“A ‘D’?” Harry exclaimed in horror. “A ‘D’? How could he give me a ‘D’?”

Wincing in sympathetic concern, Ron and Hermione looked at the long sheet of parchment, marked almost completely in fiery red ink, Snape’s only patriotism of Gryffindor colors. “It’s just one essay, mate,” Ron tried to sound comforting, but he hadn’t even managed to get a ‘D’ himself on this particular assignment, and they all knew that this essay was a major grade. Typical. “It’s just Snape, you know?”

“I just can’t believe it!” Harry gawked at the ugly red slashes and the spidery handwriting that marred the paper. There were hardly two words together that Snape had left alone. “I read that stupid potions book a hundred times, took all those notes, and even went to the library to do extra reading on the potion, and I still got a ‘D’?”

Feeling sick and disgusted, the young Gryffindor threw the Potions essay away and onto the floor of the hall. How could he have gotten a ‘D’? He had really worked hard on this essay! He had done work that Hermione would do! He had been so pleased with his focus, so proud of this essay. He was sure he would get at least an ‘E,’ but instead he had gotten a big, fat, ugly ‘D’ from the big, greasy, ugly Potions master. It was unfair.

“What did you guys get?” Harry asked, although he did not really know why he wanted to know. He really was not in the mood to talk about school work, and yet he felt compelled to ask.

“I got a ‘P,’” Ron admitted. “I asked the twins to help me with my work.”

Turning to Hermione, the boys realized that their other friend was not at all pleased with her grade either. “What did you get, ‘Mione?” Ron asked.

Fidgeting, looking like a strange mix between angry and ready to burst into tears, the clever little witch answered, “An ‘E,’” very quietly.

That was it! If Hermione got an ‘E’ then there was no hope for any of them! Snape had gone too far this time. He was not being fair, and everyone in the school, even the Slytherins, knew it. He could not just go around deciding who passed and who failed just because they were in one house or the other. That was not fair!

Determination setting in, Harry marched over to his crumpled essay and picked it up before storming away.

“Hey! Where are you going, mate?” Ron called after him.

“I’m going to see Snape,” Harry called over his shoulder.

“Harry, wait!” Hermione cried.

Before he knew it, Harry was facing his two best friends, each one looking at him worriedly. “I don’t think you should go talk to Snape right now, Harry,” Hermione said uneasily.

“He’ll kill you!” Ron exclaimed. “You know what a foul mood he was in, in class!”

“And let’s not forget to add in the fact that he doesn’t like you, Harry,” the little witch pointed out smartly. “He’ll likely give you a detention for something.”

“I don’t care.” The green-eyed Gryffindor crossed his arms resolutely. “I’m going to go in there and make him listen to me! He’ll have to explain to me why I’m wrong, and when he can’t, I’ll go to Dumbledore, and the headmaster will make Snape change my grade!”

The other two children did not look as confident in their friend’s arguing skills as much as Harry had hoped they would. In fact, Hermione looked right out opposed to the idea while Ron wavered between encouragement and doubt. Their faces only ignited Harry’s anger, though. Everyone was scared of Snape, and he was tired of it. The Potions master had far too much power when it came to fear and intimidation. Someone had to stand up to him! If he was supposed to fight Voldemort someday, he could practice on Snape now.

Setting his face again in resolution, Harry relented to his friends for the moment and followed them to their next class. He would make his way back down into the dungeons to battle the monster that dwelt below later that night. He could handle Snape . . . he could! Snape was just a man — a greasy, mean spirited man, but a man nonetheless, and Harry was convinced that he could handle any man. He would wait, and he would compose his argument so that not even the Slytherin would be able to find holes to slither through. He would wait . . .

~*~

Later that night, once back into the cool of the dungeon, Harry’s confidence began slipping. It was colder than it was during the day, and it kept getting colder the further he went into the ground. It was creepy in a way. Harry could not remember a time when he had gone down into the dungeons alone. Had he ever? He could not really remember, but he shoved that thought away.

Standing outside the Potions classroom, the young Gryffindor could feel the air escaping underneath the door from the classroom, and it was much colder than even the air outside in the hall. A shiver ran down his spine as he waited, as if expecting something fantastic to happen . . . but of course, nothing did. The hall was still, eerily silent, and Harry imagined he could see the steam come from under the door, much like that which comes out when opening a freezer.

But not wanting to be scared, Harry swallowed his fear and knocked on the door. For all his bravery, the knock was quiet and gentle, barely considered a knock at all. Not surprisingly, there came no reply. And just when the boy thought that he should give up and Snape was not in, the door suddenly creaked open, an odd light coming from within.

Driven by curiosity, Harry peeked through the crack and looked inside. He could not see anything except shadows of empty desks. When nothing else happened, he grew bolder and cracked the door open even more to get a better look inside. Perhaps Snape was not here? Maybe he had just forgotten to lock the door?

But then another burst of light came from within Snape’s personal work room, a room that was constantly kept locked. No student had ever seen the inside of this particular room. Frightened at first, Harry picked up his courage again and slowly crept into the classroom, making sure that he was not heard. He had learned this skill well from living with the Dursleys.

As he snuck in, Harry was startled by how different the classroom looked. Without the candles, the room was terrifying, looking much like the dungeons in the old horror films. The desks, the cauldrons, the vials . . . everything in the semi-darkness looked far harsher, far more menacing, than when the candles were lit. And the room felt colder, more . . . depressing. It made his heart sink. He had thought the Potions room was the most depressing room even in the light. Like this, it was beyond salvageable.

When he got to the door of the secret room, Harry carefully peered around the corner, much like a spy, trying to see what was going on inside. What he saw both surprised and amazed him.

Hogwarts had the reputation of hiring the most skilled witches and wizards in all of the United Kingdom — some even said in all Europe, and that each professor knew his or her trade thoroughly. And even though he knew Professor Snape had the degree of Potions Master, a very difficult degree to obtain, Harry had never fully believed that the Hogwarts Potions Master was really much good. That is, until now.

