

Harry turned to his father. “Papa! You came! I was calling and calling you . . .”

That was as far as he got, for Severus’s arms were about him, hugging him tight, pulling him from the bed, covers and all, to cradle him in his lap. “Harry . . .Harry . . .. don’t you ever scare me like that again!” Severus half-scolded, but there was no bite at all to the words, and he pressed his son against his shoulder so tightly Harry gasped.

“Papa . . .” was all Harry could get out, then he put his head on Severus’s shoulder and breathed in the familiar warmth and tears trickled from his eyes. “I was so scared . . .”

“Shhh . . .it’s all right. No one will hurt you like that again. I promise.” Severus soothed, gently stroking the auburn hair.

The familiar beloved gesture brought more tears. “Sorry. Don’t mean to act like a . . .baby,” he sniffled, trying valiantly to stem the flood.

“Oh, Harry.” Sandra came and hugged them both. “It’s okay to cry, sweetheart. Anyone would after what you went through. You were so brave, just like an Auror.”

Harry turned his head slightly and looked directly at her, her face was inches from his own and he saw that her eyes glistened with tears too. He opened his mouth to say her name, but what came out instead was, “M-Mum? You’re here too?”

Sandra’s heart skipped a beat to hear Harry call her by that most coveted title. “Of course I am. Where else would I be but right here with you and your dad, helping you get better? This is where I belong.”

Harry smiled. “Yeah. You do.” Then he turned and hugged Sandra hard, finding that she was softer and smelled delightfully of flowers and herbs and chocolate. “Weren’t you s’posed to be on your honeymoon?” he asked, then he blushed.

“Well, yes, but when your dad got Professor Malfoy’s letter, we rushed right over here and so did your grandpa,” she told him, rubbing his back. “Harry, you scared me out of five years of my life! Thank Merlin you’re all right. Because I wouldn’t be able to stand it if . . .” she started to cry then.

“Hey. Don’t cry. Don’t,” Harry said awkwardly, then for some odd reason he felt himself start to tear up as well.

Severus simply pulled Sandra into his embrace as well and they all huddled together.

Augustus and Dumbledore kept on talking about Voldemort, allowing the little family some time to themselves. Augustus was in full Auror mode now and though he wanted to rush over and hug Harry too, he was content to let Severus and Sandra get their hugs in first. “You wouldn’t happen to have a Gem of Soul Trapping lying about, would you?” he inquired.

“No, I’m afraid not. Most of them were destroyed over a century ago, and we have lost the knowledge on how to make more,” Dumbledore said regretfully.

“Hmm. Didn’t think so, but I figured I should ask,” sighed the Elemental Master. A Gem of Soul Trapping was one of the few ways you could defeat a Body Snatcher, it would serve to trap the sorcerer’s spirit before it could jump into a new body and then when you destroyed the gem, you would also destroy the spirit trapped inside forever. “There is one other way . . .You said he was badly injured? If so, then he’ll only have a few hours to either hide up somewhere and heal as much as he can, or just keep using the body until it dies and then he’ll have to find a new one before forty-eight hours go by or else be banished to the astral plane again.”

“I doubt if we could locate him now. He’s very good at hiding.”

Augustus said nothing, he was already formulating a plan in his head. But in order for it to work he had to act quickly. He looked over at Harry, Severus, and Sandra. His beloved family. Who were now threatened by a foul evil as bad as Grindelwald. He knew Voldemort wouldn’t cease trying to hurt Harry. He would keep trying to kill the boy until either he succeeded or someone killed him first.

Augustus’ mouth firmed. He would not allow Harry to be drawn into this war, this quarrel belonged to those who knew how to fight evil best. Wars were meant to be fought by soldiers, adults who knew the cost of what they did, not children. He had come close to losing Harry tonight. That must never happen again.

“Why don’t you see if you can locate his mage signature?” Augustus suggested. “I’m going to spend a bit of time with my family and then I’ll see if I can’t do some scouting of my own.”

“Very well,” Dumbledore said. “Tell Harry I am glad he is awake. I will see you later.” Then he beat a hasty retreat from the room. It was rare that another wizard could intimidate him, but Augustus Prince had done so this day, and he was not eager to repeat the experience. He had forgotten the power and presence those born to control the elements had, and Augustus had reminded him rather abruptly of that fact.

As he went past Poppy, she caught his sleeve and whispered in his ear, “Merlin’s Grace, Albus, why didn’t you tell them sooner? You’re lucky he didn’t bring the castle crashing down about your ears!”

Albus gave her a rueful grin. “I misjudged his temperament, I’m afraid. He cares more for his family than I had expected.”

Poppy snorted and just Looked at him. “You got lucky, Albus.”

Albus slipped away down the corridor, not wishing to admit the witch was right.

Severus had set Harry back on the bed by the time Augustus got there. “Henry, lad, how are you feeling?” The old man asked, sitting on the bed next to him.

“I’ve been better, Grandpa,” Harry said honestly. He was still feeling pain from his hand and also weak and tired. He turned and hugged his grandfather.

Augustus held him for a very long time. “You did a very brave and foolish thing, my Harry,” murmured the old Auror. “Were you on the force, I would have to both give you medal of commendation and a suspension as well, for acting without back up and risking your life.”

“I didn’t know I was risking my life. I just wanted to help Nev,” Harry said and then he explained what had happened.

Augustus nodded. “I see now. You did right, Henry. Always help a comrade in need. But . . .always be prepared too. Remember that.”

Harry yawned. “Okay, sir. I’m kinda tired.”

Augustus helped him lie down. “Get some rest, child.” He bent and kissed Harry on the forehead. “I love you, Harry Snape.”

“Love you too,” Harry murmured.

Augustus straightened. “You two will be staying here with him, right?”

“Yes, of course.” Severus replied. “But you don’t have to, Grandfather. You can go home and rest.”

“We’ll probably be home with Harry tomorrow,” said Sandra.

“Yes, that’s what I figured.” Augustus nodded. “Very well. I shall return home and rest.” He hugged and kissed Sandra goodbye and hugged Severus as well.

Then he departed the school, Apparating away to Foxfire Hall as soon as he was able. He didn’t have much time left if he was to put his plan in motion.

* * * * *

Later that same night:

Voldemort staggered across the border and onto the grounds of Foxfire Hall. He was exhausted and his wounds that the Potter brat had given him refused to heal. He was half-dead from them and the fact that Quirrell’s body was almost drained magically to nothing. He had not realized just how much energy he’d spent trying to wrest control of the Stone from that blasted Child of Light! If he hadn’t been preoccupied with holding together the shreds of his failing body, he might have wondered how he had come to set foot upon this land, when the wards had always repulsed him before. But he was not thinking and all he cared about was that he could sense a magical presence here, one that seemed old and feeble and easy prey for him.

He quickened his pace.

Suddenly the earth shook and knocked him to his knees.

He fell heavily and as he tried to get to his feet, he found himself bowled over a second time by a veritable cloud of hailstones. Lifting his hand to cover his face, he blinked and saw a light in the distance. He climbed to his feet and made for it.

Only to have a ring of fire erupt about him. He halted, snarling in frustration. Oh, how he hated this used up husk he was forced to inhabit!

He looked up and saw floating above him, a tall man dressed in Slytherin robes in the old style, with a Mandarin collar and billowing edges. He screamed in rage. “You! Elemental Master! How dare you interfere with me!”

“How dare I?” Augustus demanded. “How dare you enter this place and try to hurt my family?”

“What family? They are all dead!”

“Not all. Not all, Tom Riddle. Last night you faced my great-grandson. Tonight, however, you face me.” There was a grim finality in the other’s tone. “And you will find I am somewhat tougher to fight than a mere eleven-year-old boy.”

Voldemort was suddenly afraid. He had never faced an Elemental Master before and he could feel Augustus’ power all about him. “You don’t frighten me, old man! Give up and let me take your body! It’ll happen anyway.”

“Will it? I think not. You cannot fool me, Voldemort. Whatever ancient protection my great-grandson had has hurt you deeply. You are dying.”

“I won’t be after I take you!” he snarled and then he lunged at the hovering wizard, trying to grab the other and throw Augustus’ soul out into the dark of the astral plane.

But the wind slammed into him, knocking him back down and he cried out. “No!”

“Foolish boy. Know you not that an Elementalist is at his strongest upon his own ground?”

Voldemort did know. And so he did the only thing left to him. He rushed into the flames and allowed them to consume his body, soaring free upon the wind. No longer clothed in flesh, he was free to find a new body to inhabit, but he was only allowed two days in which to do so.

The spirit Voldemort laughed mockingly. “You lose, old man! I shall find a new body and then I shall return and destroy everything you love!”

Augustus’ eyes narrowed and he began to draw upon every bit of magic he possessed until he shone like a star gone nova. “Do you think so? Then you know nothing of what an Elemental Master is capable of.”

The spirit Voldemort cringed and glided backwards. “No. You wouldn’t dare do it!”

“Wrong,” Augustus replied. “But first, you will tell me all.” One glowing hand reached out and touched the spirit and held him fast.

Voldemort writhed, but was helpless to get away as the old Auror absorbed his memories. It took but a moment and then Augustus lifted the wailing spirit above his head and shouted, “Now it ends. This time for good.”

Then he released all of his magic at once.

* * * * * *

Severus was sleeping soundly next to his wife in the bed beside Harry when he felt the shock of it roll over him. He woke gasping and shaking, all of his hair standing on end. The power that had just been released, he had never felt anything like it. Where was it coming from?

He rose and stood barefoot upon the chill tile in the infirmary, trying to orient himself. A second later he fell to his knees as the absence of a familiar signature in the lifeweb slammed into him. Before he could even comprehend what had just occurred, a signet ring with Prince crest appeared upon his right hand.

He stared at it in denial.

No. Oh no. This cannot be happening. I am not seeing this. No! It’s a dream. His mind babbled in circles, running desperately to try and escape the truth. But he could feel it in every pore of his being.

You shall feel my passing like an absence in your blood. And then the ring will come to you. That’s when you’ll know.

The words echoed in his head like a death knell.

He shook his head.

No! This is a nightmare. Not real. Wake up, Severus! Wake up!

But he was already awake, shaking with the force of an Elemental Master’s Final Strike.

“Grandfather, no!” he groaned brokenly.

“Severus? What’s th’ matter?” Sandra asked softly, lighting up the room with a word.

Her husband was on the floor, looking as if the world had ended.

She sat up in alarm. “Sev? What is it? Is it Harry?”

“No. No. Stay here, Sandra.” Severus chanted a quick spell and his clothing flowed onto him. “I need to go home.”

“Now?”

“Yes, just stay with Harry,” Severus ordered. “I’ll . . .be back . . .”

Then he was gone, the sound of his boots thudding down the hall.

Harry stirred and woke, sensing something was gravely wrong. “Mum, where’s Papa?”

Sandra came over to sit on the edge of the bed. “Go back to sleep, Harry. Your dad just needed to go home because . . .” Her sleep-fogged brain began to clear and then she froze. “Oh dear sweet Merlin!”

Harry watched in alarm as tears began to roll down her cheeks.

* * * * * *

As soon as he set foot upon the manor grounds, Severus felt a thrumming go through him. It took him a few minutes to realize the thrumming was the pulse of the land, welcoming its new master. My lord, welcome back. Welcome.

Warmth flowed through him, chasing away the dreadful chill, try though he did to reject it. “No. I’m not your master. He is. Not me.”

But with each step he took, the land reaffirmed the age old promise, and accepted him as the lord of Foxfire Hall. His boots crunched over the grass and then he was running towards the twinkling lights of the manor house.

Halfway there he halted. The earth was blackened in a large swath, as though a fire had been lit. The smoldering remains of something that had once been human still smoked. And beyond that lay the still form of Augustus Prince, once the lord of Foxfire Hall.

Severus fell to his knees beside him, his hand feeling for a pulse. There was none. He had known there wouldn’t be. An Elemental Master’s Final Strike was always fatal. Augustus looked peaceful, however, as if he had just gone to sleep.

“Why Grandfather? Why?” Severus asked hoarsely. He rose, turning to look at the remains of what had once been Dumbledore’s Defense professor, and nearly tripped over the stiff body of Mystic.

“No, not you too . . .” he cradled the dead cat in his arms and sobbed. Mystic too looked as if he merely slept and Severus knew the old familiar had probably made his way to Augustus and died there, following his master on the last journey together.

He did not know how long he remained there, choking on the force of his grief, crouched over the body of the cat and his grandfather, but then he felt a small hand upon his shoulder. He jerked up and came face to face with a weeping Hotspur.

The elf bowed to him. “My Lord Prince.”

“No! Don’t call me that. That’s not my title!” Severus cried.

“It is now, milord.” Hotspur said sadly. “The ring has come to you and the lands affirms the trust. You are now Severus Prince, Lord Thornton, master of Foxfire Hall.”

“It’s too soon,” Severus whispered.

“I know. But this was how he chose to go, milord,” Hotspur wept. “He made Lina and I stay in the house while he went to face the Evil One. He wouldn’t let us help him . . .it’s not for you to do, he said. This is a job for warriors, and this once, I shall be a warrior once more . . .Tell Severus I left him some instructions in the study . . .Then he . . .left and soon after that we felt him . . .go . . .”

The elf burst into tears and clung to Severus.

Severus held him close and then carried him back to the house.

Lina was sobbing all over the sofa and he carefully set Hotspur next to her and gave them both a small glass of butterbeer.

Then he left them and climbed the stairs to the study.

On Augustus’ desk was a small bottle filled with a silvery substance that was neither liquid nor gas, which Severus recognized as memories. Next to it was a gold envelope with his name upon it. With trembling hands, he opened it.

It contained a single piece of parchment.

Severus, my son,

As I pen this last missive, I beg you to understand and accept what I am about to do. I have gone through all the options and have accepted the fact that Voldemort must be stopped, once and for all. Right now he is at his most vulnerable, weak, injured nearly to death, and there will never be another opportunity to catch him this way. A Body Snatcher can be destroyed only two ways totally, any other attempt to destroy the body he inhabits will only be temporary. One, you must kill the body he possesses and wait for his soul to emerge. The soul has two days in which to find a new host, after that it is sent into the Beyond, to linger about until it regains strength to seek out another host. It is almost impossible to locate a soul in the Beyond, but if you can trap and destroy the soul before it gets there, then you will have destroyed the Body Snatcher.

There are few magics that can contain a soul however. One of these is a Gem of Soul Trapping. But most of them are destroyed and if any remain in Britain, I have not time to seek them out. I must act now. The other way to destroy a Body Snatcher is with an Elemental Master’s Final Strike. Of course, it shall mean my death as well.

I know this. But it is the only way. If Riddle is not destroyed here and now, he will return again and again and try to kill Henry. And I fear that he may one day succeed and I will not allow that to happen. No child should be a pawn of prophecy.

Wars are fought by grown wizards and soldiers. I am both. For my family, I will do anything to keep you safe. Even this. I think a part of me has always known I would not die in my bed, asleep. Like the Roman soldiers of old, it is my fate to die in battle, protecting that which I love best. For your children and your children’s children to grow up free of the specter of war, I make this sacrifice of my own free will.

Make sure Harry understands that this how I chose to die, that he musn’t feel guilty or blame himself. Nor should you. Only an Elemental Master can destroy one such as Voldemort. No more of my family shall die if I can prevent it.

I could not say this before, lest I tip my hand, but I love you, Severus, as the son I never had. You have always made me proud and will make a good lord of Foxfire Hall. I wish you and dear Sandra well and hope you have many children. My only regret is that I will not be there to see them. Or at least, not as I would wish. Give my love to Henry as well.

All of my papers and the key to my vault are in the desk drawer. To unlock it, use the signet. The wards will need resetting, so do that after you read this.

Don’t grieve for me too long, son. Life is for the living—so go out and live it, with my blessing.

My only request is that you light a candle on my birthday in remembrance.

Farewell, my son. Drusilla, Grace, and Eileen shall meet me at Heaven’s gate. Or so I hope. Remember, a part of me resides within the land, touch it and I shall be with you. Speak to my portrait as well, it may help.

Love,

Grandfather

PS: If I succeed, there may be something else on my desk that you should take note of. It will be a memory bottle, filled with the memories of the late Tom Riddle, which I shall attempt to gather before I send him to hell. Please view them, I think they will contain valuable information about his followers, and you can use them to hunt the rest of the bastards down.

Severus set the parchment aside and concentrated briefly. The wards were raised and reset. That done, he put his head on the desk, which now belonged to him, and allowed himself to grieve the passing of the man he had loved like a father.

Hogwarts infirmary:

Harry stared at Sandra uncomprehending for a long moment, he was still exhausted and sleepy, but the sight of her silently crying caused his gut to seize up and fear to come circling like a shark on the hunt about him. "What's wrong? Why are you crying, Mum?"

"I . . .I can't explain it now," Sandra sniffled, hastily wiping her eyes. She was almost certain something terrible had happened to Augustus, but wasn't entirely sure her premonition was correct and she didn't want to upset Harry over nothing. "I'm just . . .I had a bad dream just before I woke and I'm a little . . .emotional right now." She hugged him. "You'll have to forgive me, Harry. I'm still upset from your being so badly hurt.  Would you like a drink before you go back to sleep?"

He nodded. "Yes, please." Thinking of water made him aware that he needed to use the bathroom and he started to get out of bed. "Excuse me, I have to use the loo."

"Oh, sorry, am I in your way?" she moved so he could get out of bed.

He walked a bit slowly and stiffly into the bathroom which was right next to his bed.

Afterwards, he returned to his bed, feeling even more drained and exhausted. Sandra had a cup of ice water for him to sip and then he yawned.

"Do you need more potions, sweetie?" she asked solicitously. "Does your hand hurt?"

Harry shook his head. "No. I think I'll just . . ." He closed his eyes and soon fell back to sleep.

Sandra remained at his bedside for a minute, rearranging his covers and smoothing his tousled hair. She prayed that what she feared had not come to pass, for the child would be devastated by his grandfather's loss. 

She returned to her own bed and crawled in it, huddling beneath the covers and trembling, tears streaking her face again, like a child afraid of the dark. She recalled again Severus' face, stricken and white, as if he'd just gotten stabbed with a knife in the heart. Please no. Please. Anything but that. She snuggled in the empty bed and hoped Severus would return soon and bring good news with him, though she feared the worst.

Severus returned some two hours later, and Sandra immediately woke when he shook her shoulder. She could tell in an instant that the news was not good. "Sev, what happened? Is it Augustus?"

He nodded heavily. Then he told her very quietly what had happened.

"Oh, Sev! I can't believe . . .oh, Merlin . . .valiant unto the last . . ." Her voice broke then and she wept.

Severus quickly Transfigured his clothes back into sleepwear and gathered his wife in his arms. "I still can't believe he's gone . . .even with the ring . . .even though I felt him die . . .I can't . . .I don't even know how I'm going to explain it to Harry . . ."

"Let it wait till we get home, love," she whispered through her tears. "Poor gallant old man!"

