I tried very hard not to shout, to release my rage on the headmaster. “You’re asking for the impossible!”

“Nothing is impossible.”

“Then you are not as wise as I thought!”

“Who said that I was wise? I merely know what I am talking about….most of the time.”

“I cannot believe you are asking this of me!” Arms full of one giggling baby I turned on my heel and stormed out of the office.  Stampeding my way down the hall, I tried valiantly to ignore the obnoxious gaping mouths.

“Professor! Why do you have a baby in your arms?”

“Detention!”

As I try hopelessly to get Potter to settle down, there came a knock upon my door.

Potter screeches like banshee in labour. Cursing, I open the door just as the fiend in my arms manage to land a solid kick to my nose.

“OW!”

“Professor Snape.”

I am finally able to secure the baby and glare at the unwanted guest.

“Ms. Granger! What do you want?” I curse at the little-miss-know-it-all.

“Professor Snape!  You’re not holding him right!” Granger tells me that overconfident voice of hers. 

“What?”

“The baby; I’ve read about them. You’re doing it wrong.”

#%!*&

Potter lays there in his crib with all four appendages sticking up into the empty air like a dog begging for a belly scratch.  It is not endearing, it is the opposite!

“Aap!”

“Ah yourself.”

“Po!”

“Do not try to look cute, you’re wasting your time.”

“Ya!” Potter grins, showing off his new set of teeth.

I lean over to threaten the boy. “Listen here, Mr. Monstrosity.  I don’t like you and the sooner you learn to obey...”

Potter reaches out his chubby hand and slaps it against my cheek.  “Aapa.”

“What we have here is a failure to communicate.”

“Take that thing out of your mouth,” I say, and with a grimace stick my fingers into his mouth. After carefully inspecting the retrieved cork, I decide that it did not have any traces of potion.

“Here, chew on this,” I say and give him the pacifier provided by Minerva.

My numerous attempts to educate the brat have failed.  Just earlier today, he stuffed a galleon into his mouth. I dropped the thing off the Astronomy Tower, as if was covered in slobber. 

Shaking my head, I banish the contaminated cork into the trash and go to wash my hands.

I return to find Potter crying in distress.

“Aapa!” He deplores, leaning against the railings and pointing at something. I raise an eyebrow and follow his line of vision.

“What, this?” I ask, bending over to pick up a stuffed bear lying on the floor.  Potter yelps, goes up on his tiptoes and pulls at my robes.

I hand him the bear before he does any damage.

Potter then takes the perfectly good pacifier out of his mouth, let it fall simply from his hand and begins to nibble on the bear’s ear with vigour.

I roll my eyes; typical.

A Potions instructor must be on constant guard, he must be vigilant and stringent in his rules if he is to maintain order and assure a safe environment. Even so, mishaps are inevitable.

In my defence, what happened Monday was so astronomically unviable that even I cannot be held responsible for the end result.

In a spectacularly unfortunate and unforeseen chain of events, Potter the 15 year old ended up Potter the 15 month old.  Simply put; Mr. Longbottom strikes again.  Draco’s projectile from halfway across the room did not help.

Thus we arrive at our current predicament.

Enough said.

“WAAAAAA!”

“Potter, damn it, shut up!” I snap, ready to strangle the boy.  But he continues to screech and bawl at the top of his little lungs. It is inconceivable how much noise can come out of something so small.

On the verge of tearing my hair out, I quickly drop the boy in his bed, storm off to my lab and slam the door. Walking over to my desk, I lean against it and clench the edge of the table.

Potter has not ceased crying for two hours! What the bloody hell is wrong with that boy?

Let him cry!  I do not care. I’ve had enough with his self-indulgent demands for attention.  Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am?

…

In the past I have had doubts about Albus’s judgement. But I’ve always considered him to be wise and therefore followed his instructions.  That may no longer be the case. As, clearly, his sanity is dwindling with his growing beard.

I run a hand down my face as the faint sound of Potter’s pathetic wails seep through the door.  I wonder if my own sanity is beginning to wither away.  With the way Potter has been, I wouldn’t be surprised if I do lose what little reason I have left.

My extreme dislike of all children, great and small, quadruples when it comes to Potter.  Teenage Potter had exhausted my energy, my time and my patience. And now, the infant monstrosity has exhausted my will to live.

When Potter returns to normal, I will make my displeasure very clear and he will suffer my wrath as no student has ever before!

For now, regrettably, I must return and make sure the child doesn’t choke himself.  That would be most delig..unfortunate.

Last night, Albus insisted on finding me an assistant so that I may focus most of my time and energy tending to the baby Potter! 

Let’s get one thing straight. My priorities have not changed; they have never been about Potter and never will.  I do not need assistance doing what I have been doing, successfully, for the past decade (teaching), baby or no baby.

Today, however, I have come to the conclusion that Potter is nocturnal.  I might have to reconsider Albus’s offer; my workload is overloading as Mr. Monstrosity continues to drive me up a very high wall.