Within the room, his back to the door, Snape stood over a cauldron that exuded a pale blue color. Other than the light of the potion within and a soft bluish light that hung overhead, there was nothing else lighting the room. Harry stood dumbly as he watched the Potions master at work. He had never seen anyone work so effortlessly, so confidently, so utterly perfectly before! Snape’s movements, his methods in working, were so smooth that it was like watching water run over rock. It was in that moment that Harry believed what Snape had told them all many times before: that potions could be done correctly by going through the motions, but it took a true knack for the trade to make one excel in this skill. Those that could see beyond just the words to make it mastered an art. Snape definitely had the gift for it.

Charmed despite who it was making the potions, Harry stood watching as the professor worked silently and efficiently. Snape glided from one station to another so gracefully that it was like watching a ballet. The professor chopped ingredients here, then moved to sprinkle others in there before crushing something over at the next table. Later, the Gryffindor would be shocked to discover that he was actually envious of Snape’s ability. Harry could not think of a single subject in which he had such talent. He wondered if Hermione would ever possess Snape’s level of talent in any profession when she grew up. She was very talented.

But it was when Snape added a dark, foul-looking ingredient that Harry could not help but be completely awestruck. As the black substance came in contact with the potion, there came a powerful gust that blew back Harry’s hair, and the whole lighting changed from the soft blue into a purple color. Smoke rose off the large cauldron and Snape, standing directly before the boiling pot, stared down into his creation silently. Harry wished he could see his professor’s face, but the view of the Potions master from the back was incredible enough from where he stood.

Snape’s robes billowed and fluttered about him delicately, as whatever potion this was still caused a gust of air of some sort. A green mist was slowly rising from the cauldron and it seemed to circle above the Potions master’s head. There came energy from the Slytherin, one that Harry had never felt before, a shock of raw power that was not around the wizard any time the Gryffindor could remember. It was as though the professor’s magic was being completely released here. It was exhilarating to feel such potent magic.

But it was also here that Harry learned just how powerful Snape really was. The Head of Slytherin was portrayed to be a great wizard, a wizard that was not to be trifled with. And even though all of the students knew this, the Gryffindor was not sure anyone knew of Snape’s full power . . . except, of course, Dumbledore. It was in that moment that Harry truly feared Snape, feared him more than anyone else in the world, because who knew what side the Potions master was really on?

When the potion started to fade back into a calming blue, Harry could not help but suppress a shudder. Watching his professor work made him think of Merlin. How many times had Harry wished Merlin and fairytales were real before he had come to Hogwarts? Funny that he should see his childhood dream come to life in Snape.

Looking back up to watch the colorful smoke, Harry’s view was suddenly blocked by a wall of black. Startled, he jumped back several feet, and looked up into the face of an absolutely livid Professor Snape. Oh, shit! The boy thought.

“Potter!” Snape hissed, slamming the door shut to his private work station, while casting a Stasis Charm over his shoulder to protect his work. “What are you doing here?” He stalked closer to the Gryffindor. “Come to steal something else, have you?”

Backing into a table, Harry tried to swallow his fear and remember his earlier anger. “No,” he shook his head. “No, I wasn’t stealing anything.”

Glaring daggers down at the boy, Snape growled low in his throat, like a beast being restrained from making a kill. “Then what, pray tell, are you doing in my classroom? Why didn’t you knock?” he barked.

Hermione had been right after all; Snape still did not seem to be in a good mood. In fact, the professor seemed to be in a worse mood than he had been earlier that day when they had had class. Ron’s words of Snape killing him ran in Harry’s ears, and at the moment, he could not help but believe his friend. The Potions master did not look like he was going to be understanding. In fact, the professor did not seem like he was even going to be very civil! But not wanting to back down now, Harry tried his best to be the Gryffindor everyone expected him to be.

“I . . . I had a question, sir,” Harry tried to explain. “But when I knocked on the door, no one answered, and it creaked open, so I stuck my head in and I saw the light coming from that room, so I just . . . came in, sir. Honest!”

With burning black eyes, the Potions master scorched Harry with his gaze. The Gryffindor had to look away, but Snape snatched his essay out of his hand and strode to his desk while flicking his wand to light the candles. Sitting at his desk, the professor looked over the red-wrecked essay.

“What is this?” he snapped, frowning contemptuously at the parchment. “I’ve already graded this.”

Walking over to the large mahogany desk as well, Harry nodded his head, hoping his stubbornness would keep him standing. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged. “But I wanted to know why it was all wrong.”

Snape glared so hatefully up at Harry that the boy thought his heart was going to stop. It suddenly occurred to the Gryffindor that the Potions master knew what he was up to. Snape somehow knew Harry wanted to get him in trouble with this essay.

“Can’t you read?” the professor sneered. “Obviously not, or not very well, because if you could, you might have easily read my comments on this . . . essay,” he glared down at the parchment in disgust.

“But none of what you wrote makes sense.” Harry, feeling offended, found the courage to speak up at last. “I worked really hard on this essay — I read books outside of the assigned text, even asked questions and took notes, and I know that most of what I’ve written is right!”

“Is it?” Snape challenged right back. Harry’s heart skipped a beat. “Tell me, Mr. Potter, do you have a certification in potions-making? Are you a Potions Master? Have you taken tests of potions to obtain such a degree? Can you list every popular potion in Europe and the instructions along with them? No? Well, then, do not lecture me, boy! I know what is right here and what is wrong, not you.”

Despite everything, Harry could not help but wish that the man before him would just fall over dead. How could anyone be so utterly infuriating? How could this man just sit here and be so mean to everyone? What had happened to this wizard that made him hate everything and everyone?

A voice in the back of Harry’s mind answered him. Voldemort.

Again, another chill ran through the boy as he thought that perhaps Dumbledore was wrong.

Maybe Snape really was a true Death Eater. Maybe . . . maybe Snape’s loyalties still lay with the Dark Lord? It was not unheard of. After all, the Potions master showed little else but contempt for every house but his own, which just happened to be Slytherin. And there was a distinct prejudice of Gryffindors. And there was the fact that Snape desperately wanted the position of the DADA professor for a long time. Maybe Snape was not as good a person as the headmaster had thought. Maybe the Slytherin was just bidding his time? The time would come soon when Snape would show his true colors, Harry just knew.