They lay upon the bed together, their tears mingling upon the pillow, mourning the loss of one who had given up his life so that others could be free of Voldemort's shadow forever. But at last they allowed sleep's gentle solace to claim them, and slept with their cheeks pressed against a tear-drenched pillow.

* * * * * *

Foxfire Hall

June 21, 1992:

Harry awoke suddenly. He had been dreaming that Voldemort was chasing him and was just about to catch him and kill him when Augustus stepped into his path and prevented the evil wizard from harming him. He woke up before he could see what sort of spell his grandpa had used against the Dark Lord, and as he sat up and looked about, he noticed he was no longer at Hogwarts, but back in his own room at Foxfire Hall. 

He glanced about in relief at the familiar walls with Quidditch posters and rows of books and sighed happily. He was home, where he belonged. He saw Calin curled up by his feet, purring in her sleep and he nudged her with a toe but she didn't wake. "Lazy kitty," he chuckled. 

Hedwig was on her perch by the window, also sleeping soundly. He looked at the clock next to his bed and saw it was around ten AM.  Before he could stick so much as a toe out of bed, Lina popped into the room.

"Oh, Master Harry, you're awake!"

"Hey, Lina." Harry gave her a smile.

"How do you feel? Are you better?" she gave him a look of concern and worry.

"I feel better than I did yesterday. Who brought me back here?"

"Your papa and mama did," the elf answered promptly. "Hotspur and I were so worried for you.  We simply couldn't bear it if something happened to you like-" she halted abruptly, then said, "Let me go and tell Master Severus that you're awake. He was wishing to speak with you."

Before Harry could ask her anything else, she had vanished.

A few moments later, both Severus and Sandra entered the room.  Harry looked at them, wondering why both looked as if they'd been wrestling with demons all night. There were dark circles under Severus' eyes and Sandra's were red and puffy.  Both were pale and Harry began to feel apprehensive. Something had happened and he felt instinctively that it was something terrible. 

"Harry, hun, how are you feeling?" Sandra asked, beating Severus to the punch. She walked over and felt the boy's forehead. It was cool. 

"Okay, I guess.  Just tired and my hand and wrist itches." He told her, only now becoming aware of that little detail.

"Why don't we put some Burn Salve on that, son?" suggested Severus, taking a seat on Harry's left side. 

Sandra sat down on his right. "Here, Sev," she said, Summoning the salve with a wandless incantation. "Don't forget to Unstick the banadages."

"I know," he replied softly, taking Harry's arm and laying it on his lap. "Hold still, please."

Harry obeyed, anxious to get the salve on so the dreadful itching would stop.

Severus reapplied the salve and re-bandaged his son's hand and wrist before setting the salve aside.  Harry's hand and wrist were finally healing. That was the one bright spot in what he knew was going to be an awful day. He cleared his throat, unsure of how to break the news. In the end he decided to just say it straight out.

"Son, your grandfather . . .passed away last night."

It took a moment for Harry to comprehend what Severus had just said. "Passed away . . .?" he repeated dully. "You mean he . . ." his throat closed up then and he found himself unable to say the word. Slowly, he shook his head. "But . . .no, that's not . . .how did . . .you said he wasn't sick!" he finally managed a coherent sentence. He felt as if a dragon had stomped upon his chest.

Sandra put her arm about him. "He wasn't, Harry. He . . .died in battle."

"In battle? I don't understand."

"He died fighting Voldemort, Harry." Severus told him gently.

"But Voldemort ran away! I heard Dumbledore say so. He was dying."

"He was. Your grandfather knew, though, that even if he let Quirrell's body die, he might still return someday, in a different body, stronger than before. So he . . ." Severus coughed, struggling to keep his voice even. He had to be strong for his son.  " . . .he lured Voldemort here, because an Elemental Master is strongest upon his home ground.  He lowered the wards so Voldemort could enter and then he confronted him. He used an Elemental Master's Final Strike to destroy the Dark Lord."

Harry stared up at him, his green eyes wide with shock and disbelief. "But Final Strike kills you and your opponent," he murmured, recalling Augustus' lessons in Defense last year.

"I know. But it was the only way to defeat a Body Snatcher for good. He knew the cost, son.  And he . . .he chose to sacrifice himself for us. So that Voldemort would die the final death and never rise again."

"NO!" Harry wailed.  "He wouldn't do that! He wouldn't!"

"Oh, Harry." Severus went to hug him, but Harry jerked away, pulling free of Sandra's embrace as well.

"No! He can't be dead! He just can't!" he screamed, scrambling off the bed and running from the room.

Augustus was alive somewhere in the manor. He just had to be. He ran through the hall, opening the door to Augustus' bedroom.

It was empty, the bed neatly made, the room cleaned.

He whirled and ran down the hall to the study and flung open the door so hard it bounced against the wall.  "Grandpa! Where are you?" he called desperately, but Augustus was not there.

Frantic, he raced down the stairs, ignoring Severus and Sandra calling him.

He nearly banged into Hotspur, who looked uncharacteristically listless, his livery replaced with a black tunic and trews. "Hotspur, where's my grandpa?"

The elf looked at him sadly. "Master Harry, he is gone from this hall. The Green Man has called him home, to dwell forever in the earth's embrace."

Harry trembled. "No! You're lying!"

"I wish I was, young master. But I speak the truth. He is with Mistress Drusilla and Lady Grace and Lady Eileen now." Two huge tears splashed down his face. "Foxfire Hall will never be the same."

Harry swallowed hard. He had never seen Hotspur cry ever. The elf had always been as unflappable as his master. He looked about and saw that there were black crepe streamers wound about the banister and a large black wreath of roses upon the doors. He knew the custom. 

Augustus is dead. Your grandfather is dead because of Voldemort. He died to save you. It's all your fault. The awful realization slammed into him like a rogue Bludger. The thing he had feared most had finally come to pass. His grandfather had died because he was Harry Potter.

"My fault!" he gasped, tears glittering in his eyes. "He died because of me!"

Hotspur stared at him in horror. "No, Master Harry, you mustn't say such things! That's not so. Listen-"

But Harry was gone, running out the doors and onto the lawn, to where he did not know, only that he had to get away, away from his guilt, away from the sorrow that was about to drown him. 

He ran through the orchard, the orchard that Grace had grown from small pits, the orchard that he used to walk through with Augustus, and where he had learned the names of all the trees and how the fruits were used, what were good to eat and what were used in potions.   "Pay attention, Henry, this is important if you ever have to gather bark from an ash tree or acorns from an oak . . ."

Augustus' voice echoed in his head, the voice he would never hear again, and he stubbed his toe on a tree root and went sprawling, banging his injured hand against the hard ground.

He cried out, pain lancing through his arm, and he clutched his hand to him, rolling over on his back and sobbing like a baby.

* * * * * *

 Severus and Sandra reached the bottom of the staircase and looked around for their son.  He was nowhere in sight. "Damn!" the new master of Foxfire Hall swore. He had expected Harry to take the news hard, but never anything like this. "Now where could he have gone?"

"Milord Prince," Hotspur popped into view. "Master Harry has run outside. He was very upset, sir, he blames himself for Lord Augustus's death. I did not follow thinking he wished to be alone. Forgive me, milord."

Severus waved off the elf's apology. "You did nothing wrong, Hotspur." Damn, this was what I was afraid of!

Sandra frowned worriedly. The grounds were very large and it would be easy for a boy to get lost on them, and it had happened once before. She whistled for Magnus.

When the big wolf-dog appeared, he had been napping in the conservatory, she said to him, "We need your help, old fellow. Find Harry, Magnus. Find him for me."

The wolf-dog barked and wagged his tail to show he understood.

Then he cast about for Harry's scent, and upon detecting it, bolted out the door Hotspur held ajar for him.

Within minutes, Magnus had raced out of sight.

Sandra followed and after a moment, so did Severus. "He'll bark when he finds him," she explained as they made their way in the general direction dog and boy had gone.

Soon a loud bark sounded and they ran toward the orchard.

They found Harry curled up with his arms about the shaggy dog, bawling into his fur. Magnus was whining gently and licking Harry's face. Above them, Valeska was perched, making soft little clicking crooning noises, such as she would have done for an upset fledgling. 

Sandra motioned for Magnus to stay with Harry, for the dog spotted her and was about to get up. Then she said quietly, "Maybe it's best if you talk to him alone, Sev.  I'll be inside, writing a notice to the Daily Prophet for an obituary and maybe someone can write a tribute piece as well.  I'm going to miss him so much. I'm so sorry, love."

He hugged her hard. "Thank you," he whispered, for having her there to talk to and comfort him, even if it was in private, made it all so much easier. "I'll try and see if I can calm him down." He patted the pocket of his black bordered day robe, it contained both the letter Augustus had written that night and also a vial of Calming Draught.

She kissed his cheek gently before departing.

Severus walked silently to sit down beside his son, resting his arms across his knees.  "Mind if I join you?"

Harry shook his head, his face still buried in Magnus' thick fur.

"Hotspur tells me you think it's your fault Grandpa died," Severus began thickly, for even to say the man's name hurt.

"It is my fault!" Harry mumbled. "You know it is!"

Severus reached out a hand and pulled Harry upright. "Look at me, please, so I can understand what you're saying." He took out a handkerchief from his other pocket and wiped Harry's face.  "Blow." He waited till his son had obeyed before vanishing the handkerchief and handing Harry a clean one to hold.  "All right. Suppose you tell me why it's your fault?"

Harry gave him an incredulous glare. "You know why, Papa!" His hands clenched upon Magnus' fur involuntarily. The big dog sighed and stretched out across Harry's knees, effectively pinning the boy in place. Magnus was over a hundred pounds and there was no way Harry was going to be able to move without a fight. But the boy didn't even notice.  "You know why," he continued.  "It's because I'm Harry Potter that this happened. Voldemort came after me.  Grandpa only got involved because of me.  If I had died down there-"

"Don't you dare tell me you wished you had died!" Severus interrupted, his voice gone harsh.  "Don't you ever wish that! Your death doesn't cancel out his, by Merlin's bones! Your life is a gift, never say you wish to throw it away! Understand?" He took Harry by the shoulder and shook him once, hard. "Your grandfather would be ashamed to hear you value yourself so little."

"But . . .I'm the reason he died!" Harry sobbed.

Severus shook his head. "No.  You don't understand." He put his arm about the stricken child and drew him down on his shoulder.  "Listen to me. Can you do that? Cry all you like, but listen.  Grandpa . . .he would have fought Voldemort regardless if it were you in danger or someone else.  He was an Auror, he fought against dark wizards all his life. How many times did you hear him say that it was the job of any wizard trained in the arts of war to fight evil wherever he found it?"

"He . . .he said that every Defense lesson," Harry sniffled. 

"Yes.  And how many times did he say that it was a warrior's duty to protect the helpless? Just as much, right? What is the Prince family motto?"

"It's . . .To Rule with Justice and to Protect Those in Need."

"Yes. And that is what he did, Harry. Not just for you, but for all of us."

"But Voldemort came back from the dead for me," Harry insisted.

"Child, you are a stubborn hardheaded-Voldemort had come back for himself, to try and dominate the world, because he wanted to cheat death and rule as he saw fit.  He didn't even know you were alive until now. I wish I knew how he found out because I'd skewer whoever told him . . ."

"It was Lucius Malfoy. Voldemort said Lucius took a Memory Restorative and then he remembered I was Harry Potter and he went and told him."

"I should have known. Bloody Malfoy!" Severus swore. "But I'll deal with him later. As I was saying, Voldemort came back for his own reasons, not just because of you, son.  Don't try and take the blame for others' actions. I've told you that once before, remember? After you ran away in the snowstorm?" He felt the boy nod against his shoulder. "Your grandfather knew you too well, Henry Snape. He . . .wrote me a letter before he faced Voldemort.  I'm going to read it to you so you can understand why he did what he did." He cleared his throat again and began to read Augustus' last farewell. 

When he finished, he looked at Harry and said, "Do you see now that he made a choice? He wasn't forced into it.  He did it because he was the only one who could stop Voldemort once and for all, and to make the world safe for you and me and our children."

"But I never asked him to. It's not fair!" Harry burst out.

"No, it's not.  And had there been another way for him to defeat Voldemort in a timely manner, he would have found it," Severus said quietly. "He did not do this in order to make himself a martyr, son. But he did do it out of duty and love.  He says so himself." He handed Harry the letter to see.

Harry squinted, his glasses were all smudged. He rubbed them on his shirttail.  Then he read what Augustus had written. It helped some, but he still felt guilty. By the time he had finished he was crying again. It was worse than when he had lost his parents as a baby, because he couldn't remember them, and what you can't remember, you can't grieve over. But losing Augustus . . .left a huge empty hole within him. 

There had been so much he had wanted the other wizard to teach him, so much he wanted to tell him too, about winning the Quidditch Cup, and other things, and now that could never be. 

"I hate Voldemort! He bloody ruined my life!" he cried passionately.

"Yes. He ruined all our lives. But now he's gone and you'll never have to worry about him returning to plague you or your descendants, Harry. For that, we must honor your great-grandfather, and go on with our lives."

"How? How can I do that when I . . .I miss him so much?"

"It's hard. I miss him too. But remember, touch the earth and he will be with you.  His magic returned here, to the land he lived and died on. And a part of him still remains." He gently pressed Harry's hand to the earth beside him.

"I don't feel anything."

"You're too upset to hear it right now, but come out and sit beneath a tree later and see if you don't feel his echo in the wind and his presence in the soil. And his portrait hangs in the study. You might visit it sometime and speak with him."

"But it's not like the real him."

"Not exactly, but his memories and a bit of his personality are infused in that painting, so he can still offer you advice if you want. I . . .I spoke to it this morning."

"Did it help?"

"A little.  Harry, this will take a long time for you to get over, and for me as well. It's a dreadful thing to lose someone you love, and even though I've been down this road before, it doesn't get any easier the second time.  It still hurts like bloody hell. But the important thing to remember is that your grandfather chose his own death and you are not to feel guilty or blame yourself over it.  You'll miss him every day for the rest of your life, and so will I. But at least you got a chance to know him and if you remember him, he will never really die."

"Okay. I'll . . .I'll try." Harry whispered tremulously.

Then he clung to his father and wept bitterly.

Severus held him close and rocked him and he wept also, wishing he had had more time for Augustus to teach him how to be the ruler of a great estate for he feared he was inadequate and he would never be able to measure up to the example Augustus had left him. And he had so wanted Augustus to see his first great-grandchild get born. He had also hoped to have the older wizard to lean on when Harry became a teenager, but now he would have to manage without him. And so I am fatherless twice, though the first one I could give a damn about. Harry's right. It's not fair. But then, nothing in our lives has ever been fair. 

They remained there in the orchard for a very long time, watering the roots and grass with salt, until they were wrung dry of tears, and then they slept.

* * * * * *

 Over the next two days, Severus was very busy making the arrangements for the memorial service he wished to have at the manor, and trying to oversee an important project at Prince Labs he had been working on before all of this happened. He had managed to pass on most of the responsibility for the research temporarily to Marco and Annamaria, but he was too much of a perfectionist to not double check things, and so he went from home to work and back.  Then too, he was still grieving himself and worried about Harry.

Harry had become like a shadow even after their talk beneath the oak tree, he never smiled and Severus had to force him to eat, he barely picked at his food. He hated having to push him to eat, but it wouldn't do the boy any good if he starved himself to death. Harry reluctantly ate, but spent a good deal of time in his room, looking at the photo album of himself, Severus, and Augustus, and crying over it.

He still had not gone into the study to speak to Augustus' portrait, though the portrait itself had requested he come there via Lina and Hotspur.  Harry's reply to that had been, "I'll go later," but he never had.  He just didn't know if he could look at Augustus' portrait and hear that familiar voice without falling apart. Sometimes he would dream at night and wake up thinking that Augustus were still alive, only to remember with bitter anguish that he wasn't.

The old Auror's body had been removed to St. Mungos so they could prepare it for cremation. It had been stipulated in the will that Augustus wished his body returned to the earth, so that no dark wizard could dig up his remains and try to use them for some sick purpose, thinking to gain some magical power or just tick off his family.  Harry had viewed the body before it had been taken away, slipping in late yesterday night to see it, lying in the lab with a sheet over it. He had peeked at it, discovering that the body looked . . .peaceful. But when he touched it, it was cold and hard and he had fled from it, choking back sobs. That wasn't his great-grandfather. It felt like a doppelganger, a fake imitation. Augustus had been warm and loving, not some cold hard thing.

He had cried himself to sleep, despite Calin purring in his ear and Magnus licking his face. The wolf-dog seemed to have appointed himself Harry's companion, and followed the boy wherever he went. Harry did not mind. Magnus was good for a pillow or a shoulder to cry on, he didn't want to keep running to Severus or Sandra, they would think he was a baby, for lately all he seemed to do was cry.

That morning he woke up very early, recalling that the memorial service was going to be the next day.  He had wanted to say something meaningful about Augustus, but so far, the words seemed stuck in his throat. He had tried writing things down about the Auror that he knew and loved about him, but they all ended up sounding trite and stupid. After ten crumpled parchments, he gave up and decided to go back to sleep for a bit. Sandra had told him that sometimes if you sleep on a problem, it helped. 

So he curled back up in bed, it was still quite early, before six, and fell asleep with his cat on one side of him and Magnus at the foot, warming his feet.  Harry was surprised the giant dog could even fit on the bed with him, but somehow the dog managed to curl himself up just enough.

No sooner had Harry closed his eyes, then he began to dream . . .

* * * * * *

   He felt as though he were floating, high above the earth, through a bank of silvery clouds until he broke free and soared above a beautiful garden. It almost reminded him of Drusilla's garden, but this one was vast, and in it were every kind of tree, plant, flower, vegetable, and grain known to man and some that had become extinct long ago, before recorded history. He had no idea how he knew that, but he did.

The garden was beautifully sculpted and laid out, with everything in its place, and some parts had small stone walkways and mosaics and others had fishponds and statues and benches. Some had trellises and others had large planters and huge urns. And there were some parts that had been left to grow wild, as nature had intended.

He had never seen anything so beautiful in all of his life. Birds and butterflies and bumblebees flittered through the air, and he could almost smell the flowers, even though he was high above them.  As he watched, he saw people tending the garden and as he hovered nearer, he saw that these people had wings. 

Wings? But nobody has wings that I know of, unless . . .they're angels. 

No sooner had he realized this than he was made aware of a commotion just beyond the row of fig trees that fronted the garden gates, which were made of wrought iron festooned with climbing roses. 

He flew over and saw a familiar man standing just beyond the gates, speaking to a tall man with a beard and wings like an osprey. "Welcome to the Garden, Augustus Prince.  We have been waiting for you. Please, step inside and be welcome.  All that you seek lies within." At his touch, the gates swung open, and Augustus stepped inside.

As soon as Augustus' foot touched the rich soil he began to change. He grew younger, taller, and somehow more handsome than he had been in life. Wings of a blinding white edged with gold sprouted from his back and his tattered robes became new and shining clean. 