Potter was due for a check-up today.

Poppy, tried as she might, could not get Har…Potter to smile for her.

Women! Her badgering only succeeded in making the toddler upset.

But I am in a good, tolerant mood today and let the boy cry into my shoulder while I hushed him.  Poppy pursed her lips, puzzled and clearly jealous.

Ha!

Potter checked out fine.

Poppy said that Potter seemed to have taken quite a liking to me.

Not true.

Poppy also said that I seemed to have taken quite a liking to Potter.

I am no longer speaking to her.

I have taken an oath not to speak to the old man until he removes Potter from my foster and ship him to New Zealand.

In the mean time, there is work to be done.

After hours of investigation, the answer to Potter’s predicament finally revealed itself to me in the form of a rare book called ‘Commonly Brewed Uncommon Potions’.  It describes an age restorative concoction that tested well on accidental de-aged victims. The only problem? It will take a month to brew.

The idea of getting an assistant is beginning to grow on me; the same CANNOT be said about Potter!

Albus is no longer on my list of people to consult when I am in need of assistance. For when comes to eleven month old infants, Albus Dumbledore is as knowledgeable as penguins when it comes to flying.

Albus’s claim to fame is his twinkling eyes, magical knowledge, and duelling aptitude.  His baby skills, however, leaves much to be desired.

Today I found him feeding peanut butter to Har…Potter.  Common sense dictates that the sticky consistency of peanut butter can make it tough for a young child to swallow safely.

Wouldn’t want our baby golden boy choking now, would we?

At breakfast, Potter sits on my lap as usual and nibbles on his banana. I am relaxed and eat my own meal by maneuvering around his large head.

The brat was a great distraction, for Hogwarts had never housed a baby before. When I carry Potter down the hall he would wave to passing students and they would 'aww' and wave back.

But at last, the novelty mini-Potter is wearing off. Even Potter's friends, Granger and Weasley have stopped watching my every move for signs that I mistreat him.

I should have known better than to let my guard down.

After an unfortunate ‘Potter spilled red dye all over my black robes incident, I became very temped to quit and move to Canada. I heard that the ‘true north and free’ is an excellent place to spend in seclusion.  Nunavut sounds like a barren enough place, where few human babies inhabit.

But after hours of careful consideration, I have decided to remain home in good old, familiar Scotland.

Potter, oblivious to the devastation he had caused, is currently going about the business of chewing on my wand.

In any case, that boy is lucky I have many sets of spare robes, otherwise…

Wait a moment. Chewing…wand…

“HARRY!”

Pacing back and forth in my quarters, I succeeded in wearing two large holes in the heels of my shoes.  Furious, I whirled around with lightning speed and gave the little boy a great nasty glare.

"Potter! You are going to pay dearly for this."

The monstrosity had the gall to smile! 

“No!”

“Yes! Mark my words; when this is all over, the very sight of a dirty cauldron will make you cry.”

"Bla bla!"

"What!?"

“Naniplephhhhhhhhh.”

“You are not making any sense!”

"Arry!"

“No, no!  You are Potter.  PO-TER,” I corrected him immediately.

The insufferable brat proceeded to bounce up and down on his bottom.

“Dada!”

He did not just...well @%$!&

“Oh oh,”

“Potter! Look at this mess, what were you doing?” I gesture.

Potter points at the overturned bowl and looks up at me.

“Oh oh.”

“Yes, thank you for stating the obvious!”

“Dada, oh oh,”

“Stop calling me dada, I am not your father!”

“Owt!”

“Wait.”

“Owt owt owt!” Potter screams and squirms in his highchair.

“Patience is a virtue, Potter,” I scold him half-heartedly and spelled the mess away.

“Owt!”

“Will you…bloody hell!”

“Blah-ee owt”

I turn to the demanding little brat and groan.

“Dada! Owt”

“For heaven sakes, will you please give me one moment of peace?”

I was mistaken. Potter is not the devil. He is the devil’s evil twin.

Today as I attempted to teach the second year dunderheads about the essential properties of rat spleen, Potter made a conscious decision to interrupt me in midsentence and throw the class into disarray. He sat upon the part of my robe that draped on the floor, drooled on it, then stretched his arms up and baby talked his way into getting picked up.

Furious, I removed thirty points from the class and gave Potter several detentions in which he will spend in a securely locked playpen.

“Minerva, have you seen Harry?”

“What?”

“I said HAVE YOU SEEN POTTER?” I shouted.

“You lost him!?”

“I did not lose him! He lost himself!”

“How could you lose a one year old baby?”

“Just help me find him!”

…

I spotted Potter wobbling down the hall with one hand against the wall for support.

“Harry! Where the hell have you been?”

He turned around and upon seeing me, dropped onto his bottom and wailed.

Immediately, I went forward and picked him up. Potter wrapped his arms around my neck and sniffed loudly.