But at the moment, the young Potter contented himself with the fact that Snape could not kill him right now, as that would make Dumbledore more than a little angry, and he could not get away with his evil deed. Someone would catch Snape if he decided to kill. In the long run, it was just too risky to kill here at Hogwarts.

“I might not have a mastery,” Harry ground out through his teeth, “but I know that some of this is right! I looked it all up!”

“This,” Snape spat, pointing viciously at the parchment, “is nothing but vague speculations! I wanted an essay based upon facts already existing, not theories that you or someone else has come up with.”

“Well, you should have told us that in class an — ”

“I did tell you that in class.”

“Well you should have — ”

“How dare you take that tone with me!” Snape rose from his desk, towering oppressively over Harry like a dark spire on a tower. “You will watch your attitude,” he hissed. “I am your superior, your elder, and you will treat me with the respect that is owed me!”

Frightened and yet furious, Harry balled up his fists at his sides, wanting nothing so badly as to punch Snape in the face. Why could the man completely undo him? Why did the Potions master make Harry want to hurt him so badly? Why did Snape hate him? He had never done anything to the wizard without the Slytherin provoking it out of him.

But before Harry could speak, suddenly Snape’s eyes widened and he gasped in pain. All at once, the Potions master fell to the floor, clutching at his left arm. Startled, the boy ran to the other side of the desk to look down at the fallen form of his professor. The adult wizard’s eyes were closed tightly, and he was clutching his teeth together hard that looked like an attempt not to scream. The pale face of the Slytherin lost what little color it had left.

Shocked, Harry forgot his anger and knelt down beside his hated teacher. “Professor Snape? Professor?” he asked, not knowing if he should touch the man or leave him lay.

Opening his eyes, Snape gasped in a breath before he reached out and grabbed Harry by the front of the shirt and desperately tried to sit up again. Understanding the wizard’s intent, the young Gryffindor helped the old man sit up and made sure that Snape could lean his back against the side of his desk.

Once up, the Potions master, with trembling hands, pushed up his left sleeve. There, on the professor’s arm, was a large hole that was dripping blood. There was no sign of where the Dark Mark used to be, but from Snape’s expression, Harry could tell that the wizard still continued to feel the terrible effects of the Mark and was not just in serious pain from the lack of flesh on his arm.

Leaning his dark head back against the desk, Snape’s breathing was quick and labored. His eyes looked glassy and began to turn a sickly yellow color. It was then that Harry knew that something was seriously wrong with the wizard. “Stay here, professor, I’ll go get Madam Pomfrey,” the panic in the boy’s voice was unmistakable and he wondered at it.

“No!” Snape gasped. “No, you will not leave here!” the wizard ordered. “They’ll find you!”

Not understanding what was going on, Harry was shocked when the injured wizard stood up quickly. Then, unexpectedly, the boy found that his teacher was shoving him under his large desk. “Professor, what — ”

“Be silent, Potter!” the Slytherin whispered. Harry could hear the desperation in the other man’s voice. “You will stay still and silent. Someone is coming; someone will be here very soon. You will stay here, hidden and away until there is a chance for you to get away. And then you are to leave — run to the headmaster’s office, and do not look back. Do you understand me, Potter?” Snape actually had concern in his cold, dark eyes. For once, Harry perceived something in them other than hatred or anger. “You are to run without looking back. You will go to the headmaster’s office, yes?”

Not knowing exactly why he was agreeing, Harry found himself nodding. Whoever it was had Snape scared, and if Snape was scared, that did not bode well for anyone. “Yes, sir,” he nodded.

“I mean it, not a sound!” the professor snapped. “And you will go to the headmaster?”

“Yes, sir,” Harry nodded more urgently.

Although his face contorted in pain again, Snape seemed satisfied with the answer he received and stood, spun around, and extinguished all of the lights within the room once again. In the dark under his professor’s desk, Harry sat quietly, wondering if anyone could hear his heart beating. It pounded loudly in his ears, and for a moment, the noise was almost too much.

What was he doing here, sitting under Snape’s desk like a coward? He should be helping the Potions master; after all, the man was hurt, and who knew who was going to show up? If Snape was this badly scared, then he would need help! But then again, Harry had promised he would emerge and go to the headmaster’s office when an opportunity presented itself.

The blue light washed into the room dully. Peeking out just a bit, Harry could see that Snape had opened back up his private work room, and that things looked much the same as they had when he’d come in earlier. If Snape was there, the wizard was not making any noise whatsoever. And just when the Gryffindor thought that he was alone, and perhaps he should just go to Dumbledore, the door to the classroom opened up with a nearly silent creak.

Harry ducked back under the desk completely, pressing his back against the wood and curling his legs up lest they be seen. He sat completely still as he listened to the slight footsteps that echoed faintly on the hard stone floors. “Severus Snape,” came the easy drawl of a man’s voice, one that Harry had never heard before.

“Benjamin Archer,” returned Snape’s deep voice. “What are you doing here?”

There was a silence, and Harry could just imagine the newcomer was looking around the Potions master’s impressive collection of stores and the beautiful potion that was currently being made. “What is that in your hands?” Archer asked.

“Rose petals,” Snape replied silkily. “What are you doing here, Archer?”

There was another pause, in which footsteps could be heard. “Just thought I would come in and check up on you,” the newcomer answered lazily. “Good thing too — you are looking frightfully pale. Did last night’s excursion really drain you so terribly?” The sneer was unmistakable. “I’d think a Potions master would have a quick way to heal himself from our Master’s punishments?”

“I will ask you only once more,” Snape’s voice was like steel. “What are you doing here?”

“As I said, just coming to see you after last night.” Archer’s voice sounded innocent, yet brutal. “I heard that you tortured and killed that little Muggle girl. A four-year-old, was she not?”

Harry’s eyes widened in surprise, but he fought to keep from gasping too loudly. Snape, his professor, had killed a little four-year-old girl? The thought revolted Harry. But even so, he strained harder to hear what was being said. A part of the boy could not quite believe anyone to be quite so cruel.