He looked down at himself and chuckled. "Guess they don't want anybody who looks like a mucky Monday wash in their Garden." He sighed in pleasure as he walked across the small lawn, towards the line of trees.

Harry gasped and nearly flew down to greet him, but something prevented him. He was here as an observer only.

From down a path sprinkled with wildflowers came three women, two were tall with tawny gold hair and one had hair dark as a rook's wing and was of medium height.  They were all dressed in different attire. The oldest of them had her hair bound in a tail and was wearing long robes colored in all shades of blue and gray, they shifted and changed as she walked, her velvet boots hardly seeming to touch the earth, her wings lying flat against her back. She had eyes the color of a sea after a storm and was both imposingly elegant and adorably cute.

The woman on her left looked no older than twenty-five and she had her hair loose and flowing. It was the same tawny shade as the older woman's. She was wearing a soft tunic and trousers colored an amber shade with brown piping and her boots were serviceable brown leather. She had eyes that were a bluish green and a pixie nose and a mouth that seemed made for smiling. Her wings were not like a raptor's, but fluffy and tapered like a songbird's.   

The woman on her right had her hair braided, and her eyes were a dark brown, sje was slighter than the others, but though her face had a serious cast, she looked like she was happy. Her wings were a pearl gray, like a hawk's. She was wearing robes of a deep green shade and as he stared, he began to see a resemblance in her to that of his father.

He watched as they caught sight of the man coming towards them and they half-flew and half-ran to him.

He froze when he saw them. "Drusilla? Grace? Eileen? Is that . . .really you?"

They surrounded him, hugging him and laughing and crying.

"Papa!" cried his two daughters and he swept them up in a hug. 

"My girls! How I've missed you!"

Then he set them down and opened his arms for his wife.

She wrapped her arms about him and kissed him delightedly. "Hello, Gus. It's been awhile, hasn't it, beloved?"

"Yes. I . . .still can't believe you're . . .here . . .and that we can be together forever."

"Forever and ever, without end.  Here in the Garden that is Paradise Regained, nothing ever dies, and all things grow and flourish. You'll like it here, Gus. We tend the plants and animals here with love and kindness and our own special brand of magic." Then she kissed him again. "I have missed you so much!"

"And I you, my Stormbringer," he said.

Then he drew away to look at Grace. "Gracie, how have you been?"

"Wonderful, Papa. The Garden is truly a paradise." She hugged him.

"I can feel it." He breathed in great gulps of the scented air. Then he looked at his youngest and his smiled dimmed.  "Eileen, I wish that I had gotten around to telling you before, but I just wanted to say how sorry I am for-"

She put a finger to his lips. "Hush, Papa. You have nothing to be sorry for.  I forgave you long ago. And here we let go of guilt and shame and all those negative emotions. Here there is no sorrow, no regret, only joy."

He hugged her tightly and whispered, "I love you, Eileen." There were tears in his eyes as she hugged him back.

"I love you too, Papa. Come, there is one more person you need to meet." She took his hand and together they began walking onto the broad path of white marble.

Suddenly a small child with curly golden hair and bright blue eyes and wings like a turtledove's came zooming through the trees. She was wearing a silvery dress and was barefoot. "Mama, Mama! Look at the stray kitty I found sitting by the gate!"

Augustus gasped, for in her chubby arms was Mystic. The cat mewed softly, for she was holding him a bit too tight.

He stared at the child. "Is that . . .?"

"Say hello to Melinda, your granddaughter." Drusilla announced. "And I believe that's your familiar she's holding."

"It is. My faithful cat, he must have followed me here." 

The little girl slowed and then landed neatly upon the path, still clutching the cat. She beamed up at Augustus. "Hi! I'm Lindy and you're my grandpa. Does he belong to you? Can I keep him?"

Augustus laughed. "His name is Mystic, child. And yes, you may keep him." Then he picked up his granddaughter and the black cat and they all walked down the path deeper into the Garden, together again at last. .  .

* * * * * *

Harry awoke and for the first time in three days he smiled.  He felt as if he had been given a Euphoria Draft, and for a few minutes he felt at peace and deliriously happy.  He wondered if the dream had been a true one, he usually didn't remember his dreams, not unless they were nightmares.  But this one . . .he still felt the aftereffects of that peaceful realm and could see with startling clarity Augustus, Drusilla, Grace, Eileen, Mystic, and Melinda, Grace's baby, who had she lived would have been a little older than Severus, all of them reunited once more. 

It's true then.  There really is a place beyond this one and Grandpa is happy and at peace there.  That suddenly made him feel a whole lot better, knowing that Augustus was not hanging around some limbo, but had gotten rewarded and was now with the family he had lost.

He sat up and stroked Calin, who purred lazily and opened one green eye. "Guess even cats go to heaven," he murmured, scratching her under the chin. She rubbed against his hand.

He lit the lamps with a softly spoken "Lumos!" and went to his desk, unstoppering his ink pot and trimming a quill. He had to hurry and write this down before he forgot. He now had the inspiration he needed to write a fitting tribute to Augustus.

He began to write quickly, slowing just enough so he didn't smudge his letters.

He was almost finished when he heard a soft footstep outside his door and then Magnus woke and woofed softly, as he usually did when his mistress was nearby.

"Harry? Well, you're up early this morning, aren't you?" Sandra asked, coming into his room.  "I was just coming to see where my dog had gotten to. I should have known he'd be sleeping with you.  What's wrong? Can't sleep?"

He turned to look at her. She was wearing a soft pink robe with rosebuds on it and soft pink felt slippers.  "No, I was sleeping until just a little bit ago.  But I had the strangest dream."

"A bad one?" she came over and gently brushed the hair away from his eyes. "Your hair needs trimming, my boy."

"Not yet. I like it long. Like Papa's," Harry argued. Then he began to tell her about the dream.  "I never remember much when I wake up about dreams. But in this one I remember everything.  Why?"

"Perhaps because your grandpa was trying to tell you something.  That you need to stop blaming yourself and let the guilt go.  You're too young to walk around with such a burden and you weren't to blame anyway. Augustus wouldn't want that." She took a seat on the edge of his bed, next to her familiar, who nuzzled her hand. She began petting him as she continued speaking. "Your grandpa loved you very much, and he would want you to grow up safe and happy. I know it's hard to lose him, but at least now you know he's in a better place.  I remember when I lost my mother, I was only seventeen, an orphan, and I was sure the world had ended.  I was sent to live with my uncle and was sure I would hate it.  I barely knew him.  But in the end I grew to love him and my cousins and he left me his shop after he passed on.  That was his legacy to me, and since then I've done my best to keep to the standards he set and make my business grow and prosper. In that way, I honor his memory best.  Perhaps it would help if you tried to do that?"

Harry considered for a minute or so, then he slowly nodded. "Yes. But what's his legacy to me?"

"Well, what did he like to do best?"

"Umm . . .he liked to grow things, and use his magic to help people, and he liked teaching me Defense . . ."

"Good. Then perhaps you could continue tending Drusilla's garden, now that he can't do it? And remember what he told your father, Harry. A part of him resides in the land, touch it and he shall be with you."

"Okay. I'll do that. Thanks, Mum."

She hugged him to her.  "You're welcome. Why don't you go back to bed?"

"All right."

She tucked the covers about him and then dimmed the lamp and left.  What a fortunate coincidence Harry had had that dream right then.  Or had it been a coincidence? She pondered that question all the way back to her bedroom, and was still mulling it over when she crawled into bed next to her husband, who half-woke and put an arm about her, before falling back to sleep. She put her head on his shoulder and was soon asleep as well.

* * * * * *

The morning edition of the Daily Prophet was delivered promptly at eight o'clock by both Valeska and Warlocke.  Augustus' owl was looking more and more worn ever since the old Slytherin's death, and Severus feared he too would follow his master into the grave.  In order to try and prevent that, Severus thought it was best to keep the owl busy and so sent him out to fetch Sandra's edition of the paper, which normally was delivered to her shop.  When he returned, Sandra gave him several treats and petted and made much of him.

This edition of the Prophet was running a special article to commemorate Augustus, it was a combination of an obituary and a headline announcing his heroic defeat of the worst dark wizard since Grindelwald.    

Elemental Master Dies Vanquishing Dark Lord!

By Robin Archer

Augustus Prince, born: February 14, 1887--died June 20th, 1992, in battle defeating dark wizard Tom Riddle, destroying him completely at the cost of his own life in a final strike utilizing all his considerable Elemental magic.  This was not a final desperate attack, but a conscious choice to use his Final Strike as a way to ensure the dark wizard, who has cheated death using unnatural methods, would finally meet his end with no escape from the inevitable. 

Augustus Prince was the son of Marcus Aurelius Prince and Honora Damaris Prince, descended from Merlin with the blood of Mage Kings in his veins. He was an exceptional man who lived according to the highest standard of honour, valour and dignity and was an indomitable force against evil to match the elements he wielded and mastered.  He exemplified his family motto "To Rule With Justice and Protect Those In Need."

A legendary Auror, he was instrumental in the defeat of Grindelwald, killing or capturing many of his followers and several of his top Lieutenants including his second in command.  Their duel was short and definitive, none could stand against Augustus Prince, Unleasher of Earthquakes, and many surrendered rather than face him and certain defeat.

After the war he was bodyguard to the Minster of Magic and is considered the standard by which all others are measured, as he is the only bodyguard in history to have a perfect record with no successful attacks on the Minster while Augustus was in charge of his safety. 

As a truly formidable warrior, Augustus was one of a rare few wizards in history to become a friend to the Goblin Nation, as such his legend continued to grow.  Not much is known about exactly what this honour involves, but one thing is clear---an enemy of Augustus Prince was an enemy of the Goblin nation.

The Prince family legacy thrived under the direction of Augustus. His shrewd business acumen and desire to help those in need made Prince Potion Labs a world famous place of excellence and innovation.  Countless people have benefited from the family's skill and commitment to the art of potion making. The Prince family also has a wing at St. Mungos named after them that is for children with spell damage due to miscast magic.  Lord Prince was once quoted as saying "An injured child is terrible for a parent, as they feel so helpless and as so much of our healing is dedicated to the very young or adults, this was my attempt to make life better for the children just learning to control their gift of magic and accidents do happen, no matter how careful you are."

Augustus Unleasher of Earthquakes, was married to Drusilla the "Stormbringer" Mercier on May 1st, 1917. They were married 55 years, until Drusilla's death in 1972. They were a formidable couple whose combined power was only matched by the love they had for each other. "She brightened the lives of all who knew her," her husband once said. "She was like the sun, under her I thrived." They were both very different and each had special Gifts but they were the perfect counterpart for the other.  They had two daughters, Grace Linden Carey, who died in 1959, and was a master woodcarver and Herbologist; her death was a great lost to our world due to her exceptional talent; and Eileen Estrella Snape, who died in 1977, a potions prodigy with only her son more gifted in the art of potion making.

Severus Snape has this to say about his grandfather: "With the passing of Augustus Prince the world is diminished not only by the loss of his powerful magic and many accomplishments but also of his great character. My grandfather personified and lived the warrior code of honour and valour all his life. In doing so he set an example for others to follow that shall never be forgotten. But he was also much more. He had the highest commitment to his family and friends, and was a true paterfamilias in every sense of the word, protecting and guiding them with firmness and love, compassion and integrity. If you seek an example of what a true friend, father, husband, or grandfather should be, look no further than Augustus Prince. He was proud of his lineage, but not arrogant, tolerant of others of different races and blood status, and was loved so by his familiar that Mystic followed him unto death. He is the only pureblood I know who freed his house elves upon assuming his inheritance and they remained to serve him still. That is what kind of man my grandfather was. From him I learned life's greatest lessons-be all you can be and nothing is more important than family. Now he is with Drusilla, his beloved wife, and his daughters, Grace and Eileen, and can rest in peace. But his legacy continues, and we, the Prince family, shall never let it die."

Elemental Master Augustus Prince will be cremated along with his familiar and their ashes scattered at their ancestral home. A memorial stone will be placed on

the grounds and can only be found by family and friends.   He is survived by

Severus Snape, Lord Prince, and his great-grandson, Harry Snape.

Augustus Prince was to be awarded the Order of Merlin First Class posthumously for the destruction of Voldemort since he refused the award for his part in the defeat of Grindelwald. However, in his will he states that he would prefer a new award be created, in lieu of his own. In accordance with his wishes, a Potion Masters award will be created instead so that the importance and skill of potion brewers can be recognized.

The following quotes are from friends of the valiant Auror:

Master Auror Moody: "Augustus was my mentor and I am honoured to say, my friend.  He taught me not only everything I needed to know to become an Auror, but to be the best and why I should be proud to be one. Also, to be ever vigilant against evil and those who embrace it.  He did what had to be done no matter how difficult the task; he could overcome any obstacle with intellect, cunning, determination, and heart.  Mourn the loss of a great man but not how he died--he died how he lived, fighting for a better world."

Ragnok, bank president of Gringotts: "Augustus, Unleasher of Earthquakes, lived and died a true warrior, killing his greatest enemies and ensuring the prosperity of his kin.  He will be remembered for all eternity and there will be a series of painting depicting his greatest battles hung in Gringotts. He will be placed alongside our warriors of legend and his story retold to our kin.  We, the Goblin Nation, feel assured that the new Lord Prince will continue his family legacy, bringing glory to the name and fear and inevitable destruction to his enemies."

Amelia Bones, Head of DMLE: "Lord Prince was a legend in life and an even greater legend in death, conquering Voldemort singlehandedly is something that will always be remembered in the pages of history.  What I will remember, however, is that Augustus Prince was the most honourable man I have ever known and I respected him, as did anyone who ever met him.  Those that did not perished or paid for their foolishness."

Augusta Longbottom, former student and Auror: "Augustus was my longtime friend, he was the kind of person that is very rare these days.  Even with his considerable magical talents and ancient blood line, he was never one to boast of his talents and linage. Proud yes, but never one to lord what he had over others or believe he was better than anyone like most purebloods.  I will miss his keen mind and sharp wit, he died protecting his family and that was what he valued above all else."

A memorial service will be held tomorrow upon the grounds of Foxfire Hall from 1-3 PM, those who are interested in attending, please contact Severus Snape, Lord Prince and a one-use Port Key will be owled to you.

Both Severus and Sandra were pleased with the article, and after reading it, began to eat their breakfast. The clock in the living room chimed nine fifteen and Severus looked at his wife and asked, "Is Harry still asleep?"

"I would assume so, since I found him awake around five thirty scribbling out a tribute poem for the memorial service. He told me he had a strange dream about Augustus going to heaven and becoming an angel and reuniting with his wife, daughters, and granddaughter again."

"Oh?" Severus raised an eyebrow. "Maybe that will help him start to accept Augustus's death and see his sacrifice in a different light." He rose to his feet. "Well, I'm off to meet with the solicitor and the financial manager about some legalities concerning my inheritance, so I will see you later, dearheart." He bent and kissed her gently before grabbing his cloak and Flooing from the manor.

Harry stumbled downstairs a few moments later, still yawning and rubbing his eyes. "Good morning."

"Morning, Harry. Care for a spot of breakfast?" Sandra asked.

"Yes, please." He replied, sliding into his usual seat.

Lina appeared at his elbow. "What would Master Harry enjoy?"

Harry thought, then said, "French toast with pecans, bananas, and maple syrup, Lina."

"Coming right up, Master," she said.

Moments later a full platter of French toast popped up in front of him.  For the first time in days he was hungry and dug in eagerly.

While he ate he read the article the Prophet had printed and thought it wonderful. He only hoped his poem would be half as good.

* * * * * *

Memorial service

Foxfire Hall:

Harry was surprised to see so many familiar faces at the service as well as unfamiliar ones. He recognized the battle-scarred Auror "Mad-Eye" Moody from visits to Foxfire Hall and stern Amelia Bones as well. Nearly the entire force of Aurors were there, except for those on assignment or too ill to attend the service. The staff of Hogwarts was all present as well, and Harry wondered resentfully if Dumbledore regretted not assisting his grandfather more with trying to capture Voldemort. If he had, perhaps Augustus might not have needed to make the ultimate sacrifice.  But Harry knew that soon the Headmaster would come under fire from the many angry parents, including his own, who had learned of Dumbledore's folly of hiding the Sorcerer's Stone inside Hogwarts and endangering their precious offspring. 

He waved at Professor Malfoy, who gave him a sad smile.  To his shock, he saw Narcissa and Draco standing next to her, looking grave and solemn, and Draco was wearing neatly pressed dress robes and looked as if they scratched him uncomfortably in places.  Harry could sympathize, even with magic, sometimes dress clothes were awfully uncomfortable. 

The Longbottoms were all present, as were the Zabinis, but Harry had expected to see them. He also saw Marcus Flint and his parents, Marcus looked as uncomfortable as Draco in his starched robes.  All the shopkeepers at Diagon Alley were also there, including Smithers and Susannah.  All told there had to be close to a hundred people gathered upon the lawn that morning to offer their condolences and pay their respects. Harry suspected there would have been even more, but his father had had to set a limit on who could enter the grounds by Port Key.

There was a wooden podium set up in front of a massive elm tree at the forefront of the gathering, and Harry knew it was for himself and Severus and any member of those gathered who wished to say something about the late Augustus Prince.

He was standing just to the left of the podium, nervously gripping his poem in his sweaty palm.  He had never spoken in front of such a large group of people and he hoped he would not make an ass out of himself. He was dressed in stark black robes with a high collar and the Prince crest of a leopard rampant upon a divided ground of green and silver. 

Behind him, Severus gripped his shoulder gently. He was dressed the same as Harry, in unrelieved mourning.  "Are you sure you wish to do this, Harry? You don't have to."

Harry nodded firmly. "Yes, I do, Papa. I want to. So . . .so they remember not just the . . .hero but the man."

Severus squeezed his shoulder comfortingly. Harry leaned into his side for a brief moment.  "All right, son. Are you ready?"

"Yes, sir."

"Go ahead."

Harry squared his shoulders, cast one look back at his father and Sandra, who gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up, then he mounted the podium. Severus came up beside him and cast a Voice Amplifying charm on him, touching his wand gently to Harry's throat, then he stepped back.

"Hello," Harry began, his voice sounding unnaturally high and too loud.  "I'd like to thank you all for coming here and I'd like to read a poem I wrote about my great-grandpa.  This is my . . .uh . . ." for one terrifying moment he forgot what he was going to say. He began to panic, until Severus moved around the podium and stood next to Augusta Longbottom and mouthed the word "tribute".  Thank you, Papa. " . . .tribute to him."

He looked down at the parchment he had written the poem on in relief. Then he began to read in a soft voice.

"When the dawn breaks and all is still,

I can hear your voice in the whisper of the wind,

Remember me.

Remember the walks beneath the trees in the late afternoon,

Learning botany and herbology,

While the wind teased and told you secrets it had heard,

Knowledge once lost now found again, that you shared with me.

Now I hear the wind again, sobbing through the trees, crying,

"Don't forget-remember, remember me."

I stare into the fire, watching it flicker and dance,

In the crackle of the flames, I see you once again.