I held him and sighed with relief.

The world revolves around him.

Nearly a month after the accident, Harry continues to attract the attention of the entire school; its students, its faculty and even its ghosts and portraits.

They stare at him and coo when my back is turned.

Everybody wants a piece of baby Potter!  Have they not seen an infant before?

What is more unnerving is that my own world has also been revolving around him.

This shouldn’t be happening. I shouldn’t be caring.

Why do I feel satisfaction when Harry will spend no more than five minutes in another’s arms when I am present?

“Harry, where’s the baby…there he is!”

Giggles.

“Where’s the baby…there he is!”

Screams.

“Who’s a big boy?”

Gibberish.

“Yes, Harry is a big boy…big boy…yes you are…”

“Well, well, what do we have here?”

“Severus! Back already? Well…I’ll just be going now. Things to do, places to be...ah, see you at supper,” he says and hurries out the door.

My eyes follow the retreating dwarf until he is out of sight.

I turn to glare at Harry as he tries to contaminate me with drool.

“What utter nonsense, Where is the baby, indeed.”

Harry bursts into a fit of laughter.

Calamity struck when I lay Harry down for a nap and gave him a peck on his forehead.  A single student was witness to this unfortunate error in judgement and by evening the information had spread to each and every cranny of the school.

This is it. My humiliation is complete.  My reputation has been irreversibly dented.  My students are no longer petrified of me as they were before and the female staff have been…talking to me.

I deny the accusations and am determined to put a stop to these rumours.

Meanwhile, the brat infuriates me further by playing innocent!

“Apffff,” says Potter as he splashes the rubber duck in the water and then squawks; “AaababababaBA.”

The boy is just as obnoxious, demanding and brainless as his normal self but at least he cannot make a mockery of my potions class, only a mockery of himself.

See? Now he is making a royal mess by taking all the toys in the tub, out of the tub.

Why am I tolerating this? I should remove him right now and put him to bed.

I will not be turned soft by letting a toddler manipulate me.

But I let him play and smile when he laughs.

I am jolted from my dream by the cries of an infant. Groaning, I heave myself off the bed.

Half the time there is nothing wrong with him; he needn't be changed, he refuses his bottle and ignores his favourite toy. Perhaps he has had a bad dream? Or maybe he is afraid of the dark? Some Gryffindor.

Harry ceases crying when I pick him up. Almost unconsciously I began to rock him back and forth. I tell him to hush and, surprisingly, he does.

I’ll be rid of him soon and there’ll be no more 3am wakeup calls.

I will myself to detach myself from Harry…no, Potter. For when this is over, life will return to its natural rhythm.

I am expected to despise Potter and why shouldn't I? My relationship with him was a volatile one; I am neither content nor discontent with it. The state of our relationship has not and will not change. I will treat him the same as before and celebrate his eventual departure from Hogarts.

A perfect strategy if it not for the fact that I am already fighting a losing battle.

Potter's potion is bubbling away right on schedule. It'll be done in a few days.

I'm entertaining the idea of using this whole event as leverage against him. He is easily provoked.  I could jibe him about using his time as a helpless infant as a metaphor. I could mock him and embarrass him in front of his schoolmates.

I could imagine him growing red with anger and embarrassment. But I can no longer imagine my satisfaction in seeing this.

I could have Potter in the palm of my hand. Except he already has me wrapped around his tiny fingers.

"Be not afraid of greatness: some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon 'em." *

Harry just looks at me obliviously, half lethargic and mumbles. "Da…up."

"But beware of greatness, for it can blind you and lead you astray," I say and lift him into my arms. The brat made some more unintelligible sounds and lays his head on my shoulder.

"Don't you dare forget that, brat." I rock him slowly and in minutes the child was asleep.

Greatness is a burden he must bear. But for a few days yet, he can remain an ordinary boy.

The re-aging potion is complete.

Harry will return to normal as if this affair had never happened. He won't remember what happened nor will he remember me.

He will not remember wanting me to play with him.

He will not remember crying when I was gone.

He will not remember falling asleep in my arms.

He will not remember drooling all over my robes.

He will not remember driving me into madness.

He will not remember me saying sorry when I shouted.

He will not remember and it is better that way.

He will not remember me and I will forget that I cared for him.

In time, perhaps.

"Severus, are you well?" Albus asked me.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Harry is a remarkable child, isn't he?" He said with a twinkle in his eyes.

"I suppose so," I replied.

"Mr. Potter is also a remarkable child, don't you agree?"

I frowned inquiringly at Albus.

"You have gotten to know and care for Harry. But this child and the teenager you know as Mr. Potter is the same individual, you realize?"

I nod slowly after awhile, feeling confused and conflicted.

Albus put a hand on my shoulder. "Well, you've had quite the adventure, haven't you Severus?"

I snorted. "Adventures in babysitting? How absurd."