There was no answer from Snape, and there must have been a battle of wills between the two. Suddenly, Archer gave a bit of a nervous laugh. “Yes, you must be proud of yourself. You, the glorious double agent of our Lord and Master! You really had us all going. You flattered when flattery was needed, you begged when begging was required. You kissed feet when needed, too. You had us all fooled, you did. That is, until you made your mistake.”

There was another quiet that fell, and Harry began to lean out of the protective shadows of Snape’s desk. He could see in the doorway, a tall, thin man with sandy brown hair. He looked neat and well put together. He was not as tall or as thin as Snape, but he did look, at least from the back, like an easy target for the Potions professor. From where he was, Harry still could not see Snape’s face, but he wished that he could have. It would have given him courage. Strange that that would be the case.

“Yes, you gloriously took that little brat, didn’t you?” Archer went on. “We all heard the screams, we all heard you say the Killing Curse, but you know what I saw?”

Harry paled. What had this man seen? Snape remained silent.

“I saw you unbind the little girl.” The Death Eater’s voice held a taunt. “I saw you kneel before her, hold her to your chest. I saw you enter into her mind. I saw you disappear and then come back. You took the little girl home, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” came the tight whisper from the Potions master.

“So.” Archer took out his wand. Harry slipped completely out from under the desk, and went to the doorway to see his professor’s face. “I was right in what I saw. You are a triple agent! You are the spy that my Master has been seeking for so long! I must confess I am shocked.”

“Why?” Snape asked, his face blank, though extremely pale. Harry could see blood dripping down the wizard’s robes and pooling on the floor at his feet. “You must have known that a half-blood would not find everything the Dark Lord did as tasteful as Purebloods.”

“No,” the Death Eater agreed. “No I suppose your kind would not have as stout of hearts as the pure. Now you will know what happens to those that go against the wishes of the Dark Lord firsthand. Now, what’s in your pockets?”

“Posies,” came the biting reply.

Archer did not seem to like that. His voice changed into something terrible as he said, “Cute. But I meant your wand. Take out your wand!”

As he watched, Harry suddenly found his eyes locked with Snape’s. The professor stared long and hard at his student, and the Gryffindor knew instantly that that was the sign. He had to get ready to run. He watched, waiting to see what his professor would do, when he noticed Snape’s hands. The Potions master had slipped his wand into his hand. Where it had come from, the boy did not know, but he readied himself anyway.

As fast as lightning, Snape pointed his wand and yelled, “Stupefy!”

Archer was able to cover his panic and block the spell, but Harry realized that it was his time to move. He ran from one side of the door to the other, making his way to the classroom door, when he suddenly froze. What was he doing? What if Snape really needed help? The man was injured, for Merlin’s sake!

Looking back and forth between his freedom and the battle, Harry found he could not consciously run out and leave Snape alone. It was just wrong. Sneaking back over, the boy pressed himself flat against the wall and waited. He could not just barge in; he had to wait for the perfect moment, when he knew who was where and what was going on.

“Crucio!”

"Expelliarmus!”

“Petrificus Totalus!”

“Sectumsempra!”

The last was said by Snape, and a scream that went up, meaning that the Potions master had hit his target. Harry could not help but jump when Archer screamed, but he was also silently cheering Snape on. Peeking around the corner, Harry decided that it was now his chance to go and help his professor. But, again, his view was blocked by Snape himself.

Although he did not know why, Harry found that he was touched by Snape’s actions. Here was Snape, the Potions master, blocking the way between the Death Eater and the boy that he supposedly hated. Though Harry knew that Snape was more than likely protecting him because the world needed him to be alive, Harry was touched nonetheless. This man did not have to do this. He could really play whichever side he pleased. He was in a position where he could go to either side and get what he really wanted. But here he was, protecting Harry when Archer did not even know Harry was in the area! Snape did, in some way, care.

“You’ll pay for that, Snape!” Archer cried. “You’re just a traitor, you bastard! You’ll pay!”

“Diffindo!” was the Potions master’s only response.

Harry ducked back around the corner, took a deep breath, and was about to jump into the fight when he was repelled backwards by the cry of, “Avada Kedavra!”

There was a flash of green light. There was a terrible noise so loud it was as though the earth was splitting open, waiting to devour souls. There came a sickening, dull thud, as though something hard yet fleshy hit the ground. And then . . . then there was nothing. Silence.

Horrified, Harry’s hand flew to his mouth as tears burst forth from his eyes. Shaking with uncontrollable fear and sorrow, the young wizard could think of nothing else to do but obey Severus Snape’s last command and run.

Running from the room, Harry moved his legs as fast as he could, not thinking of anything but the horrid scene that he had just witnessed, a scene that reminded him far too much of his mother’s own death. The words to that horrible curse sounded again and again in his ears — the flash of light, the explosion, the sound of a body hitting the ground, the silence . . .

Snape had showed where his loyalties were at last. Dear Merlin . . . Snape was dead!

~*~

Ring around the rosie,

A pocket full of posies,

Ashes! Ashes!

We all . . .

Fall . . .

Down . . .

Harry could not remember a time when he had run so hard in his life. His lungs burned; his side ached; but he did not really notice it at the moment. He did not realize when he had gotten out of the dungeon; he did not really have any sense of time. All that the young Gryffindor could think about doing was getting to the headmaster’s office as quickly as he could. He had to get there and tell Dumbledore before Archer could get away!

It seemed to take forever, and yet in a blink of an eye, Harry was outside the headmaster’s office. “Lemon drops!” he gasped out.

The gargoyle leaped out of the way quickly and Harry did not have to slow his pace too much. The boy ran up the stairs as fast as he could before barging through the door, not even bothering to knock. At the moment, manners were the last things on his mind.

The headmaster sat at his desk, and he looked up very confused. Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were now staring at Harry as well. “Pro — fessor . . . Dumbledore!” the young man gasped, leaning over.

“Merlin’s bloody beard!” Filius exclaimed, standing up in his chair.

“Potter!” Minerva exclaimed. “What is the meaning of this barging in? What’s wrong with you? What’s going on?”

“Take a seat here, Harry.” Dumbledore stood up as well, and tried to walk the boy to his now-vacant seat.