Remember the lazy nights beside the hearth,

Playing chess, learning strategy,

Win or lose it's how you play the game.

The fire crackles and spits, wild and fierce,

But you tamed the untameable,

Made a friend of the beast.

The fire dies on the hearth,

Embers burning away,

Yet I shall remember, remember always.

I sit by the lake, and stare into the depths,

Recalling your smile,

Your unfailing kindness to a mischievous child,

Still waters run deep,

But deepest of all, was your love for your family,

Flowing swift and strong, unending as the tide.

"Remember," cries the water, as it ripples to the shore.

"Remember that I love you, when I can speak no more."

Today I lay you to rest, in the earth from whence you came,

Where every tree and flower, rock and shrub you knew by name.

Master of the earthquake, nurturer of seeds,

What you take you must give back,

You once said to me.

"Honor thus my sacrifice, but remember this,

My spirit is part of the land,

Touch it and you'll see,

I am never truly gone,

So long as you remember me."

Harry stopped reading and looked out over at those listening. To his astonishment, he saw tears streaming down many faces. He swallowed, for he was very close to breaking down himself, and said, "I know all of you will remember my grandpa as the man who defeated Voldemort, but that's how I remember him. He was a great wizard and the best grandfather."

Then he jumped down from the podium and went to hug Sandra, who was crying into a handkerchief. "Oh, Harry, that was the most beautiful tribute ever!"

"It was?"

"Your grandpa would be so proud," she sniffled.

"He would. That was very well done, Harry," said Severus. "I don't know how I'm going to compete with that." He ruffled his son's hair and hugged him for a minute before mounting the podium himself.

"Well, it would seem my son has the soul of a bard. I won't even attempt to try and match that. I would like to thank all of you for coming here, and were my grandfather here, he would invite you all inside for a glass of port and a feast cooked by our amazing house elf, Lina.  What my son said about Augustus teaching him to give back what you received is true.  He lived that code of noblesse oblige all his life.  I regret to say I never knew my grandfather as a child, for I grew up mostly Muggle, but when I finished my Potions Mastery and was struggling to hold down a job and raise a baby, he was there for me. He gave me not only a home and a position as a Potions Master, he also gave me a family and respected me for who I was. And for that, as for much else, I shall never be able to repay him. But he would never expect it. He did what he did, for me, and for all of us, because it was right, and because his love for his family and his conscience would not allow him to do less. I am honored to have known him, to be a part of his family, and to continue where he left off.  He was by no means a perfect man, he would be the first to admit that, but he learned from his mistakes and in the end he died without regrets.  How many of us can say that? Very few, I think.  I can only hope that when I leave this life, I will have earned the respect of my fellow wizards and witches as he did, not only for the deeds I accomplished, but for being honorable and just and kind, as he was. . ."

Harry would have liked to stay and listen to the rest of Severus' speech, but he had an urgent need to use the bathroom, and so he regretfully hurried inside.

When he returned to the lawn, Neville approached him diffidently and said, "Harry, I .  . .I just wanted to say I'm sorry . . .for your grandpa dying and . . .and I'll understand if . . .you hate me and don't want to be my friend ‘cause of what happened . . .in the chamber I mean . . ."

Harry gaped like a fish out of water. "Me, hate you? Nev, you dunderhead! Why ever would I do that?"

Neville looked down at his shoes. "Because . . .it was my fault you almost got killed . . .and my fault the . . .Dark Lord . . .almost won and your grandpa had to die so . . .I'm really sorry!" He turned away, sniffling into a handkerchief.

"Nev, stop. Listen to me. You didn't ask to be put under an Imperius Curse, did you? No. So how can I blame you for doing what you did? It wasn't you who almost killed me, you idiot Puff-brain! It was Moldy-shorts!"

"But maybe I c-could have fought harder . . ."

"Nev, he was a master wizard, the strongest ever ‘sides my grandpa, how could you even think you could fight him off? You're a first year! I tried and he kicked my arse! If it weren't for the protection spell my mother cast on me as a baby, I would be in heaven with Grandpa. Now quit blaming yourself, okay. I forgive you, as if you needed it, and you're still my friend." He socked the other boy playfully in the shoulder.

"Thanks, Harry," Neville gave him a watery smile. "I'll be right back." He hurried inside to wash his face.

Harry turned around, wondering if he should talk to Blaise as well, and started to head over to where the Zabinis were standing at the right of the podium, when a tall man with shaggy dark hair and sparse beard wearing a suit and tie that was about ten years out fashion came towards him.

"Excuse me, but are you Harry Potter?" he asked in a low voice, taking the youngster by the arm and pulling him beneath the shade of an oak tree.

Harry stared at him. "Sir, I don't know you, and would you let go of my arm?" he asked.

"Sorry," the man released him, giving him a sheepish grin. "You look like the spitting image of Lily. You wouldn't remember me, but I'm your godfather, Sirius Black."

Harry backed away. "You . . .you were in Azkaban. You betrayed my parents!"

"No, I didn't. That was Peter Pettigrew. He framed me. I've been cleared of all charges. Didn't you read the morning paper?" Sirius frowned.

Harry shook his head. "No. I was helping my father scatter my great-grandfather's ashes over the grounds and put the memorial stone in place. I didn't have time to read the paper."

"I owe him one. Augustus Prince, I mean. He was the one who got the memories from V-Voldemort and after reviewing them, they discovered I was innocent and released me."

Harry looked at him suspiciously. "How did you get here? And how do you know about me being a Potter? That's a secret."

"Dumbledore came and told me after I'd been released," Sirius answered. "He also brought me here. I came to pay my respects to Lord Prince and to talk to you."

Harry frowned. The man seemed sincere, but then so had Lucius Malfoy that time when he had given Harry potion-laced cocoa when he was seven. And Dumbledore had brought him. Harry didn't trust the Headmaster as far as he could spit. "Wait here," he said.

Then he turned and went inside to the dining room. "Lina, where's today's copy of the Prophet?" he asked the little elf, who was dusting like a dervish.

"Right there, young master," she indicated the paper on the buffet.

Harry picked it up and saw the headline of the day.  Sirius Black Innocent! Wrongly Convicted, Framed By Best Friend! Ministry Receives New Information From Lord Prince Via Memory Bottle!

Harry quickly read through the article, which basically stated what Black had already told him. Apparently, he had been framed by his best friend, Peter Pettigrew, the real enemy of Lily and James Potter, who had been secretly working for Voldemort. Pettigrew had become Secret Keeper for the Potters and later betrayed them, then set up Sirius to take the fall, because no one except him and the Dark Lord knew that Peter had been Secret Keeper besides the Potters. He read how Pettigrew had tricked everyone into believing his own death by transforming into his Animagus form of a rat and escaping with only the loss of a finger. The Aurors were currently trying to locate Pettigrew's whereabouts.

Harry hoped they found the slimy rodent and kicked his arse.  He was surprised Black wasn't helping them, for surely he would want revenge upon the cowardly beast.  He deserved to be Kissed.

Tucking the paper under an arm, Harry returned to where Sirius waited beneath the oak tree. "All right. You were telling the truth."

"You didn't believe me?"

Harry shrugged. "Would you, if you were me?"

Sirius thought about it. "No . . .I guess not."

Harry glanced up towards the podium. Severus was almost done giving his eulogy and Harry had missed nearly all of it. "Look, I have to go back over there, my father will be looking for me-"

Sirius' face turned suddenly hard. "Snape isn't your father," he declared frostily. "You're James' son, not that greasy-haired snake's."

Harry stiffened. "Watch how you talk about my father!" he snapped. "He's just as much my dad as the one I was born to."

"You don't know what you're saying," Sirius cried. "You're a Potter, you're no relation to that Slytherin git!"

Harry felt his temper spark. "Look, Mr. Black, you've got some nerve, coming here and talking about my father this way! For your information, that Slytherin git raised me when my bloody relatives tossed me into a manger to die on Christmas Eve!" Harry hissed.  "Or didn't Dumbledore tell you that part? And furthermore, he and my grandfather are both Slytherins and so am I!"

Sirius was stunned. "You? A snake? But your father and mother were in Gryffindor."

"So what? Not everyone has to be in the same House just because their parents were. Neville's not. And neither were you, if what my papa told me is true."

"Okay, you're right. I should have known better," Sirius said quickly. "It doesn't matter if you're one of them. Look, I came here to-"

"One of them? You make it sound like Slytherins are scum," Harry said. "We're not."

"Voldemort came from there and so did nearly all his Death Eaters," Sirius pointed out.

"Yeah? Well, my grandpa came from there too, Mr. Black. The one who killed him, and saved your arse. Let's not forget that!"

A sudden gust of wind swirled through the branches of the oak tree as Harry's temper started to burn even hotter. How dare this . . .this former convict imply that all Slytherins were dark and evil?

 "I didn't mean him, Harry. It's just . . .I'm not used to owing favors to Slytherins. Never mind. That's not why I'm here. I came here to see you and to tell you that as soon as I get Grimmauld Place fixed up, you can come and live there with me, as my ward. James named me your godfather and said that if anything should happen to him, then I was to raise you. Only that didn't happen because I was framed and went to Azkaban. But now things are different. Now we can be together, like it was supposed to be and we'll get along fine, James was my best friend, you know, and we can go to Quidditch games, I know you play because Dumbledore told me so, and so did your father, he was a Chaser, best flyer I ever saw-"

"Hold it! Hold it!" Harry cried, aghast. "I . . .don't . . .I can't come and live with you, Mr. Black-"

"Sirius."

"Sirius, because I already have a home. Here at Foxfire Hall. This is where I belong now."

"No, you don't. You're not a Snape-"

"I'm as much a Snape as I am a Potter," Harry insisted. "Severus blood-adopted me."

"What?" Sirius couldn't believe his ears. It was almost unfathomable.

Harry repeated what he'd just said, wondering if the man were one syllable short of an incantation. "See, I'm a Snape by blood now. And there's nothing wrong with that."

"Nothing wrong---Harry James Potter, your father must be turning over in his grave to hear you say that!"

"Why? Because he thought all Slytherins were dark too? Well, too damn bad. He's not here, and I consented to the adoption because Severus saved my life and he's the one who raised me and he's a better father than anyone else I could name. Now get over yourself, won't you?"

"Get over myself? It's clear Snivellus didn't teach you any manners, did he?"

Before Harry could respond to that commented, Hotspur popped up next to him. He gave Sirius a distinctly unfriendly glare. "Master Harry, is this gentleman bothering you? For if so, I can escort him off the premises."

"What the bloody hell? A house elf?"

Hotspur gave him a short bow. "I am Hotspur, I serve as Lord Prince's major domo. And you, sir, are a guest here. You should not be upsetting Master Harry so, nor speaking while Lord Prince is addressing you. Please be more respectful, or I shall be forced to escort you off the grounds."

"Since when does a house elf lecture a wizard?"

"He's a freed house elf, not a bonded one," Harry said. "Hotspur, save your breath. I'm done talking with him." He made as if to turn away, but Sirius grabbed his shoulder.

A low snarl rippled through the air.

Sirius looked up . . .to see a humungous black wolf not five feet away, fangs bared, looking as if he wanted to tear Sirius to shreds.

Sirius quickly released Harry and backed off a step. "Easy, boy. Calm down. I wasn't going to hurt him."

Magnus continued to growl warningly, coming to stand at Harry's side. Harry wrapped a hand in the wolf-dog's ruff.

"Harry, call the wolf off. I don't want to have to hex him."

"You hurt him, and I'll-"

"Harry, what in bloody hell is going on?" demanded Severus, striding across the lawn. He stopped when he saw who was standing in front of his son. "Black! I should have known. Didn't your mother ever teach you to show respect for the dead?"

Sirius turned. "Snape, I came here to pay my respects-"

"Good. Now get out and leave my son alone!" Severus came to stand behind Harry.

"I'll leave when I'm good and ready, Snape! That's my godson you've brainwashed, and he doesn't belong here with you. James would have never wanted that."

"James Potter is dead," Severus declared flatly. "What he would have wished is a moot point."

"Papa, he wants to be my guardian and make me go and live with him," Harry told him. 

"You're insane, Black! You can't even take care of yourself, much less a child. And Harry already has a family."

"I'm his godfather, Snape. I'll fight you for custody," Sirius growled.

Severus sneered. "Please, Black. Go home and thank Merlin that my grandfather obtained those memories before he died.  If you make one move to try and take Harry from me, I'll bury you. In court or out of it."

"Since when did you start caring about James Potter's son, Snivellus? You hated his father!"

"What does that have to do with Harry?" Severus inquired silkily, furious. "His father was a bully who tormented me at school and you helped him. But that's nothing to do with my son. He's been mine since I took him from the manger that night and saved him from freezing. Now, I'll ask you once more, out of respect for the dead, to leave." He fingered his wand meaningfully. "Don't make me duel you at my grandfather's memorial service."

Sirius bristled. "Ha! As if you could. James and I used to thrash you all around the pitch. Remember?"

"Because you fought two and three on one, you yapping mongrel," Severus spat. "But in a fair fight, I used to whip your arse. Or don't you remember?"

Sirius flushed, unwilling to admit he was wrong. "I only wanted to see Harry."

"You've seen him. Now leave, Black. This day has been hard enough for him without you adding to it." He put an arm about Harry, who turned and hugged him.

"Harry, I meant what I said. You have a choice now. You can come and live with me anytime. I'm sorry we got off to a bad start, but I really would like to know you better."

Harry pulled away from Severus. "Mr. Black, I meant what I said too. This is my home.  I'm Harry Snape, and this is my father now. And if you can't accept him, then you can't accept me either. Take it or leave it."

Sirius's shoulders slumped. "You really mean that, don't you?"

"Yes." The green eyes met his gaze firmly. "Blood isn't the only thing that makes a family. I learned that a long time ago."

"All right. If this is how you want it?"

"It is."

"Okay. If I write to you . . .will you at least read my letters?"

"Yes. But only if you quit insulting my father." Harry said pointedly, looking at Severus.

"Agreed." But the other man did not meet his eyes.

"Sev, is there something wrong?" asked Sandra, hurrying over to them.

Severus turned. "No, there's nothing wrong now. Mr. Black was just leaving."

Sirius looked at Sandra. "Who are you?"

"My wife, Sandra, Lady Prince," Severus replied smoothly. "We've just been married."

Sirius gave her a brief bow. "My lady." Then he nodded curtly at Severus and smiled at Harry. "I'll keep in touch, Harry." He turned and walked away towards the section of the lawn where the Headmaster was standing.

"Who was that?" asked a puzzled Sandra.

"My godfather, Sirius Black," answered Harry.

"A bloody pain-in-the-arse," Severus replied at almost the same time.

"Papa, he can't . . .make me live with him, can he?" Harry asked uneasily.

"Not on your life.  No court will agree to let him be your guardian, even if he's been cleared of charges, son."

"Severus, just what is going on here?"

"Black came here to try and talk some nonsense to Harry about him going to live with him because he's his godfather. Utter rubbish!" Severus said dismissively. "Harry told him no and he got in a snit about it. So I told him to leave."

"Will he be trouble?" Sandra looked concerned.

"He'd better not be, if he knows what's good for him." Severus ruffled Harry's hair. Then he looked across the lawn and saw Black and Dumbledore vanish.  "Harry, if he tries to convince you to move in with him again, tell him you've already discussed it and bring the letter to me. Then I'll write him back and tell him if he doesn't quit badgering you, I'll bring him up on harassment charges."

"But does he have a legal right to challenge you, Sev?"

"A slim one, since he was named godfather. But it would fall apart under a review board. My blood adoption is consentual and far more binding. And Black knows it."

"And I don't want to go live with him," Harry said. "He hates Slytherins and he's an idiot. He thinks I should have been in Gryffindor and he called Papa a greasy git."

"He would." Severus sighed.

"Was it true, what he said about you and my other dad?"

"Harry, that's a long story and I'll talk to you later about it. Right now we have guests and they need to be taken care of. I think Auror Moody and Gran Augusta wished to say a short tribute and then we can offer refreshments inside."

"I'll go and tell Lina to start getting the buffet ready," Sandra said, and hurried inside the manor.

 "Come, son. Don't worry about Black. He doesn't have a leg to stand on. His reputation is still in tatters, even with the acquittal, and he has no money, since the Ministry confiscated his vault and spent all the funds on charity, which is what they normally do with convicted criminals. And that means he'll have to find a job in order to support himself pretty quickly. How did he get here anyway? I didn't see his name on my request list."

"He said Dumbledore brought him."

"Figures. Well, if he's going to rely on Dumbledore, he'll be in sorry straits, because Dumbledore's going to be up to his ears in lawsuits as well over the whole mess with the Sorcerer's Stone and Voldemort running free in the school and endangering students' lives." Severus said grimly.

"Is one of them yours?"

"Mine, the Longbottoms, the Zabinis, and many others. I think even the Malfoys brought one against him. But that's something we can discuss later on too. Right now let's just get through the service and honor your grandpa."

"I miss him,Papa."

"Me too. He would have sent Black scurrying away like whipped puppy," Severus said, with just the hint of a smirk.

"You did good, sir," his son said loyally.

Severus smiled down at him, then they went across the lawn to listen to Moody and Augusta reminisce about their days as Aurors with the indomitable Augustus Prince, whose legacy and legend would never fade.  

After the memorial service was finally through, and the last of the guests had returned home, Severus and his family could finally relax and unwind. All of them were still feeling emotionally wrung out and after they had all gotten out of their formal wear and into more comfortable, casual clothing, Severus brewed them tea. He told them it was regular Earl Grey, but it had a Calming Draft mixed in, and he even drank it, knowing they could all use one. The Calming Draft wouldn’t take away their grief, but it would blunt it somewhat and blur the edges, and give them some respite from the aching loss they felt. Right now they needed that.

He had Lina bring in the tea to the drawing room, where Sandra was relaxing on the small divan with her feet up, looking through Witch Weekly, and Harry was petting Warlocke, who was perched on the back of the long sofa. Warlocke was taking his master’s absence hard too, and seemed to welcome the boy’s gentle fingers and soft murmur. Severus walked in just in time to hear Harry say, “You’re a good post owl, aren’t you, boy? And we need you, so don’t be in a hurry to follow Grandpa, okay?”

Severus’s heart nearly broke for the plea in the child’s tone, and he saw Sandra surreptitiously wiping a tear from her eye. My poor son, so young to be preoccupied with death. Now you’re fretting over a melancholy owl. I wish I could have spared you this. But unfortunately, death is a demon we all must face someday. He came over and sat down upon the sofa next to Harry, gently nudging the snoozing Magnus’ bulk out of his way. The dog was sprawled on the rug in front of the sofa and barely woke when Severus prodded him with his slipper.

Valeska was also perched upon the back of the sofa, preening her magnificent snowy wings. “Hello, my beauty,” he crooned to her, using a tone he reserved exclusively for her and no one else.

She butted his hand as he scratched her chest, her golden eyes whirling with affection. He spent a good seven minutes stroking her, before she tucked her head beneath her wing and fell asleep.

Warlocke flew off the sofa then, going to his perch, where Hedwig was also, and allowing the younger owl to groom him. He seemed rather taken with the pretty snowy, and Severus hoped that attraction would sustain the bird and make him wish to live.

Lina arrived with the tea tray and served them. She had also made some small raspberry and currant tarts and Harry ate two of them and drank his tea before leaning back and putting his head in Severus’ lap. He hadn’t done that in a long time, but he craved the contact now. He felt his father’s long fingered hands thread themselves through his hair, and he stretched out on the sofa, rather like his own familiar, who was asleep on his bed upstairs, having fled there when all the guests invaded the house.

Harry felt rather sleepy, but first he had a few questions for Severus. “Papa?”

“Yes?”

“What did Sirius Black mean before, when he said you hated my dad James?”

Severus exhaled softly. He really didn’t want to discuss his childhood and James Potter right then, but he sensed that Harry would keep mulling and fretting himself over it until he developed an ulcer. “When I knew Potter, in school, he was an arrogant bully. He was good looking, rich, and thought he could use his charm and his wicked sense of humor to get out of almost anything. He ran with a gang of pranksters and bullies called the Marauders. Black was one of them, and so was the wizard who betrayed your parents to Voldemort, Pettigrew. The other was a man named Remus Lupin, whom I later discovered was a werewolf . . .”

“They were Gryffindors, right?”

“Yes, and I was a Slytherin and in their eyes that made me the enemy, and fair game for their so-called fun . . .”Severus’s tone darkened. He told Harry the story of his feud with the Marauders and how Lily defended him to them.

Harry frowned. “They sound a bit like Draco Malfoy and his two peabrain friends. Only he doesn’t bother with pulling pranks, he just looks down his nose at people and mocks them. Or at least he did until Professor Malfoy gave him two weeks’ worth of detention for it. Then he shaped up.”

“Potter and Black could have used two months’ worth of detention. But the Headmaster was too lenient with them.”

“He does kinda seem to favor the Gryffindors,” Harry said.

“Mmm . . .yes.”

“I know one Gryffindor he won’t be favoring,” Sandra said sharply. “That rat Pettigrew. I really hope Moody and Shacklebolt capture him and put him away or get him Kissed for good.”

“That or just exterminate him like the vermin he is,” said Severus.

Harry agreed.

After a moment, Severus continued, telling Harry about how Voldemort was rising to power when he was in school and how some Slytherins, like Lucius Malfoy, followed his evil propaganda and tried to recruit others of their House to their cause. “I was one of them. I didn’t want to join him or his little band of cutthroats, but I had to be careful how I refused him, because he had his own band of followers and they could and would have cursed me to death if they thought it was necessary. So I told him I would think about it to buy me time to figure out a way to get free of him without bringing disaster on my head. Lily misunderstood, however, and thought that I was going dark and she refused to be friends with me any longer. That was when she started hanging around your father.”

“Oh. Then what happened with Malfoy?”

“I told him I wasn’t worthy of the honor of joining him and I spent the rest of my time at school studying for exams and NEWTS,” Severus replied. “I was disgusted with everyone and all I wanted was to be left alone to pursue my degree. After seventh year, while your father and mother joined the Order of the Phoenix, a secret movement dedicated to fighting off Voldemort, I went to the Academy and earned my Mastery. By the time I was finished, the war was over because you had managed to defeat Voldemort. And my best friend was dead and I have always regretted not going and contacting her to see if we could have renewed our friendship. I would have forgiven her for her misconception.”

Sandra was just as glad he hadn’t renewed ties with Lily Potter. Otherwise he might have never come to see her as someone who loved him, and still be pining after a woman who had broken his heart.

“Would you have forgiven my dad too?”

“That’s . . .difficult to say. If he had apologized to me for what he did to me during school, then yes, I would have been willing to let bygones be bygones. But I broke all ties with my classmates when I left school and so I’ll never know. But as I said to Black, how I felt about James Potter has nothing to do with you. The sins of the fathers aren’t visited upon the children, and you are your own person, Harry. My son, whom I love.”

“I’m glad it was you who found me after my horrid aunt and uncle abandoned me,” Harry said sincerely. “I just wish Grandpa were here so I could tell him that.”

“You know, Harry, a part of him is still here. His portrait hangs in his study and would be willing to talk to you.” Severus reminded him. “The portrait . . .it has many of his memories and personality. It may help you if you speak with it.”

“Can he move around the manor, like the portraits at school?”

“I don’t know. I suppose if there’s an empty frame for him to go into, then yes. You could ask him that, if you’d like.”

Harry gnawed his lower lip. He knew he couldn’t avoid going into the study and seeing the portrait forever. And he was troubled about meeting his godfather and afraid that if he opened a relationship with him, it might cause problems between himself and Severus, and that was the last thing he wanted. If Augustus had been alive, Harry knew he could have gone to the old Auror and talked to him about this new turn of events. “All right,” he agreed. “Maybe I’ll ask him later. I’m sort of tired right now.”

“Why don’t you sleep then?”

“In my room? Or can I stay here?”

“If I wanted you to move, I would have said so,” his father answered simply.

Harry felt himself start to drift and then he fell asleep.

He was soon followed by Severus and Sandra, for they were worn out with the day’s events and the Calming Draught usually had a soporific effect upon people.

* * * * * *

When Harry woke again, both of his parents were still slumbering peacefully. After slipping off the couch, and using the bathroom, he made his way upstairs to the study. He paused before the door, his fingernails digging into his palms, as he slowly gathered the courage to enter the room. As a small child, he had been forbidden to enter the study without permission, later when he was ten he had been allowed to enter it to fetch certain things Augustus needed, such as a book or quill and ink. Still, the old habit was ingrained in him and so he froze on the threshold, and he had to work up courage to disregard that early training and his reluctance to go and face the portrait before he entered the room.

The spelled lights came on as soon as he set foot in the room and he went and looked up at the almost life-size portrait of the late Augustus Prince, which dominated the wall behind the chair and desk. The portrait faced the study door, so he could see all who came and went from the room. The portrait looked so lifelike it almost seemed as though it could step from the canvas.

The frame was an elegant scrollwork mahogany with a brass nameplate that read: Augustus Prince, Lord of Foxfire Hall February 14, 1887-June 20, 1992. In it, Augustus was wearing his familiar silver robes with the family crest upon the left shoulder and his beryl cabochon. Every detail had been captured, including the gray about the temples and shrewd sparkle in his eyes.

The portrait had been dozing with his head on his hand until Harry entered and the lights came on. Then he awoke and looked directly at Harry. “Hello, Henry,” he greeted.

Harry froze, his heart beating hysterically. The voice was the same, the eyes were the same, even the soft smile was the same. And the Augustus portrait addressed him the same way his great-grandfather always had, insisting on the formal Henry. It was a form of address he had never expected to hear again. It was almost as if Augustus lived again.

He began to cry, sniffling, unable to respond. He quickly shut the door, not wanting anyone to interrupt him.

Augustus the portrait looked distressed. “There now, lad, I know it’ll take a long time for you to get used to this . . .the fact that I’m here and yet not . . .”

Harry just nodded, gulping hard. He wiped his face with the handkerchief he had taken to carrying in his pocket since he had learned of Augustus’ death. “Is it . . . really you in there, Grandpa?” he half-whispered.

“Who else would it be?” asked the portrait softly. “I am a magical repository for the memories and some of the personality of Augustus Prince. I was made so that you and Severus would still be able to ask advice and discuss things with me that I hadn’t had time to teach you in life. Such as things about Elemental Magic and managing an estate and so forth. I’m sorry if I’m upsetting you. Perhaps it was too soon for you to visit me.”

Harry shook his head, blinking hard and blowing his nose. “No, Grandpa. I needed . . .to talk to you about something. It’s just . . .hearing you say my name, hearing your voice . . .it makes me miss you and at the same time I’m glad too . . .I must sound like a headcase . . .”

Augustus chuckled. “No, you sound like a boy who misses his grandfather. And for that I’m glad, because it means I guess I wasn’t such a strict old buzzard after all, even if I did wallop you with my ruler.”

Harry managed a small smile. “I deserved that. And I’ll always miss you, but I’m glad you’re a portrait.”

“Good. What’s on your mind, Henry?”

“Uh . . .well, during the memorial service we just had, I met a man named Sirius Black, he said he was named my godfather . . .”

“Sirius Black? The murderer?” Augustus cried, aghast.

“He was framed, Grandpa. That came out when the Aurors viewed the memories you’d taken from Voldemort.” Harry told him what had really happened and then went on to detail what he had said to Harry during the service.

“Let me get this straight. He came to the service to pay his respects because I saved his arse from being interred in Azkaban with my information gathering and yet he still thinks ill of Severus and wants you to come and live with him because he doesn’t think you belong here?” Augustus snorted. “Humph! The man has major issues here. I think being stuck in Azkaban has given him a bit of a complex.”

“Yes. But I kind of feel bad for him, because he was sent to jail for something he never did.”

“True. That was wrong. Funny, but now that I think back on it, I don’t think he was ever tried for killing Pettigrew and those thirteen Muggles or for betraying his oath as Secret Keeper. It was all rather sudden and pushed under the rug. Very odd. I’m surprised Dumbledore didn’t defend his former Gryffindor student.”

“That is strange. But even though I feel bad for him, I sure don’t want to up and live with him, even if it was what my dad James had planned for me. I kept telling him that I was a Snape now and my home was here and he got mad and started insulting Papa. And nobody does that, I don’t care if he’s my godfather or not.”

Augustus applauded. “Good for you, Henry. Always stick up for your family. I think Mr. Black is feeling mighty bitter and resentful over losing all those years and time getting to know you, and I can understand that, but he needs to learn to control his tongue and not bite the hand that’s fed his godson all these years.”

“Papa told me how it was for him in school, they fought all the time—” Harry explained about the Marauders.

“Pack of rascals and scoundrels,” said Augustus disapprovingly. “There were some like that in my schooldays too. There’s only two things to do with bullies, Henry. Either give them a taste of their own medicine so they back off or pretend they don’t exist. Either they’ll learn better and grow up or they’ll stay bullies until an Auror arrests them for assault. I’d say your dad learned better and hopefully Mr. Black has too, though if he’s still reverting to name-calling he’s got a bit more growing up to do.”

“He wants to write me and get to know me better, but I don’t know what I should do. If I agree, I don’t want him to think he can persuade me to leave my family and I don’t want Papa to be upset or uncomfortable either.”

“Hmmm . . .I’d say you need to make up your mind, young Henry, if you wish to allow Sirius to be a part of your life, even if it’s in a small way. If you do, you need to tell the man straight out how it’s got to be, no two ways about it. Respect you, respect your family, and that’s it. Seems to me like he expects you to be like his best friend James and you need to tell him that you might be the man’s son, but you’re not his copy. He needs to accept you for who you are, Slytherin, a Snape, and proud of it.”

“I know. I think . . .I think he was expecting me to just . . .come with him and maybe I might have done that if I was still living with the Dursleys or in an orphanage or something, but I could never leave Foxfire Hall, or all of you. I wouldn’t even if a court granted him custody over me. I’d run away first chance I got and come straight back here.”

“Henry, no court would do that,” Augustus reassured him. “You’ve been named the Prince heir. And no one could take you from Foxfire Hall because of the wards. As for Severus, he wants what makes you happy. He hasn’t forbid you to write to your godfather, has he?”

“No.”

“Then you needn’t worry that he’ll be angry with you over it. He would have told you by now. He might not like the man but there’s no law that says you have to like all of your son’s friends. Or your daughter’s.”

“I just don’t want to cause trouble for him, not now . . .not after . . .”

“Yes, I see. Why don’t you wait a week or two before you contact your godfather again? Give him time to adjust to being out in the real world again and yourself time to consider what’s best for you. No need to rush.”

“All right. I’ll do that. Thanks, Grandpa.”

“Anytime, my Henry. Anytime.”

The boy stared at the portrait wistfully. “I wish . . .I wish I could hug you.”

Augustus smiled sadly. “Yes, I wish that too. But I’m only magic paint and canvas now.”

“I know.” But the need was still there, all squished and achy inside him, and suddenly he just needed to hold something warm and soft. “Goodbye, Grandpa,” he called, waving at the portrait. “I’ll see you later.”

Then he was gone from the study, slipping down the hall to his room, where he sat on his bed and cuddled a sleepy calico cat and allowed a few tears to fall into her fur. He wondered if he would ever be free of this terrible longing, free of guilt and tears.

He dozed, and in his semi-aware state, heard Severus and Sandra enter the bedroom and caught bits and pieces of their hushed words.

“ . . .must have fallen asleep up here.” Sandra murmured.

“ . . .think we should wake him for dinner?” queried Severus.

“ . . .maybe he’s hungry . . .”

He felt a hand shake his shoulder. “Harry. Harry, wake up.”

He reluctantly opened an eye. “Huh?”

“It’s time for supper. Would you like to come down and eat dinner?”

“M’tired.” Harry groaned.

“All right. Go back to sleep.” Severus said, and then Harry felt a light tap and his clothes Transfigured into pajamas.

“Don’t forget his shoes, Sev.”

“I wasn’t,” came his father’s voice, and he felt his sneakers gently tugged off and a light blanket draped over him.

Then they were gone and Harry snuggled deeper into his pillow, the cat’s weight warm upon his chest and fell asleep.

When he awoke, sometime around ten o’clock at night, he was ravenous. “Lina,” he called softly.

She appeared in the room. “Yes, Master Harry?”

“Could you, uh, bring me some cereal and toast with jam, please?”

“Certainly,” she smiled and patted his cheek. “You need to eat.”

She returned a moment later with his request and he thanked her and fell on the food like a starving wolf.

* * * * * *

One week later:

In the week that followed, Severus was very busy trying to keep up with all the various organizations that Augustus had funded and donated to as well as meetings with the goblins of Gringotts to finalize a trust fund for Harry and making out a first draft of a will which named Harry as his primary heir, with provisions made for any other children he might have as well. In addition to that, he was required to attend certain fundraisers like the St. Mungos Childrens’ Fund and accept awards posthumously on his grandfather’s behalf. Soon the study was lined with plaques and silver bowls and goblets on various shelves and each time he brought home something else, Augustus’ portrait would make a face and groan, “Not another one, Severus! Merlin’s glory, but they never liked me this much when I was alive, I swear it.”

“You know what they say, Grandfather,” Severus drawled. “Dead, you’re a hero, alive, you’re a pain in the arse.”

Augustus’ portrait snickered. “Ah, yes. How are you holding up?”

Severus shrugged slightly. “As well as can be expected.” He was actually exhausted, he hadn’t realized just how many social engagements his grandfather had to attend as Lord Prince.

“You look a bit peaked, are you getting enough sleep?”

“More than I used to brewing rounds of potions for Smithers.”

“Get some rest, Severus. And don’t neglect that pretty wife of yours. You don’t have to do everything in one week, you know.”

“I . . .I don’t know how you did it all,” the other admitted.

“I spaced it out. If some organization asks you to be a speaker and you already have three of them lined up for that week, tell the other one to change the date to a more convenient time. They’ll do it for you if they really want you to advertise their franchise. You need to prioritize those meetings so they don’t run you into the ground.”

“I’ll have to set up an appointment calendar then,” Severus said.

“Yes. And if things conflict you can always reschedule.” Augustus advised.

“Thank you, Grandfather.”

“You are most welcome, son,” said the portrait, smiling. “Don’t fret, you’ll do fine. I have every confidence in your abilities.”

That made Severus feel a whole lot better, for he had been starting to think he was totally wrong to be the heir to the Prince holdings. But the portrait’s words to him restored his self-confidence and he began to see pathways out of the quagmire of social engagements thrust upon him.

Harry had been spending a great deal of his time sitting beside Augustus’ memorial stone, which had been set at the foot of the pond, surrounded by rose bushes and wisteria and Dudley had even sent a potted lily to put there as a condolence gift, along with a card saying how sorry he was that Harry had lost his great-grandfather so suddenly. The card had been signed from both Dursleys and Harry was touched that they had done such a thoughtful thing. He had carefully planted the lily in front of the memorial stone, which was carved of the finest Italian marble. Upon the stone was Augustus’ name, birth and death dates and the family motto, plus the words Always in our hearts, never to be forgotten.

Recalling Augustus’ last words, Harry often came and sat beside the stone, his hands touching the lush black earth and trying to feel a sense of peace and contentment. Magnus usually accompanied him, lying patiently in the sun until Harry had enough of meditating and being still and played fetch and Find-the-Hidden-Object with him.

Sometimes Harry talked aloud to the stone, telling it things that had occurred that day. If part of his grandfather’s spirit lingered in the earth, he wanted to keep the old man current on what was going on in the world.

“Today they arrested Peter Pettigrew finally,” he announced to the still water and the sundappled grass. “They found him hidden in the Weasleys, he was posing as a family pet all this time. Percy Weasley figured it was him on account of his missing toe and the fact that some of Voldemort’s memories revealed that he was an Animagus whose form was a rat. He put the rat in a cage and brought him to the Auror Headquarters and they made him change back and then they stuck him in jail until his trial, which will be tomorrow. I really hope they give him the Kiss.”

The next day he returned to the memorial and spoke about Wormtail’s trial, and how the court had displayed a Pensieve for the members of the wizard council to view as evidence that Peter was a known follower of Voldemort and had both betrayed the Potters and Sirius Black.

“They even showed in the Pensieve how Voldemort Marked his followers,” Harry said. “He held a ceremony at the dark of the moon, and all his inner circle were present, wearing the robe and the mask and they all waited in a circle, while Voldemort took Peter’s arm and traced the skull and the snake upon his forearm and chanted, “Mosmorde!” Then there was a hissing sound, like when you put a wet spatula on a hot griddle and the Mark was burned into Wormtail’s arm and he screamed because the Mark not only burned his arm but it opened a connection in his mind with Moldy Voldy too. Ugh! Just the thought of having him in my head makes me sick.” The boy shuddered. “They found out he took the Mark right after he finished school, because he wanted power and was sick of not getting anywhere in life. He envied James and Sirius and the werewolf . . .Lupin, I think his name was. He wanted what they had, fame and fortune and respect, and he thought this was the best way to get it. He admitted he was glad that he killed my parents and tried to kill Sirius, because they had always thought he was weak and pitied him. But as Voldemort’s assassin he had fear and respect. Only he never counted on his Dark Lord dying twice.”

The court ruled that Peter was to receive the Dementor’s Kiss for his crimes and be left in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Afterwards he would be burnt and his remains placed in an unmarked grave.

Harry would have thrown a party with Nev and Blaise if he hadn’t been so melancholy still.

* * * * * *

That same day:

Sirius Black set aside the morning edition of the Prophet after he had read it from cover to cover. He was currently living at Grimmauld Place, having gotten it restored to him by the Ministry. The house had needed a thorough cleaning and airing out after having been shut up for so long, but he had managed to get a sulky Kreacher to do a good job, at least so he wasn’t breathing in dust motes every time he sat down on a piece of furniture.