While the headmaster’s offer was kind, and indeed sounded very tempting, Harry jerked his arm away from the old man’s grip. “No!” he shrieked. “In the dungeons . . . Snape . . . was brewing an’ . . . and his arm started . . . started to bleed an’ he . . . he fell and someone — Archer — came and . . . and . . .” Here the Gryffindor burst into tears once more. It was so strange that he should be weeping over Snape, but he could not help it. That man had given his life for Harry, the same as his mother . . .

Dumbledore put his arm around Harry and, leading the boy to his chair, sat him down anyway. Harry, too distraught, did not notice, and allowed himself to be taken away. When he sat down, he was shaking terribly, reliving the horrid scene over and over again in his mind. His father, his mother, Cedric, Snape . . . they had all died in the same gruesome manner. It seemed everyone around him was dying!

“Now, Harry,” Harry looked up into the concerned blue eyes. “Tell me, what is this about Professor Snape?”

The young Gryffindor’s trembling increased, as all he could picture was Snape fighting to the death to make sure Harry lived. Snape could have probably gotten away, but he stood his ground to fight, to make sure that Harry would be safe. A heavy weight of guilt came crashing down on the young wizard, and for a moment, he thought he was going to pass out.

“Harry? Harry!” Professor McGonagall touched his shoulder. “Breathe, dear. Just calm down. What has happened?” There was concern in her normally stern voice.

“Professor Snape’s dead!” Harry cried.

The three adults stood stunned, each one of their faces a mask of the purest horror. Realizing again that nothing was being done, Harry stood up and grabbed Dumbledore’s hand. “Come on! Archer might still be there! We have to catch him!”

Snapping out of his revulsion, Dumbledore nodded and ran to the Floo. “Quickly,” he barked at the others.“Severus Snape’s office!” he shouted. The other three followed.

One by one, they all managed to get through, and they raced out of Snape’s office and towards the classroom. The three professors were too worried over Severus’s killer to think of Harry still following them. They all took out their wands, and carefully, Dumbledore pushed open the classroom door from where Harry had left it slightly open when he had run out. It was still dark.

Stepping in, the wizards and witch stealthily stalked toward the private lab where they saw the bluish-purple glow coming from. Harry held his breath, hoping that Archer was still there so they could get him and send him to Azkaban to rot. This had all happened much too soon after Cedric . . .

But when Filius and Albus burst through, they saw nothing immediately. A signal passed between them and Filius lit the candles in the room. At first glance, they did not see anyone. But the sight of the room was much worse than Harry had thought it would be.

Looking around the damaged room, the three wizards and the witch stood in the doorway of the Potions master’s work lab in amazement. What once had been a beautifully organized, neat room was now a disastrous wreck. There were shattered beakers, busted catalysts, broken tables . . . and, surprisingly, in the middle of the room, the large cast-iron cauldron that had earlier been simmering with the wondrous potion was lying on the floor, cracked in many pieces. The potion that the Potions master had been making was now all over the walls, the floor, and the ceiling. And lying face down, his head covered, was Severus Snape.

Harry instantly tried to rush in to see the body of the slain man, but Dumbledore stopped him and held him in place. Professors Flitwick and McGonagall scanned the room and the potion to make sure that the purple substance was not harmful. When it was determined that it was not a threat, they cleaned it away, leaving only a small sample. The moment that was done, Harry broke free of the headmaster’s grip and rushed to the Potions master.

Kneeling down beside the obviously dead man, Harry, with shaking hands, carefully over turned his professor, wanting, yet at the same time not wanting to see his face. Behind him, he heard Professor McGonagall sob. Taking a deep breath, Harry steeled himself for what was sure to break his heart.

To all of their shock and amazement, when he turned the man over, they did not see Severus Snape, but Benjamin Archer. “What?” Harry whispered in confusion.

He stood up immediately and began looking around the room.  Along with all of the broken pieces of lab equipment, there were also several trails of blood. Harry recognized the initial pool from when Snape had been standing still being questioned before the fight. And there was blood running from several rather nasty looking gashes in Archer’s torso. Professor Snape was nowhere to be found.

“Where is he?” Minerva cried as she began overturning debris large enough to hide a body. But her search was all in vain. There was no body. “Where is he?!”

“Harry.” Dumbledore spun on the boy. “What happened? From the beginning. I want all the details!”

The anger and grief in the headmaster’s voice was undeniable. Dumbledore had really cared for Snape, and it wasn’t until that moment that the last of the Potter line understood. “I came here to ask Professor Snape a question,” Harry began. “I walked in the room and saw that he was brewing a potion. He didn’t say what it was. We got to . . . talking, and right in the middle of something he was saying, he fell to the floor and his Dark Mark started to bleed.” The headmaster paled. “It was like a chunk of his skin had been torn off. But when I offered to go get help, he grabbed me and put me under his desk; told me someone was coming soon and that I needed to hide until I found a moment to get away.”

“He hid you under the desk?” Flitwick cocked his head, looking grave. “It was clever, I must say — if, of course he would not let on you were there.”

“He didn’t!” Harry, for some reason, felt obligated to defend his own, and last, defender. “He put out all the lights and went back into his lab. Not two minutes later, Archer, that Death Eater, came in and started talking about Snape being a traitor. I snuck out from under the desk and Snape signaled for me to go. I started to, but I couldn’t just leave him!” His eyes were pleading. “So convinced myself that I was going to help him when I saw that he was blocking the doorway from Archer, and that’s when Snape hurt him, I think, and then he . . . Archer killed . . . Snape,” the boy concluded miserably. “And it’s all my fault.”

Silence fell over them again.

“It was no one’s fault but Archer’s,” Dumbledore spoke as though his throat was tight. “Severus knew what he was about, and he was only doing his duty.”

“He saved my life!” Harry cried, unable to believe that the headmaster’s words were so cold.

The ancient wizard nodded. “Yes, Harry, that was Severus’s job.” He smiled sadly at the boy before him. “After your parents died, my boy, Severus vowed to protect you from anything and everything, even if it meant he had to give up his own life.”

Stunned, the young Gryffindor gawked openly at the headmaster. “Why?” he asked.