He had also gotten most of the confiscated bank funds back from the Ministry Board of Commerce, enough to live off of comfortably for the next five or six years if he was careful. They had also said they would try and pay back the rest over a period of ten years, since some of the money was now tied up in grants for charities and Sirius wouldn’t want to take food from the mouths of widows and orphans, now would he? Sirius told them he would wait, he didn’t want any kind of unsavory reputation being attached to him now that he was finally free of the shackles of Azkaban. At least the Black fortune was being put to a good use, he reflected, shutting the paper and picking up the letter he had just received from a Great Horned owl.

He was glad that Wormtail would suffer the full penalty of the law, for he certainly deserved it, although Sirius would have been happy to tear out his throat in his dog form and make an end of him that way.

“All right, Dart, let’s see who wrote me,” he spoke to his small gray owl, which he had recently purchased from Eeylops.

The parchment was crisp and new and bore the seal of the Prince family crest.

“Harry,” he cried happily.

But as he began reading, he soon learned the letter was not from his godson.

Dear Mr. Black,

We met briefly at the memorial service of Augustus Prince, though you may not remember me. I am Sandra Snape, Harry’s stepmother, though I do not like using that term and Harry considers me a surrogate mother, as he does not remember his real one.

I am writing to you in regards to your rather shocking petition you put to Harry that day. Perhaps you didn’t realize what kind of turmoil you caused with your request, how much you have upset poor Harry, who was already upset enough by the loss of his beloved great-grandfather. Harry has come to terms with the fact that though he was not born a Snape, he is a Snape by blood adoption, as well as the heir to both the Prince holdings and the Potter fortune, which my husband secured for him, removing it from the mismanagement of Albus Dumbledore. He had control of the vault for years and had been sending money to the Dursleys, Harry’s relatives, who threw him in a manger when he was seventeen months old and left him to die, and then continued scamming money from Dumbledore for two more years before declaring Harry missing and presumed dead by a Muggle kidnapper. We have since gotten control of the vault back and gotten the Dursleys punished for what they did to Harry. Had Dumbledore been more alert and checked up on Harry even once after he left him with those . . .creatures, he would have found they were totally unfit guardians and Harry could have been removed from their care. But that did not happen and Harry nearly died, but for my husband.

Whether or not you like Severus, the fact remains that he was the one who saved a baby that night and raised him as if he were his own child. For years Harry knew only him as a loving father and provider and Augustus as his grandfather. He grew up safe and loved and given everything any child could need or want at Foxfire Hall. Who knows what might have become of him otherwise? They kept his true parentage a secret in order to ensure that he was not a pawn of prophecy and the manipulations of Albus Dumbledore, who regarded a child as some kind of savior and wished him to fight and kill a powerful dark wizard—Voldemort.

We did not believe in the prophecy, for slaying one such as that is not a task for a child, but a grown man who is skilled in the arts of war. Thus he was hidden away and kept safe, we did not reveal his identity even at school. Dumbledore only learned of it when Harry faced Voldemort and nearly died from it. Now you know as well and I would ask you to keep it secret if you have any care for your godson’s wellbeing.

The Dark Lord may be destroyed, but his followers are still at large and any of them would kill Harry if they knew who he truly was.

Please consider Harry’s feelings before you attempt to contact him and remember that you owe Augustus Prince a debt and can repay it best by thinking about what is best for Harry. Harry loves Severus and has his love in return, as he does mine. Trying to make him reject Severus will only hurt him deeply and show you to be petty and mean spirited. You ought to be glad that your godson grew up the way he did, and thank my husband for raising the son of his rival like one of his own. If it had been you, who had to raise Severus’ son by chance, how well would YOU have done?

I understand that because of an injustice you feel you have lost your chance to know your godson, but that is not the case. Severus and I have no objection to you writing letters to Harry so long as you don’t try and degrade his family. I know that you wish things had been different, but sometimes life doesn’t go according to plan, and now you must face facts. Your godson knows only your reputation as a convict who was acquitted, Severus has never spoken of you until recently, and then only to explain why you and he did not get along in school. Your behavior then and now at the memorial service has not made Harry trust you, so I would suggest you think about making amends with my husband before you attempt to have any sort of relationship with Harry.

Yes, Mr. Black, I am asking you to be an adult and to apologize for your mistakes both then and now. That will show Harry that you at least are trying to tolerate his family and also that you can admit you did wrong and wish to make amends. Above all, I am asking you to put a child first and not yourself.

Ask yourself this—were you in Harry’s place, and a stranger came to you and demanded you leave the only family you had known and loved and come and live with him and then insulted your family besides, what would you do? I am surprised Harry is even willing to speak with you after the way you spoke about his father.

You knew my husband as a poor outcast boy with patched robes and secondhand books whom you singled out as an easy mark for pranks and bullying, but he is that no longer. Severus Snape is a respected and accredited Master in his field, awarded several times the title Best Potion Maker in Britain and Europe, his name is a byword in the magical community for excellence. He is also now Lord Prince, for his grandfather named him his heir, and the inheritor of both his fortune and title and his Elemental magic as well. Severus is a Water Master. He is also a wonderful father and husband.

That is the Severus Snape I know.

Think about that, Mr. Black, before you insult my husband again.

Remember to whom you owe your freedom, and be careful whom you trust. Albus Dumbledore stood by and let you be hauled off to prison without a trial, or even an attempt at an investigation. Have you ever asked him why? Perhaps you should do so. Even the guilty deserve a trial and had they put you under Veritaserum, you never would have gone to Azkaban, and Harry would have come to you instead of those rotten Dursleys. Food for thought, eh?

You say you love your godson and would give your life for him. So would we. Now do the right thing, and consider what I’ve said before writing to Harry. Because if you hurt him in any way, I will make you wish a Dementor Kissed you.

Sincerely,

Sandra Snape, Lady Prince

As Sirius read he found himself first annoyed then grudgingly admitting she was right and finally he had to whistle softly in admiration for the loyalty and sheer guts the witch possessed. He could almost wish he had met her first, for clearly she was a force to be reckoned with. You are one lucky bastard, Snape. That kind of woman comes along once in a lifetime. He sipped his coffee and re-read the letter again, mulling over what she had said and coming to the realization that he had behaved like a fool at the service, and worse besides.

He recalled his schooldays and how he, James, and Wormtail used to taunt Severus and say he would end up begging on the street corner for food when he was done with school and didn’t he look the part already? Now it seemed Snape had had the last laugh and the joke was on him.

He sighed and considered that this was his second chance, which most people never get, and for once he wanted to be smart and not screw it up. He wanted his godson in his life, and he felt ashamed that he had started things off on the wrong foot. Now he would have to try and make amends, even if it meant swallowing his pride and apologizing to Severus Snape.

He Summoned some parchment and a quill and ink to the table and began to write.

* * * * * *

Severus just stared at the letter in his hand the next morning. “Well, I’ll be damned. Wonders will never cease,” he said.

“Who was the letter from, Papa?” asked Harry.

“Your godfather. He actually apologized to me after all these years.” Severus said, a note of wonder creeping into his voice. He handed the letter to Harry, who took it and began to read it, while Severus picked up his copy of the Prophet.

Both men had their noses buried in their respective reading materials and so missed Sandra’s secret smirk that she wore. Apparently, you could teach an old dog new tricks after all.

The headlines in the Prophet that day read as follows:

Hogwarts Staff Under Investigation! Headmaster and Medi-Witch Brought In For Questioning and Pending Lawsuit!

By Robin Archer

As a direct result of the events on June 20th, 1992, the Ministry of Magic has ordered Magical Law Enforcement to investigate the incident involving three first-year-students, Harry Snape, Neville Longbottom, and Blaise Zabini, who faced an incarnation of the dark wizard Tom Riddle. Riddle, it is now known, infiltrated Hogwarts to gain possession of the powerful Sorcerer’s, also known as Philosopher’s Stone, which would have granted him immortality had he succeeded. His nefarious deed was brought to a screeching halt by the timely discovery of Zabini and Snape, who had noticed something off with their best friend Longbottom, who it was later revealed had been under an Imperius Curse. They followed their friend down into a secret passage beneath the school and discovered Riddle trying to retrieve said object, and managed to thwart him. Later, Riddle fled and was destroyed by Augustus Prince, but not before he had seriously injured Lord Prince’s great-grandson and friends. In an attempt to cover up his negligence and foolish decision to remove the Stone from its former safe hiding place and hide it inside Hogwarts, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore delayed informing Harry Snape’s father and grandfather of his grave injury and ordered Poppy Pomfrey, the school medi-witch, to wait until he gave her permission to inform the family. Despite her better judgment, Pomfrey obeyed, and both have been brought in for questioning and charged with negligence and possible involuntary manslaughter. One shudders to think what could have happened had not Professor Zandra Malfoy obeyed her conscience and contacted the Snape family. In light of this near tragedy, charges have been brought against the Headmaster for reckless endangerment of children and the breaking of Hogwarts’ code 105—Headmaster shall not knowingly bring or allow into the school premises any creature, object, or person that can pose a threat or loss of life to students under his care. Families who have pending lawsuits against Professor Dumbledore are as follows: the Prince family, by Lord Prince, the Longbottom Family, by Augusta Longbottom, Auror Ret., the Zabini family, by Marco Zabini, Potions Master, the Malfoy family, by Narcissa Malfoy, the Granger family, by Dr. Nicholas Granger . . .hearing to be scheduled in two days. Possible sentences to include suspension of medical license for Pomfrey and loss of positions of Headmaster and Head of Wizengamut and prison sentence for Albus Dumbledore. What a sorry end to what appeared to be an illustrious career.

Severus looked over the top of his paper at his wife. “I should be receiving a summons regarding this any day now, so that I can give a deposition to the barrister.”

“I figured as much. Will they wish to speak with me as well?”

“I don’t know. I suppose they may, if they feel a second witness is needed to confirm my story.”

Harry had finished reading Sirius’ letter by then and asked, “May I be excused, Papa?”

Severus glanced at Harry’s plate, relieved to see most of the boy’s breakfast eaten. “Yes. What are your plans for today, son? Will you go flying?”

“I might. After I write a letter to Sirius.”

“Good. Don’t forget to pick up your room beforehand,” Severus reminded.

“I won’t,” his son promised, then went upstairs.

After sending the letter off with Hedwig some ten minutes later, he hopped on his broom and flew for an hour before going into the study to inform the portrait of the news of the day.

* * * * * *

Two days later

Ministry of Magic:

Severus Snape, Lord Prince, sat quietly in the back of the courtroom, listening to the hearing with a slightly jaded expression. Despite the evidence against him, Severus feared that Dumbledore would work some of his famous charm upon the Wizengamut and somehow get himself declared not guilty. There had been a time when no Wizard council ever assembled would have convicted the old wizard of any sort of misdemeanor, even if they saw him do it with their own eyes. But the Headmaster’s star was falling and with the defeat of Voldemort by Augustus, Severus’ charge held quite a bit of clout, more than even he knew. Add to that the suits of the other powerful families involved and it was like an avalanche.

The Council had already ruled that Madame Pomfrey was to be forgiven for not summoning Harry’s family immediately when it became known that his life might be in danger because of coercion by the Headmaster, she had actually been put under a lesser Command Charm without knowing. So the Council fined her 100 Galleons and suspended her license for three months, which was only the rest of the summer and part of September. It was a relatively light sentence compared to what she might have gotten had Harry died while under her care.

She had publically apologized to the families of all three boys and personally begged Severus’ forgiveness during the intermission between her hearing and Albus’. She had practically thrown herself at his feet, startling the stoic Prince Patriarch half to death. “Please, Poppy, you have no need to . . .humiliate yourself this way.” He said, gently helping her to rise. “I know you were bewitched and you are as much a victim as my son. Hopefully this hearing will make certain this never happens again.”

“I just . . .to think that he could do such a thing . . .I trusted him, my lord Prince,” Poppy sniffled, blowing her nose upon a handkerchief he handed her. “I always thought he knew best, that what he did, he did for the greater good . . .”

Severus’ mouth twisted. “The road to hell is paved with good intentions, Madam Pomfrey. There are times I wonder if he deliberately placed Harry on the Dursleys’ doorstep so he would grow up ignorant of all things magical and thus be an easy mark to manipulate later on.”

“But he always claimed he felt relatives could raise Harry best and that there were blood wards set about the property.”

“You have seen for yourself how well his relatives raised him, Poppy,” said Severus sharply. “As for blood wards, when I went to Privet Drive, I checked for them after Petunia and Vernon were arrested. I found none. If they were ever there, they dissolved because there was no family bond between Petunia Dursley and her nephew. Blood alone cannot make a ward function. There must also be a willingness to protect and love or else the ward shall fail.”

Poppy shook her head angrily. “To think, once I thought he was a great man!”

“Perhaps once he was, before he allowed his pride and obsession with prophecy to blind him to all save his own interpretation of a boy’s destiny.” Severus replied. “As he was once blinded by his love for Grindelwald, whom he allowed to live and who later became Riddle’s tutor in the Dark Arts.”

“I . . .did not know that!” she exclaimed.

“Neither did I,” commented Sirius, who had also decided to attend the hearing, after reading the Prophet. He had not known half of what had gone on that night, and when he discovered the extent of Dumbledore’s cover up, he was furious. “I always thought Grindelwald was defeated and died in Azkaban.”

“No. That came out during the questioning. He admitted under Veritaserum that he allowed his former lover and friend to go free and used Polyjuice Potion upon one of Grindelwald’s loyal followers to send him to Azkaban in Grindelwald’s place. The other wizard agreed, he was dying anyway, and so Grindelwald escaped, living to tutor Voldemort before his student killed him. Oh yes, the “mercy” of Albus Dumbledore is astonishing, is it not?”

They followed him back into the Court of the Star Chamber, and listened as the Minister read the verdict.

“Based upon the evidence submitted by key witnesses under oath and your own admission under Veritaserum that you did knowingly remove the Sorcerer’s Stone from its safe vault in Gringotts Bank and hide it within Hogwarts School upon a supposition that it may have been a target of Death Eaters, in which case the safest place for it would have been Gringotts Bank. In doing so you placed the lives and wellbeing of your students, whom you were sworn to protect, in grave and unnecessary danger. You also hired one Quirinius Quirrell, a wizard with a suspect past who dabbled in voodoo and dark curses, as your Defense teacher, and failed to note the suspicious behavior of said teacher, who stuttered and babbled continuously in class and never taught students the basics of his curriculum and who showed classic signs of possession with his muscle spasms and twitches and sudden odd lapses of memory. Surely such an accredited wizard as yourself should have recognized those signs and had Quirrell watched. Instead you allowed him free run of your school and made him a protector of the very object he was seeking, ignoring numerous complaints by staff and students that he was incompetent and ought to be sacked. You also admit that you were hoping to lure Tom Riddle into a trap with the Stone as bait, further endangering said students. When Voldemort escaped your trap, you failed to inform law enforcement of this fact and failed to send the children home to safety. Lastly, you allowed a gravely injured child to be without comfort of family for over twenty-four hours and prevented your medi-witch from doing her duty by informing Harry Snape’s family immediately, committing the crime of neglect and causing a minor undue pain and suffering because you believed the child to be a Horcrux and therefore better off dead. Such actions are a direct violation of your oath to protect and defend the students under your care which you swore as Headmaster.”

Gasps of horror followed this statement, and Sirius half rose to his feet, his eyes glittering. “That miserable bugger! I ought to—!”

Severus grabbed his arm. “Sit down, Black! For once let justice be served.”

“As it was served to me?”

“Hush!”

The Minister continued. “It is the judgment of this Council that you are guilty of all charges and shall pay the Prince family a sum of 1000 Galleons and 500 Galleons to the Longbottom and Zabini families and the same amount to the Malfoy and Granger families. You are further stripped of your titles of Chief Warlock and Headmaster and shall serve a period of no less than ten and no more than twenty-five years in Azkaban. This court is adjourned.”

Severus breathed a sigh of relief when no mention of the fact that Harry Snape was Harry Potter had been spoken of in the verdict. He did not know how Dumbledore had managed to avoid blurting that out, unless he had Obliviated the knowledge from his mind beforehand. For that, at least, he was grateful.

“Satisfied, Black?” he queried, rising from his seat.

“Yes, but I’d still like to kill him,” Sirius growled. “I heard they brought Lucius Malfoy in for questioning this morning.”

Severus nodded. “Yes, and I’m sure we’ll be reading the results of that little question and answer session in the evening edition of the paper.”

He began to make his way out of the courtroom, only to run smack into a crowd of people all blocking the Ministry courtyard.

“What in bloody blazes!” He muttered.

He was just about to start shoving a path through when he heard a newsie yelling, “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Lucius Malfoy’s Revelation that Harry Snape is really Harry Potter! Confession Under Veritaserum! Get your copy here!”

Severus froze. Then he swore furiously. “Bloody damn Malfoy! I should have known he’d sing like a bloody canary first chance he got!”

Sirius just shook his head. “Any chance you can just say he lied?”

“Confession under Veritaserum, Black. The cat’s out of the bag now.”

Within minutes someone recognized them and they were surrounded by reporters all thrusting quills and recorder globes in their face.

“Lord Prince, how did you manage to keep the fact that you were raising Harry Potter a secret all these years?” demanded Rita Skeeter.

“By keeping my mouth shut,” Severus growled. This was all he bloody needed!

She turned to Sirius. “Mr. Black, as Harry Potter’s godfather, will you now be gaining custody of him?”

Severus felt his heart still, and he waited for Sirius to answer.

The other wizard cleared his throat. “No. Harry is perfectly fine where he is, and I will not force him to leave the only family he has known. He is blood-adopted by Lord Prince and that’s how he will stay.”

The reporters all stared in shock and then began scribbling frantically.

Severus remained silent for a good five seconds before turning to the other wizard and saying, “Thank you, Black. I never would have thought you had it in you.”

“You learn something new every day, Snape. Consider it partial payment for me being an ass all those years. And because Harry loves you.”

Severus nodded. “I still don’t like you, Black, but for the sake of my son . . .you can meet us at Diagon Alley next weekend and take Harry for ice cream.”

“I don’t like you either, but I’ll call a truce for Harry’s sake. And I’ll see you Saturday next, Lord Prince.” Then he bowed to Severus and Apparated away.

It was a moment before Severus could free himself of the crush of reporters to Apparate himself back to Foxfire Hall, where he broke the news to Sandra and Harry.

They took it rather well, all things considered, including the verdict in the Headmaster’s case. Both Snapes were delighted at Sirius’ show of support and then Sandra said, “Sev, sit down. There’s something I have to tell you.”

“What’s wrong, love?” he asked uneasily, sensing that she was nervous.

“It’s a bit early to tell for sure, but . . .I think you’re going to be a father again, my lord Prince.”

“Mum, you’re pregnant?” Harry exclaimed.

“According to the Conception potion I just took, yes.” She looked at her husband, who appeared as if he had taken a Bludger to the head. “Sev? Aren’t you . . .going to say anything?”

Severus blinked and opened his mouth.

Then Hotspur popped into the drawing room, grinning broadly from ear to ear. “Milord, milady, Master Harry!” he practically shouted. “A . . .a miracle has occurred! My Lina has quickened with child! I’m going to be a father! I’m so happy!” Then he burst into tears.

The Snapes just stared at him.

Then Severus said, “Merlin help me, two pregnant females!”

“Severus!” Sandra smacked him on the top of the head. “Is that all you have to say?”

He smirked at her. “That and thank you, Sandra my heart.” He pulled her to him and kissed her. Then he added, smirking, “I think.”

She promptly gave him another swat.

Harry patted Hotspur on the back and congratulated him. “But Hotspur, how did it happen? Err . . .I mean . . .I thought you and Lina couldn’t have kids.”

“That’s why it’s a miracle, young master,” said the elf reverently. “After all these centuries finally an elfkin of my own!”

Harry caught him before he fainted. “Here, Hotspur. Sit next to Papa. You can see which of you passes out first. I’m going to tell Grandpa’s portrait.” He placed the elf next to Severus and turned to bolt.

But he wasn’t quite fast enough to avoid the playful swat Severus dealt him. “Hey! What was that for?” he cried, rubbing his backside.

“For being a disrespectful brat. You’d better set a good example for your little brother or sister, Henry Snape.”

“Of course, Papa,” Harry said solemnly. He began backing slowly out of the room. “I’ll teach the kid everything I know . . .including how to drive you crazy!” he added, then he bolted for the safety of Augustus’ study, laughing.

“Oh, Lord Severus,” groaned Hotspur. “I think we’re in serious trouble.”

“You can say that again, Hotspur. So much for peace and quiet.”

“But at least our children will grow up in a world free of Voldemort and those like him someday,” Sandra pointed out, hugging him.

“Very true,” her husband remarked, and kissed her again. “At least there’s peace on earth again.” Then he wondered how long it would last. A moment later he banished that thought from his mind, for he had more important things to think about. Like the fact that Foxfire Hall was about to become a nursery. He prayed Sandra’s pregnancy was an easy one and she was delivered safely and so was Lina. He also hoped the child within her was a girl, for he thought a girl wouldn’t be half as hard to deal with, and he would love to see Harry with a little sister.

“Then Hotspur comes in right after Mum tells us she’s expecting and he says Lina is too,” Harry related the good news to Augustus.

“Well, well.” Augustus chuckled. “At long last, their marriage has borne fruit.”

“How’d it happen, Grandpa? I thought Lina and Hotspur were too old to have a baby.” Harry asked, sitting crosslegged in the big leather desk chair.

The portrait looked thoughtful. “Henry, there are many things that are unexplainable in this world. It is a known fact that house elves do not conceive easily. None of the Fair Folk do. I believe it has something to do with their long lifespans. A race that lives centuries does not need to produce offspring as often as, say, we humans do. Because of that, however, they cherish their children, and regard each birth as a wonderful celebration. In Lina and Hotspur’s case . . .I think I know what happened to cause her to “quicken” as the elves put it.”

“What, Grandpa?”

“The sacrifice I made when fighting Voldemort,” answered the old sorcerer. “I used all of my magic in my Final Strike, and once it did what it was meant to, there was a residue that drifted down over the land, and the leftover Elemental magic infused itself within the air and the earth, the water and the fire. You’ve heard of residual magic before, haven’t you, Henry?”

“Umm . . .yes, I think so. That’s the magic that a place has absorbed after years of magic being done there, like in a temple or a graveyard.”

“Right. And this land has been the abode of magic users for centuries. When I faced Voldemort, I called upon all the magic within it to aid me, and then with my sacrifice, the magic returned to the land. Because I used the magic for a good purpose, it infused the land with life. Lina and Hotspur are magically attuned to the land because of their nature, and Lina absorbed the magic into her being, and it enabled her to conceive. At least, that is my theory.”

“It makes sense though,” his great-grandson said. “I’m happy for them. They’ve always wanted a child of their own.”

“As am I. It makes me glad, that I could give them that, for all the centuries of service they have done for me and for this family.” Augustus said, smiling. “I wish them joy. In six months, you’ll have a little elfkin running about here.”

“Six months? But I thought it took nine months to have a baby.”

“A human baby, yes. But elves are a bit different. Half a year, no more.”

“Wow! I wonder what Mum will have?”

“I don’t know. Do you have a preference, Henry?”

“Not really. Though I wouldn’t mind a little brother.”

“You’ll see in nine months.”

“Grandpa, can you move from your portrait into another one, like they do at school?”

Augustus nodded. “I could, were there an empty portrait scene for me to do so. But I never had one set up, so currently I’m stuck in here.”

“Oh. Would you like to be able to go other places in the manor?”

“I would. Tell your father to have two or three empty sceneries painted and that way I can travel from the study to the drawing room and the hallway and wherever else he would like me to go.”

“I’ll tell him. It must get awfully boring, just being in the study all the time.”

“It has its ups and downs.”

Harry cocked his head. “Mum’s calling me, I think it’s time for lunch. See you later, Grandpa.”

“Goodbye, Henry. Don’t run on the stairs,” the portrait called as Harry raced from the room.

* * * * * *

Later on, Severus left Harry to Floo-call Neville and Blaise to discuss his former identity as Harry Potter and Sandra napping and went up to the study to re-evaluate his newly drawn up will. As soon as he entered, the portrait awoke and beamed at him.

“I hear congratulations are in order, my Lord Prince.”

Severus smiled, he was thrilled at the coming new baby. “Yes, I . . .I wasn’t expecting this to happen so soon, but . . .I think it’s better sooner than later.”

“It usually is, especially from the woman’s perspective.”

“I’m just hoping this pregnancy goes well for her and so does the delivery.” The Potions Master said. “And I must confess, I’m hoping for a girl this time. I’d like to see if raising a girl is easier than raising my hellion Harry.”

Augustus burst out laughing, making the frame shake.

“What’s so funny, Grandfather?”

“Oh, Severus, my boy! Girl or boy, there’s no easy way to raise either of them. A girl’s a whole different cauldron of potions than a boy. Girls see the world differently than boys, and they react differently too. You might find it easier to understand Harry than you would a daughter. There were times, especially when my girls were teenagers, that they totally baffled me. It’s a good thing their mother was around to help me out.”

“Sandra will be here and it’s a good thing you’ll be around to help me too.” Severus reminded him. “But I’ll cross that bridge if and when I come to it. Speaking of Grandmother, why did she never have a portrait made?”

“She did commission one, and was having it painted, but then she died suddenly in her sleep before it was finished. She never had the chance to put her memories or her magic into it and so that’s why there are only photographs of her in the family albums. It’s a shame, for there were many times that I longed to speak with her over the years and to hear her voice. But no matter. I know we are reunited again in the Garden.”

“The Garden?”

“The Garden of Paradise Regained,” answered the portrait.

“I see. The Garden Harry dreamed of.”

“Yes.” The portrait peered down at his grandson. “What are you writing, Severus?”

"An amendment to the new will I just drew up. In the original draft I have Harry as my sole heir, since I didn't know Sandra was pregnant when I wrote it. But once the baby is born, I think it best if he or she inherits the hall, since the baby ought to have his or her own property and a title. Harry has his own property from the Potter inheritance in Godric's Hollow, as well as more lands and a title and his inheritance from the Potters and I shall give him a half share of the rest of the monies and half of Prince Labs as well. That way it's fair for both of them. I don't think he would mind."

"Are you planning on asking the lad then?"

"I do wish to discuss it with him." Severus said. "So that when the time comes, he won't be bitter or angry or feel cheated."

"That would be wise." Augustus conceded. "And of course, Henry would always be welcome to live at Foxfire Hall if he so wished."

"Yes. But the title and the estate would pass to my younger son or daughter. I know that's not the way it's usually done, usually the eldest child inherits all of it, but I feel it wouldn't be fair to leave my youngest without a roof over his or her head and Harry doesn't need two houses or two titles."

“That is your decision as the lord of Foxfire Hall,” said Augustus calmly.

“You don’t agree with it?” asked Severus in some consternation.

“That is not for me to say,” replied the portrait. “You can distribute your inheritance as you see fit. Just as I did.”

The bulk of the inheritance had, of course, gone to Severus, with several bequests made to the Retired Auror Fund and St. Mungos and also Hogwarts Library and potions lab. Some money had also gone to Angel Haven orphanage. Small bequests had gone to Augusta and Annamaria Zabini and Moody had gotten Augustus’ ancient Staff of Evil Detection, which he had admired long ago as a student. But most of the rare magical items had remained within the Prince family.

“I’ll speak to Harry after dinner, before I make anything final,” Severus decided. He rubbed his temples. “I never knew being the lord of Foxfire Hall was so demanding and time consuming.”

The portrait gave a low chuckle. “See, you learn something new every day, Severus.”

* * * * * *

Meanwhile, Harry was sitting on the porch steps with Neville and Blaise on either side of him, explaining why his family had decided to keep his true identity a secret for all these years. “It was done to protect me, you see, and that’s why I couldn’t tell you. We never expected Lucius Malfoy to regain his memories and blab it to Voldemort and then to the press. I . . .hope you can understand why I couldn’t tell you before. I’m sorry I sort of lied to you.”

“Sort of?” asked Blaise.

“Because I’m really Harry Snape since Severus blood-adopted me, and I grew up Harry Snape too. I only found out I was a Potter this past Christmas.”

“Oh. Well, I am a little miffed that you didn’t trust your best friends,” Blaise said quietly, his hazel eyes sparking a bit. Then he sighed. “But I’ll forgive you. I know what it’s like to try and go against a family decision.”

“So do I,” agreed Neville. “And it really doesn’t matter to me that you’re famous or whatever. You were my friend long before that and you always will be.”

Harry heaved a sigh of relief. “Thanks, guys, for understanding. I thought maybe you might not like me once you found out.”

“Harry, don’t be stupid,” Blaise snorted. “Nev’s right. Whether your last name’s Potter, Snape, or Rockadoodle, you’re still my friend. Always.”

“Rockadoodle?” Harry nearly fell over laughing.

“What? It’s a perfectly good name.”

“If you’re a rooster!” Neville crowed, collapsing in laughter.

Blaise took his shoe off and threw it at him.

Neville ducked and the shoe hit Harry in the shoulder.

“Hey, watch it!” Harry cried, tossing the footwear back to its owner. “Put ‘em back on, Blaise. I don’t want to die of poison gas.”

“Are you saying my feet stink, Snape?”

Harry pretended to faint.

“Don’t everyone’s?” asked Neville, puzzled.

“Not like his,” Harry pointed out, snickering.

“Aw, shut up, Harry.” Blaise rolled his eyes and tugged his shoe back on.

“Ah, sweet air!” Harry smirked. “Guess what else I have to tell you?”

“You’re also related to the Queen of England?” guessed Neville.

“No, but I’m going to have a new addition to my family in about nine months.”

“You mean, Sandra’s expecting?” Blaise asked knowingly.

“Yes.”

“She’s gonna have a baby?” Neville clarified.

“Uh huh.”

“Poor you! You know what that means, don’t you?” asked Blaise sympathetically.

“What?”

“It means now you have to the responsible older brother and look after your baby brother or sister,” Blaise made his voice go high and sound rather like his mother’s. “And set a good example and everything.”

“Is it hard?” asked Harry.

“Sometimes. It’s a big pain in the arse. You gotta watch everything you say and do, ‘cause the little bambino copies you. And then they tell on you too. You better hope it’s a boy, Harry. They’re easier to deal with than little sisters, trust me.”

“Jo doesn’t seem that bad.”

“That’s ‘cause you don’t have to live with her.”

“I’m kind of glad that my mum’s having a baby,” Harry admitted. “I always wanted a little brother or sister.”

Blaise coughed loudly. “You say that now. Just wait till the baby gets here, Snape. And you end up having to babysit and play with the brat while your parents go out. You won’t be going to any Quidditch matches like you used to with a new baby in the house.”

Harry shrugged. He was sure Blaise was exaggerating. “And there’s more. Lina’s expecting too.”

“Your house elf?” Neville gasped.

Blaise goggled. “Merlin, but that’s really rare, for a wizard to see a house elf get born. They usually don’t have elfkins very often.”

“I know. Grandpa’s portrait told me he thinks it happened because of all the Elemental magic that was released upon his death. That it affected Lina and Hotspur in a good way and let them have what they always wanted, a child of their own.”

“Two babies!” Blaise whistled. “Harry, you’re going to be up to your ears in nappies and bottles.”

“I’ve never seen a house elf baby before,” said Neville. “I wonder what they look like?”

“I hope it’s not ugly. When my little sister was born, she was all scrunched and red like a devil that got punched in the kisser. I thought she was ugly as sin. But Mama thought she was beautiful. Mothers!”

“I think all mothers think their baby is beautiful,” Harry mused. He was sure his unborn sibling would be adorable, given who its parents were. He couldn’t wait for it to get born, no matter what Blaise said. Or Lina’s child either.

“Come on, let’s go flying,” he said, jumping to his feet. “Last one to the pond is a dungbeetle!”

He raced off the porch and around the side of the manor, and was quickly followed by the two other boys, and a yapping Trouble and silent Magnus.

* * * * * *

“Harry, come into the study for a moment,” Severus requested after supper. “I need to talk to you.”

“Sure, Papa.” He followed his father down the hallway and into the familiar oak paneled room. He seated himself in one of the tastefully upholstered chairs in front of the desk while Severus seated himself behind his desk.

“It’s about your inheritance,” his father began, his hands folded upon the desk top.

“My inheritance?” Harry repeated, puzzled. “You mean, like what I get when you die?”

“Yes.”

“Why . . .why are we talking about this now? You’re not dying.”

“I know that. But we need to discuss it. Since your mum and I are having a baby, I’ve had to . . .rearrange things regarding your inheritance. Because now you have to share it with the new baby.”

Harry shrugged. He wasn’t ready to think about what this meant for him. It was in the far distant future. “So? What’s that mean for me?”

“It means that I’ve been thinking about who should receive Foxfire Hall and inherit the title when I die,” Severus said bluntly. “You have your own property as a Potter and inheritance from them. And you would also be Head of the Potter line, as you are the last of them. Would you . . .mind terribly if I deeded the manor and the title to the child that is to be born? I originally had you as my sole heir, but now I thought it would hardly be fair if you were to get the Prince holdings and your brother or sister have only part of a vault or half a share in Prince Labs. You are still a Prince, Harry, and still entitled to get a share in the investments and money and Prince Labs, you are still my son, I’m not . . .disinheriting you or disowning you. Foxfire Hall will always be your home, no one can dispute that, or . . .throw you out of it if you wish to stay here. I just . . .”

“I understand, sir. You want us both to have a house and . . .property. And since I already have some and the baby doesn’t . . .and the baby’s more of a Prince than I am, it’s only right that he or she inherits the manor. It’s a Prince holding, after all.”

“You don’t resent me then? Or the baby? I am trying to be fair, it has nothing to do with the fact that the baby is my blood child.” Severus pressed.

Harry shook his head. “Papa, I’ll always love you and Foxfire Hall. But I don’t plan on living here for the rest of my life. If I get married, I’d like a place of my own, and if I rebuild the Godric’s Hollow house, I could live there. As for the title, Papa, I don’t like them. I’m fine just being plain old Henry Snape. I really don’t want to be Lord Prince. Let my sister or brother have that responsibility.”

“You’re certain?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. I shall make a codicil to my existing will.” Severus said. “Thank you, Harry, for being so generous.”

“Papa, I don’t want to even think about what happens when you die.” Harry said sincerely. “Can we please stop talking about it?”

“All right. How about a game of chess then? We’ll see if you can attempt to keep half your pieces on the board this time.”

“Okay, you’re on.” Harry agreed.

Severus cleared off his desk and Summoned the chessboard, and they began to play, with Augustus giving advice to Harry to help him beat Severus, and Severus scolding him for cheating.

* * * * * *

Diagon Alley

Saturday afternoon

Early July:

As promised, Sirius was waiting for Harry and Severus outside Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour. “Hiya, Harry,” he greeted, smiling at his godson. “Lord Prince,” he gave Severus a cool nod.

“Hello, Sirius,” Harry said, grinning. Now that he was certain there weren’t going to be any major fights between his godfather and his father, he felt much more at ease with the other wizard.

“Mr. Black, good afternoon,” Severus said politely. “Shall we go inside, or do you wish to eat your ice cream standing in the street?”

“”No, that would be bad for your image, huh, Snape? Never let the people see you eat in public. Isn’t that some kind of rule with you lords?”

Severus snorted. “Maybe in the Black family it is.” He walked into the ice cream shop. “Speaking of which, are you not the Head of that family now?”

Sirius coughed uncomfortably. “Uh, yeah, I guess you could say that. I’m still not . . .used to being in charge of something like that.”

“Welcome to the adult world,” Severus said, faintly sarcastic.

Sirius curled his lip at him. “Save the sarcasm, Snape.” Then he looked at Harry. “Have you picked out your ice cream, Harry?”

Harry had been studying the menu while his father and godfather were sparring. “Uh, yeah. I want a triple scoop sundae with everything on it. Chocolate, strawberry, and butter pecan ice cream.”

“Ah, takes after me at that age,” Sirius grinned and clapped the boy on the back.

“Merlin forbid!” muttered Severus fervently. He ordered a small butter pecan sundae.

Sirius ordered a banana split.

They chose a corner table out of the way from most of the customers. The place wasn’t packed, but there were several teenagers in there laughing and teasing each other, though none that Harry recognized from school. While they ate, Harry listened to Sirius and his father discuss the current local news of the day—namely, the sentencing of Lucius Malfoy.

“So now it’s official, and he’ll be joining his fellow Death Eaters in Azkaban,” Severus said, sounding pleased. “It’s about time he paid the penalty for his crimes.”

“Yes. For once his money and connections can’t save him,” Sirius agreed. He slowly licked a banana off his spoon. “Only thing is, that makes me responsible for his son.”

Severus’ eyebrows went up. “You, in charge of Draco? How did that happen?”

“Because, like you said before, I’m the Head of the Black family, and Narcissa was a Black and her son is through her. With Lucius in the clink, the Ministry has declared me as a kind of . . .role model or guardian for Draco. Guess they think I’m better for the kid than his old man.”

“You sound so thrilled, Black.”

“I’m jumping for joy, can’t you tell?” Sirius replied. “I don’t have a damn clue how to . . .to be a role model, Snape.”

“And yet you wished Harry to come live with you.”

“That was different. Harry’s not like Draco. He’s not some spoiled selfish brat.”

“I’m not ‘cause Papa taught me better,” Harry said. “And my grandpa too.”

“Funny, but you were almost the same as Draco when you were that age. You too were born with a silver spoon,” Severus reminded.

“Yes, I know. That’s what I’m afraid of.” Sirius sighed.

“You don’t think you can handle one smart mouthed boy? You were an Auror, Black.”

“What difference does that make?”

“When you went into the Academy, how did your instructors handle you?”

Sirius grimaced. “They knocked me on my arse and made me run laps and do crunches till I learned to keep my smartass comments to myself. You think I ought to do that to Draco?”