Again, with another sad smile, Dumbledore gently placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Because, he cared for your mother, Harry.” The young Gryffindor’s eyes widened in surprise. “And the night Lily died . . . he was never the same after that. He promised to protect you; to make sure Lily’s sacrifice was not in vain. He vowed to always watch you, to make sure that you were safe from all the outside harms. He wanted to redeem himself, my dear boy. And he has.”

“He didn’t have to die!” Harry cried. “He could have gotten away had it not been for me! I know he must have known I was still there. He could have . . . should have gotten away!”

Shaking his head sadly, Albus smiled gently at the boy. “He did his duty, Harry, and we should honor him for that.”

Astonished, Harry did not know what to think. Snape not only saved his life, two times that he could think of, but also had pledged to protect him, even to the point of death? That was not something he had ever imagined possible. It was . . . unnerving, really.

“So what do we do?” Flitwick asked, his voice gruff with emotion. “What do we do with him?” he pointed to the dead Death Eater.

“What of Severus?” Minerva cried.

There was a little noise, one so soft that for a moment, they all thought that they had imagined it. They all sat still, tense, looking around the room, hoping to see some sign of life. Nothing happened and no more sounds were heard. Dumbledore looked down at Harry and then around the room again.

“Severus?” he called gently. “Are you in here? Are you alive?”

There came no answer. It seemed that the Potions master was really gone. But there was something within Harry that just could not believe that Snape was really dead. There were those that wanted the Potions master gone, but he would never leave. Snape had to be alive, if just out of spite.

There came another shifting noise and Dumbledore instantly pushed Harry back, so that the boy would not be hit by any spells if there was someone or something still here. Minerva took Harry back into the classroom while Albus and Filius, their wands drawn, crept forward. There was no real place for a grown witch or wizard to hide, but they had all learned a lesson with Peter Pettigrew. Whatever was there might just be an Animagi.

“Where’s Professor Snape?” Harry turned and whispered to his Head of House. “I heard Archer say the Killing Curse. So where is Snape, and why is Archer dead?”

“Hush!” the Head of Gryffindor growled. “Be quiet, Harry. We don’t know what’s in there still.”

They waited tensely for several more minutes before Filius called out, “It’s nothing. There is nothing here.”

Confused, but not wanting to argue the case, Minerva looked down at her young charge. “Harry, why don’t you go to the hospital wing? Get yourself calmed down?”

“I don’t want to go there,” the boy hissed.

“Would you prefer going back up to the common room?” McGonagall did not back down, but glared at her student earnestly.

The thought of returning to the common room, where everyone would be talking, laughing, and acting carefree, disgusted Harry just then. And he was sure that the moment someone saw him, they’d all come running over, asking him what was wrong and where he had been. If there was one thing Harry was certain of, it was that he probably looked terrible. Who wouldn’t after they had once again witnessed a murder?

Hanging his head in defeat, the Boy Who Lived nodded and found himself walking out the door. He could feel McGonagall’s eyes burning into his back, but he fought the temptation of turning around. Perhaps she was right; maybe he really did need to go to the hospital wing, if only just to calm down. This was the second time, after all, in less than a year in which he heard and saw someone murdered. Not to mention he still had nightmares about his mother . . .

So, dragging his feet, Harry made his way out of the dungeons and up towards the infirmary. He could just add Snape’s demise in with all of the others he had had the misfortune of seeing.

~*~

Walking up to the healing chambers, Harry could not think of a single thing he wanted to do more than just lay down somewhere where no one would ever find him and sleep for at least ten years. Either that, or he wanted to just run away and never come back. How was he going to face everyone tomorrow? It was only a week into the new school year, and already everyone thought he killed Cedric; what were they going to think when it came out that Professor Snape was dead? Dumbledore was not going to tell everyone that a Death Eater had gotten into the school, and since Harry had been the only one to last see Snape alive . . . Merlin! What was everyone going to think?

Sick, the Gryffindor decided that maybe he should just sleep in the infirmary. He did not want to see Ron or anyone else. He did not want them to ask him questions. He did not even want to see anything that reminded him of better times, or things that made him happy. He just wanted to be alone. He wanted to be miserable. If only he had helped Snape sooner!

What would everyone think when it was announced that Severus Snape was dead? What excuse would Dumbledore make for his death? That the Potions master had had a heart attack? That did not seem very likely for the thirty-five-year-old professor. A potion explosion? No one would ever believe that. Snape was too much of a perfectionist to let something like that happen. Everything Harry thought of seemed an unlikely way for the professor to die. The only way Harry could see Snape dying so young was at the hands of Death Eaters. Would Dumbledore admit it? Or would he not even say anything? Maybe the old wizard would just say that Snape had to leave Hogwarts for some reason or other. But that didn’t make much sense, either! The students would definitely start rumors that Snape had died then.

Why was Harry so concerned with all of this anyway? Hadn’t he just thought tonight how much he wished the Potions master would die? And now the man was dead. Why wasn’t Harry pleased, then? He had gotten his wish! His main tormentor was gone — there was not going to be anymore unfair treatment of students, as far as Harry could see. So why then was he so utterly miserable? He hated Snape! Shouldn’t he be happy the greasy git was gone?

But no matter how Harry looked at it, all he could see was Snape standing in that doorway, blocking Archer from him. He could hear the concern in the wizard’s voice when he told him that someone was coming and he needed to run. Feel the fear the older wizard held when he thought that someone would harm his student. It was only when faced with death that Snape had shown his true side, his human side. Realizing that the Potions master had been out to protect Harry from the very beginning — made a promise to do so, in fact — made Harry feel ill.

When he was outside the healing chambers, the young wizard had to wonder how he had gotten there so quickly. He did not really remember half the journey here, but he was grateful for it. Maybe Madam Pomfrey would be willing to not fuss over him so much and just give him a Dreamless Sleep Potion? He really did need to get more sleep.

Opening the doors after taking a moment to collect himself, Harry walked in to find that the room was empty. Good. He did not want to see anyone. He did not want anyone to see him.