“If you think you need to make a point. Black, you need to remember two things when disciplining. One, always mean what you say and two, be consistent. Harry knows that when I say no flying in the house or else you’re grounded, I mean it. Right, son?”

Harry nodded, scooping up the last of his sundae.

“But won’t his mother be doing most of that? I mean, it’s not like I’m going to be living there.”

“Narcissa, I’m sure, would appreciate your help. Have you spoken to them since the verdict?”

“Briefly. Draco looked sort of shellshocked.”

“Well, it is a shock, discovering that your father, whom everyone believed to be an upstanding member of the community, is a criminal,” Severus stated.

It was probably worse than having a dead father, Harry reflected. Because at least if your parent died, everyone felt sympathy for you. But this . . .would it make Draco an outcast at school? Harry could almost feel sorry for him.

“Yes.” Sirius said. “Well, we’ll muddle through somehow.” Then he changed the subject. “How about we go to a Quidditch game next week? You can invite whoever you want to come with you, Harry. My treat.” Then he looked sidelong at Severus. “If that’s all right with you?”

Severus nodded. “Just let me know when you’ll be going and how late you’ll be coming home.”

“I’ll invite Blaise and Ron and maybe Susannah Smithers too,” Harry said. “Nev will be away in Cornwall next week seeing his cousins and Hermione doesn’t really like Quidditch.” He had written to them and they had both seemed fine with his previous identity. Then he recalled the other good news he had to share with his godfather. “Sirius, I’m going to be a big brother soon.”

“You’re going to . . .oh!” Sirius exclaimed. “Congratulations, both of you. And to Lady Sandra, of course.” He lifted his ice cream spoon in a salute, not really caring if he looked ridiculous.

Severus felt a smile twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”

“And our house elf’s pregnant too,” Harry added.

Sirius nearly choked on the water he was sipping. “Must be a happening house, Foxfire Hall.” He shot a wicked glance at Severus. “Though I don’t envy you, Snape, with two pregnant women in the same house. They tend to get cranky, especially during the third trimester.”

“And you would know this how?”

“I had a little brother and I still remember how my mother drove my father nuts, making him go out and get her lox and cream cheese in the middle of the night, or peach sorbet, or pickles and sardines.”

“Ugh! That’s just gross!” Harry made a face.

“Not to a pregnant woman. They want the weirdest things, swear to Merlin.” Sirius said. “Just wait. You’ll see.”

Harry wasn’t sure if he quite believed everything Sirius said. He couldn’t see his sensible mum craving anything so . . .disgusting. He looked down at his empty dessert bowl with a sigh of longing.

Sirius recognized that look and said, “Want another one, Harry? When I was your age, I could eat two of those.”

“Can I?”

“No, one is enough—” began Severus.

“Let the kid live a little, Snape.” Sirius argued. “Same kind as before?” He snapped his fingers and a second sundae appeared in front of Harry along with a new spoon.

“Black, for Merlin’s sake . . .!”

“Now don’t get your pants in a twist, Snape. I’m his godfather, I’m supposed to spoil him. That’s how it works. Don’t you know that?”

“You’re impossible, Black.”

“And proud of it,” grinned the other, and then he ordered himself a second banana split.

* * * * * * *

December 24th, 1992:

Harry couldn’t believe how fast the year had gone by. It seemed as if he blinked and July had become December. Sandra had been nearly three months pregnant when he had returned to school in September, and looking very healthy and happy. Both she and Lina seemed to be taking their pregnancies quite well, in fact. Sandra had only suffered mild bouts of morning sickness and that had been alleviated by raspberry tea and crackers and Severus’ potions in the morning. Lina, being a house elf, did not suffer ill effects when carrying, instead she just grew rosy cheeked and round as an orange.

Harry was happy to go to school, and leave both new fathers-to-be home to fuss over their wives like clucking hens. The new Hogwarts Headmistress was Professor McGonagall, and Harry was glad to have the stern but fair matriarch in charge of the school. Of course, that meant a new Head of Gryffindor, and Harry had wondered why Ron was smirking when they mentioned that fact on the train ride, until they got to school and McGonagall introduced their new Muggle Studies Professor and Head of House, Arthur Weasley.

“Dad decided he’d really do better off as a teacher than a lowly paid Ministry worker.” Ron had told his friends after the Sorting. “He said he had always wanted to be a teacher, but when he finished school, there were no teaching positions available at Hogwarts and so he went to work for the Ministry and somehow just never went anywhere else. Until now.”

Blaise whistled. “Merlin, Weasley, but you aren’t going to be able to get away with anything now that your dad’s here.”

“Dad’s not as bad as Mum,” Ron laughed. “He won’t mind a few pranks, so long as nobody gets hurt.”

The new Transfiguration professor was a man named Remus Lupin, and Harry knew of him from Sirius’ stories. He had been best friends with Sirius and James and evil Pettigrew in school. He was also a werewolf, though Harry was sworn to secrecy on that score. Only Harry knew that Severus sent Remus a special potion each month before the full moon, so he could transform and be safe once he took the Wolfsbane potion.

There was also a new Defense professor as well, Master Auror Moody, he had agreed to teach for two years and then McGonagall would have to find a new professor, since after that he was retiring. Harry was glad to see the old Auror, whom he remembered fondly from many visits he had had at Foxfire Hall, talking with Augustus.

This time around, Harry was Seeker for Slytherin, and he also was able to prioritize his time better, so he could both play and get good grades. But now that he was home, he could relax.

Or he thought he could.

He found upon arriving home that the house was in a state of excitement and disarray, for Lina was due to deliver any day now, and was round as a pumpkin. She had turned over all of her cooking and household duties to her husband and spent most of her time resting upon the divan in the drawing room.

As a result, the holiday decorations about the manor were a bit haphazard this year and Harry had to straighten out the mistletoe and ivy boughs along the banister and the upper hall landing, fingering the bright red berries in amusement and wondering how he could have been so stupid as to eat some when he was two. He hoped his small sibling wasn’t that stupid . . .or that curious.

Augustus was now able to move from the portrait in the study, to the drawing room, and to the foyer in front of the door, since Severus had commissioned several backgrounds for him and hung them in their respective places about the hall. Now he could be with the family and join in the festivities on Christmas morning or not as he wished.

Severus had caused the twinkling foxfire lights about the outside of the hall to change into red, green, and white motes and this year he finally allowed Harry to help hang the silver bells on the roof. “But if I catch you doing any sort of monkey business up there, Harry Snape, I’ll do what your grandfather did to you when you were five, clear?”

Harry just said, “Yes, sir,” and obeyed, knowing his father’s patience was stretched thin with worry over Sandra and Lina.

The second half of Sandra’s pregnancy wasn’t going quite as well as she had hoped. Her ankles had swelled and she was exhausted and developed migraines and spent a good deal of her time on the opposite couch next to Lina, with her feet elevated and drinking rounds of Headache Remedies and tea. The Healers had told her she would be fine with rest and prescribed a low calorie nutritious diet for her to follow.

Hotspur had engaged a midwife elf for his beloved Lina, and she also lived at the hall for right now, so there would be no need to summon one when the time came. The midwife’s name was Clara.

Harry asked how the little elf was doing as soon as he set foot in the house.

Lina replied, “I am about ready to burst like a melon, young master, and cannot wait for this elfkin to be born.”

“I know exactly how you feel, and I’m only six months,” groaned Sandra goodnaturedly. She was wearing a comfortable soft blue dressing gown and had fluffy socks on her too swollen feet, which were propped up on several pillows. Her stomach was a round moon beneath her soft robe.

Lina was wearing a very soft smock shirt in light pink and had pink slippers on.

“Oh, well, that’s okay,” Harry said awkwardly, amazed at how much larger they had gotten since he’d been away at school. He couldn’t see how tiny Lina managed to haul around all that extra weight. “Umm . . .can I get you anything?”

“No, but we’d like you to sit with us and tell us what’s been going on at school, Harry,” said Sandra, and he sat down on the chair across from them near the fire and began talking to them.

After dinner, Harry and Severus returned to the drawing room to read and in Harry’s case, finish up his summer assignments while Sandra dozed in front of the fire.

Lina had gotten up to walk about near the kitchen, complaining of back pains.

Soon after Hotspur rushed in, looking pale and terrified. “Oh, my Lord Prince!” he cried. “Lina has . . .it’s started . . .our elfkin is getting born!”

Severus grabbed the expectant father before he could pass out cold and gave him a tiny glass of butterbeer and sat him on the couch next to Sandra. “Here, Hotspur. Take a deep breath. It won’t be long before you’ll be holding your baby in your arms.”

“Have you picked out a name for the baby?” Harry asked, trying to distract him.

Hotspur shook his head. “The privilege of naming an elfkin belongs to the mother, so my people believe. But Lina has promised she will give our miracle a special name.” Hotspur swigged the butterbeer down. “Oh, my!” he said, his big eyes whirling around and around as he gazed at the ceiling.

The clock ticked by endlessly, until they all heard a small cry coming from the elves’ room off the kitchen.

Hotspur was still buzzed from the butterbeer, but he shook off the effects when he heard that beautiful sound and rushed from the room.

He returned several moments later with a tiny bundle swaddled in a blue sock.

“Behold, milord Prince, milady Sandra, and Master Harry. This is my new son.” He held the tiny elf out for them to see.

The baby elf had skin as pale as an eggshell and was as bald as one too. He had large eyes of a greenish-blue color and huge ears that were folded at the tips. They would unfold in about a week and he would start growing peach fuzz as well on his head. He was funny and cute and the Snapes all admired him.

“What’s his name, Hotspur?” asked Harry.

“Lina has named him . . .Augustus, after the late Lord Prince,” Hotspur said proudly, cradling his son close. He looked up at the portrait of his former master.

Augustus was smiling down at the elfkin. “Ah, what a cute little tyke, Hotspur. Looks like his mother.”

“Yes,” agreed the proud father. “I hope you don’t mind that our son bears your name.”

“Not at all. In fact, I’m honored,” replied the portrait.

The little elfkin began to squall, he had a voice like a teakettle, shrill and insistent. Hotspur regretfully brought him back to his mother so he could nurse.

“Well, that’s one down,” Severus said and smiled at Sandra. “Your turn’s coming soon, love.”

“I know. I can’t wait.” She patted her stomach fondly.

“Neither can I,” Severus said, and reached out to take her hand in his, smiling in that way that all lovers have.

Harry took that as his cue to go upstairs and go to bed, and he quickly bid his parents good night and went upstairs.

Harry was awakened about two hours later by a loud thud followed by his father crying out his wife’s name in horror.

Harry was on his feet instantly and bolting out of his room.

He saw his father standing horror stricken in front of the stairs, and below them was the still form of Sandra, blood spreading in a pool about her.

“Papa, what happened?”

“She was following me up the stairs and I think she missed a step and then she . . .fell.” Severus related dazedly. “She just fell.”

“Severus, call a Healer!” Augustus ordered crisply.

Severus nodded, then he sent out his Patronus, since he didn’t want to leave Sandra.

He knelt by her and cradled her head in his lap, murmuring, “By all that’s holy, my dearest, please stay with me. Don’t leave me, Sandra, please!”

Harry just stood frozen at the top of the stairs, wondering with a kind of detached terror if this Christmas would end in tragedy instead of joy.

* * * * * *

Christmas day found the new Lord Prince and his son sitting beside the bed of the slowly recovering Sandra. She had gone into labor due to the fall and they had to do an emergency C-section with magic because the Healers had said the placenta had come unattached as a result. Sandra was still heavily sedated and no one could tell if the tiny baby girl would live.

She was very small, less than a pound, and though she was fully formed and breathing, she was very fragile. “We can’t tell you for sure if she’ll make it, Mr. Snape,” said one Healer kindly. “We’ve never dealt with a baby so tiny before. But we’ll do our best.”

Now Severus sat in a hard chair beside his wife’s bed, hoping she would wake up so he could tell her their daughter had been born. Harry sat beside him, tense and miserable. This was not how he had envisioned spending Christmas this year.

“Papa? Do you think she’ll make it?” Harry asked wistfully.

Severus turned to him. The elder wizard was pale and had huge circles under his eyes and a kind of terror surging in them as well. “I don’t know, Harry. I just don’t know.”

For the first time Harry saw his father afraid and he leaned against the man’s shoulder, shivering and praying for yet another miracle. Grandpa, how I wish you were here now, he thought, despairing, for the Elemental Master had always seemed to be able to set things right, no matter how awful they were.

* * * * * *

When Sandra woke, she asked immediately about the baby. Severus broke the news to her as gently as he could. “They don’t know if she’ll . . .make it. She’s very small, she can breathe on her own, but they don’t know about her eating yet, right now they’re keeping her warm in a sort of bubble, like an incubator . . .”

“I want to see her,” Sandra said, pushing herself to a sitting position.

“The Healer doesn’t want you to get up, you’ve just had some major surgery, and even with spells . . .” he flinched at the look she was giving him.

“Healer be damned, Severus! You can pick me up and carry me there, but I want to see my little girl. I won’t . . .I won’t let her go never having looked at her mama’s face . . .unnamed . . .Do you understand?” Silent tears were trickling down her cheeks, but her voice was like steel.

Without saying anything else, Severus picked her up and carried her to the hospital nursery, so she could see the precious scrap of life that was her premature daughter. The baby was encased in a protective bubble, so Sandra could not hold her, but she could run her hand along it and the baby’s eyes met hers.

“So small . . .” Sandra whispered, for the baby could fit in the palm of her hand, and her arms and legs were like matchsticks. “ . . .but you’re here with me . . .I think I’ll call you Talia . . .Talia Augusta Snape . . .for you will grow up to be a strong woman . . .” She looked up at Severus, whose black eyes glinted with unshed tears. “Make them write her name there, on her chart,” she pointed to the chart affixed to the side of the small bassinet.

“I will.”

They remained there, watching the baby breathing, until a nurse shoed them back to Sandra’s room, where Harry slept in a chair beside the bed.

He woke sleepily to hear low voices arguing, the Healer and his mum, he thought muzzily, and managed to catch a bit of their conversation. The Healer was saying that his baby sister might not make it, because she had been born too soon, but his mum was saying that they shouldn’t give up on her, that she was a fighter. The Healer sounded skeptical, but said they would do everything they could to help the baby.

* * * * * *

A week later, the Healers were cautiously optimistic about the Snape baby’s chances. Every day, little Talia seemed to grow stronger, despite her miniscule size. Sandra and Severus rarely left the hospital, and Harry came back and forth with Sirius to visit his tiny sister, who looked more and more like a normal baby and less like a stick figure every time he saw her.

She was a fighter, determined and stubborn, she clung fiercely to life, despite the Healers’ predictions that she wouldn’t. When Sirius asked him how she was doing, he answered, “She’s getting stronger each day, I think.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear it.” The former Auror said sincerely. He meant it. This past week, as he shuttled a worried Harry back and forth from Foxfire Hall to St. Mungos, he had come to view his former rival in a much different light. He had seen the sort of love and devotion the Potions Master bore for his wife and his tiny daughter and for his adopted son as well. He saw it reflected in their eyes, and in a dozen little ways as they spoke and gestured and held each other. It was both inspiring and humbling, and it was then that Sirius finally saw the true Severus Snape and not the skinny bookworm he’d mocked so long ago.

For the first time ever, he saw true, and he recalled the letter that Sandra had written him months before, and what had started out as a grudging tolerance had now metamorphasized into an honest respect for the wizard who had raised his godson.

He squeezed Harry’s shoulder and said gently, “I’m sure your little sister will be fine.”

And she was. Within two months, Talia had grown enough to be sent home from the hospital, and she thrived upon the loving family circle at Foxfire Hall. Most often she could be found nestled in either of her parents’ or the two elves arms, she slept and played with Augustus, her “elf twin”, and giggled at Augustus’ portrait, who made silly faces at her.

Severus made sure Harry had pictures of his sister to look at while he was away at school, and Sandra wrote weekly letters to him telling him of her progress and everything else that was going at the hall. His friends all enjoyed hearing the letters and seeing the pictures as well.

Even so, when Harry came home for the summer in June, he discovered his baby sister had grown from a tiny thing to a round roly poly baby, still slightly small for her age, but now Harry could hold her and see that she had the dark curling hair of both her parents and hazel eyes. “Hey, baby sister,” he grinned at her as he held her up to his face. “You’ve gotten so big I hardly recognize you. Remember me? I’m your big brother, Harry.”

Talia looked at him with her huge wondering eyes. Then she smiled.

And ripped off his glasses.

Harry laughed, and gently removed them from her grasp, giving her his hand to hold instead. “You’ve got a good grip on you for a little bit of a thing. Perfect for holding onto the Snitch. When you’re bigger I’ll teach you how to fly, and I promise not to show you how to fly off the roof backwards or else Papa will skin me . . .well, maybe I’ll teach you, but you have to promise to never tell where you learned that trick, okay?” He tickled her, and the baby laughed, her laugh was like the chiming of bells and it echoed in the warm spring air, as he carried Talia out to the pond where Augustus’ memorial stood.

Then he sat down next to it, amid the flowers, and played with the baby. The Healers at St. Mungos called his sister a miracle baby, for never had one so small survived before born three months early. “Funny, how the two of us were famous even before we could talk, huh? Me, for surviving Voldemort and you for surviving period. It’s too bad that you’ll never know Grandpa like I knew him, you’ll just remember a portrait. But someday, when you’re old enough, I’ll tell you all about him, and how I came to live here at Foxfire Hall after Papa found me in a manger. Would you like that, Talia?”

The baby gazed up at him and then she giggled, waving her arms at him, and he held her above his head and blew raspberries at her to make her laugh, he loved how she giggled, high and sweet and full of joy, like he imagined an angel would laugh.

“Ah, so this is where you two have gone,” came Severus’ voice from behind them.

Harry turned as Talia squealed and held out her hands for her father.

Severus “flew” the baby over to him with a simple wandless charm and hugged her as he joined his son on the grass, marveling at how Harry had started to shoot up this year, finally getting his growth spurt. Talia burbled and played with the buttons on his robe while Severus eyed his beanpole twelve-year-old and said, “I can remember when you fit in my arms like your sister, and drooled all over me too.”

“Papa, please! Why do parents always remember the most embarrassing things?”

Severus chuckled wickedly. “I remember far more embarrassing things than that, Harry.” He ruffled his son’s hair, which needed another trim, and smiled nostalgically, recalling that long ago Christmas Eve when he had found a child away in a manger, and how it had changed his life forever, in ways he never would have imagined.

“Don’t tell anyone,” his son said, giving him his most pleading look from beneath his lashes. “I’m already famous enough as it is.” He leaned his head on his father’s knee, then winced when Talia yanked on his hair. But he didn’t move, he was too comfortable right then.

It was a perfect day, peaceful and serene, and he was grateful for it. He smiled up at his sister and thought about how lucky he was that Severus had found him that night, and had given him the greatest gift of the Magi-which was not gold, or frankincense, or myrrh, but the love of a family and a place to call home.