It only took a moment more before Madam Pomfrey poked her head out of her office and saw Harry standing by the doors, looking around. “Gracious!” she exclaimed, and rushed towards the student.

Watching the witch hurry to him, Harry realized that he must not have looked all that terrific if the medi-witch was coming towards him with such burning intent. Maybe he really did look terrible, but Harry was sure he was not as bad as Snape . . . How could the Potions master really be dead? He was supposed to be too mean to die!

“Mr. Potter, what’s happened? You look positively a fright!” the witch exclaimed while leading Harry to a bed to sit. “Are you ill?”

Although he was tempted to say no, Harry nodded. He did not feel well, but he knew that he was not sick with the flu. “Can I just have some Dreamless Sleep Potion and stay here tonight?” he asked Pomfrey pleadingly.

“Of course you can, dear,” the nurse said softly. “But let’s just take your temperature first and see if we can’t figure out what’s wro — ”

“I’m not sick!” Harry leaned away from the witch who was waving her wand over him. “I just . . . something happened tonight with . . . It was . . .” He looked up at her helplessly. He could not tell her what had really happened. He could not bring himself to say that Snape was dead; that he had been killed by a Death Eater. It was a horrible thought, and Harry was not so sure he would be able to tell anyone else about it.

Amazingly, the witch seemed to understand, at least in part, what Harry was trying to say. “You were wanting to sleep here?” she asked gently.

“Yes, please,” he said softly.

The medi-witch frowned in concern, but summoned two potions. She looked each one over carefully before pouring them out into the appropriate amounts. “I’m going to have to tell Severus to make more,” she muttered under her breath.

Harry had to fight to keep from crying again.

“Are you sure you do not want to talk about things, Harry?” Madam Pomfrey asked, concern still evident in her dark eyes. “I will not tell a soul if it is a private matter.”

Normally Harry would have tried to smile when someone showed such concern for him. But at the moment, he could not bring himself look even remotely appreciative. Every time he tried to think of something happy, all he could bring up in his mind was the self-made image of Snape lying in a pool of blood, dead. It was gruesome and terrible to think of, but that was all that came to mind.

“No,” Harry looked down at the floor. “No, I don’t want to talk about it. You can ask Professor Dumbledore when he comes later.” When the medi-witch looked confused, Harry elaborated, “He and some others will be up later.”

Still not fully understanding, Madam Pomfrey frowned again at the boy before her, but said nothing else. She would get Albus to talk, of that she was certain. So instead of hounding the boy for more information, which she truly wanted to do, the witch opted to give Harry his potions. He really did look terrible. Poor thing had been through so much in such a short time.

Taking up the Calming Draught and the Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry stared at them for a moment before downing each one quickly. They tasted awful, as usual, but there was something different when the boy drank them. These potions had been made by Snape. Almost all of the potions in this room had been made by the Potions master. Odd that he had been so distrustful of the man through all his years here at Hogwarts, but never second-guessed any of the potions he had taken, despite knowing that Snape had made them. Strange that he should think of that sort of thing now.

After drinking them, Harry set down the cups and looked up to see Madam Pomfrey looking at him worriedly. “Is there anything I can do for you, dear?” she asked.

“No,” Harry shook his head. “I just want to go to sleep.”

“Very well,” the witch sighed. She swished her wand over Harry and turned his clothes into pajamas before she walked away.

Slipping off his shoes, Harry crawled under the covers and took off his glasses after a moment. He stared at the wall, his mind still reeling with the night’s events. He had waited so long for this day to come, had wished for it to come, but now that it had and Snape really was dead, Harry felt nothing but disgust for himself.

Now that Snape was gone, what were they going to do? What was going to become of Hogwarts? The school needed a Potions master, and Snape had been the only one for almost fifteen years. And from what Hermione had told him once, Potions masters were in high demand at the moment. And truthfully, Snape did seem like the only one capable of the job. He not only taught the classes, graded all the assignments, and brewed for the hospital wing, he also balanced out Death Eater meetings, Order meetings, and brewing for both Voldemort and Dumbledore. How could anyone else fill Snape’s shoes?

Merlin, what was to become of the Order? They had no spy and no more links into Voldemort’s inner circle. What would they do now? Snape had been giving information about Death Eaters to the Order for years now, what would they do now that he was gone? And who would Dumbledore turn to when he needed something brewed? He could not just ask anyone, as whoever he employed would eventually start to get suspicious of all the requests. And Harry could not think of another Order member that was as competent in Potions as Snape.

Very slowly, the Calming Draught started to take effect, and Harry began to slip into an oddly befuddled state. His mind wanted to think, but the potion made him want to relax. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey cast a light sleeping spell over the boy when she noticed him having a hard time falling asleep. And along with the Dreamless Sleep Potion, Harry’s panicked anxiety was pushed aside for the time being.

Bathed in the glow of a red sunset, Harry looked about him one last time. The red lighting reminded him so much of the blood that had been spilt that night. The crimson glow contrasted so vividly with the calming blue that he had seen earlier down in the dungeons, when Snape had been creating that beautiful potion. Idly, his brain slowing down, Harry wondered what the professor had been trying to make. But he was soon victim to the spell and the potion and fell into a death-like sleep.

~*~

Once Harry was out and away, Minerva came charging back into the late Potions master’s lab. “He’s taking this harder than I would have thought,” she said quietly. Her own feelings on the night’s events were threatening to undo her.

Despite what anyone would say, or what she herself might say, Minerva felt Severus’s loss keenly. She had come to think of the young professor as a little brother of sorts. Their rivalry was simply a game that Snape enjoyed playing, as he liked to taunt his Gryffindor co-worker (usually lightheartedly). And Minerva herself also enjoyed their rounds . . . most of the time. Severus had been more to her than just a fellow worker; he had been her friend. And now . . . now the Potions master was gone, and so were all the rounds of verbal sparring, all the friendly competitions, all the sarcastic jokes. They were all gone . . .

“Of course he is, Minerva,” Dumbledore spoke up sadly. “He’s been put through hell and back the last year. Severus’s death came too quickly after Cedric’s, I’m afraid.”

Without her consent, Minerva let out a sob. It had just seemed that Severus would outlast them all, despite the thin line he had walked for the past fifteen years. The Slytherin had seemed to have possessed the cunning to outsmart death itself. But it appeared that she had been wrong. He had been killed in pursuit of saving Harry Potter, a boy she knew the Potions master had not liked, but would still do anything to protect because the boy was the son of Lily Evans, the one woman he had cared about.

“What do we do now?” Filius asked tiredly. His nerves were shot and he was on the verge of crying, too. He and Severus, although they’d had a bit of a rocky beginning, had gotten close over the years. At least, as close as the Slytherin would let people. Filius had always admired Severus’s dedication to his studies and then his profession, allowing the Ravenclaw to get closer to the normally prickly serpent.

“We should clean everything up.” Dumbledore looked around the room forlornly. “We should see if there is . . . anything left of Severus.”

Both Minerva and Filius flinched at the headmaster’s words, but nevertheless did as they were told. Archer was all but ignored during this process. They laid him out onto a table in the classroom while they went to clean up the private lab.

They worked in relative silence until Filius let out a cry. “What is it?” Dumbledore spun around, nearly knocking into McGonagall in all his excitement.

“I found Severus’s cloak!” the little half-goblin’s eyes were filled with tears. “Someone just threw them carelessly under the cabinet here.”

“But why would they do that?” Minerva frowned at Albus. “That doesn’t make much sense.”

“Unless . . . unless there was someone else with Archer and they took Severus away?” Flitwick’s eyes held hope.

Although he would have dearly loved to believe that, Albus shook his head sadly. “No. That does not make sense. Harry made no mention of anyone else coming with Archer. He would have remembered seeing someone else here if there had been.”

“But that would explain why we can’t find Severus anywhere.” Minerva was desperate to think of anything to have Severus alive again, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.

“No,” Dumbledore shook his head more forcefully. “Harry said that there was Archer. Just Archer. With Severus being weakened from the beginning of the battle, I don’t think he could have lasted as long as he had with two Death Eaters. And,” he went on before either one of his employees could think of another wild idea, “it would not make sense for a Death Eater to leave a companion behind for us to find so easily.”

“But then what of the body?” Filius demanded. “It could not have just disintegrated! No Killing Curse could be that powerful! Not even You-Know-Who’s are!”

“No, no, indeed,” Dumbledore stroked his white beard thoughtfully. “I do not know what to tell you,” the old wizard admitted. “The only things we know are that Severus was supposedly hit by the Killing Curse, his body is gone, and Archer is dead.”

“Do you suppose Harry got it wrong and Severus had been the one to say the Unforgivable?” Minerva asked. She would rather have Snape use a lawbreaking spell than be dead. “He could have run off after, thinking that he would get taken to Azkaban.”

That was an intriguing thought, one that Albus was tempted to believe for a moment. But looking out the door and to the body of the corpse that laid there, slowly going into rigor mortis, he knew it could not be. “I do not think so,” the headmaster said, shaking his head slowly. “There would be no mistaking Severus’s voice for Benjamin’s.” The old man clearly remembered Archer, the dead Gryffindor’s, voice. “And why would Severus run? He would have come to me. He knew I would not turn him over for killing a Death Eater. And in that event, we would have seen him coming up to talk to me after Harry was leading us down here.”

“But he was hurt,” Filius recalled. “Harry said Severus had been hurt before his duel with Archer. Perhaps he went to his chamber to heal himself?”

At this, Albus was stumped. They were convincing arguments, and he was not quite ready to fully accept Severus’s death, either. He loved Severus like a son, and was having a hard time keeping his emotions calm and to himself. If the Slytherin was alive, Albus intended to embrace Severus warmly like a son, but he could not get his hopes up too much. Harry’s panic and testament was as good as true in the headmaster’s court, and there was all this compelling evidence to suggest that the Potions master really was dead. But he so dearly wished that Harry would be wrong or made a mistake!

“Perhaps,” Dumbledore relented. “We should go and see. But first . . .” The old man looked towards the cabinet. “Accio Severus’s cloak.”

Instead of the fabric flying to the headmaster’s open and waiting hands, the cloak could be seen only just beginning to peek out from under the cabinet. It almost looked as though they were trying to fight off the spell.

Frowning, Dumbledore repeated the spell. “Accio Severus’s cloak!”

This time, the cloak came fully out from under the dusty cabinet. As the black, tangled ball of fabric came flying to him, Albus was forced to notice that it was not coming easily, as though it were still fighting off the headmaster’s powers. And the cloth seemed much too heavy to simply be cloth. What all had Severus put into his pockets? He supposed he would know soon enough.

But right when the cloth was almost in Dumbledore’s hand, the spell wore completely off. The cloak fell to the floor with a thud. It was with wide eyes that the two wizards and the witch stared down at the fabric that was now looking back up at them with the same wide eyes.

~*~

Red sky at night,
Sailor's delight;
Red sky at morning,
Sailor's warning. 

It was hard to tell what had really been a dream and what had not been a dream. Angrily, Harry rolled over on his side, wanting nothing more than to just fall back into the empty void that he had embraced so passionately when sleep had come to him. But for some reason, there were people scuffling about, making all manner of loud noises. Harry was so angry that he thought about yelling at them to keep it down, that some people were trying to sleep, when he found that he was too tired to yell.

But then another thought occurred to Harry while he was desperately wishing that everyone would be quiet: why could he hear everything? He thought he had taken a sleeping potion. But no, he had taken a Calming Draught and a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and then had been under a sleeping spell. A weak sleeping spell. So this was not a dream; this was real. So . . . if this was real, then why was everyone being so loud? Harry would think that they wouldn’t want to wake him up.

Lying still, the Gryffindor decided to listen as best as he could while in his confused and sleepy state.

“You just found him like this?” That was Madam Pomfrey speaking. She sounded nearly frantic.

“That’s what I said. He . . . in the robes when . . . just like this,” Dumbledore faded in and out. He did not sound the least bit calm, either.

“Like this?” the medi-witch exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down!” Professor McGonagall hissed. “You’ll wake . . . don’t want to scare him.”

Confused more than ever, Harry closed his eyes tightly and willed his hearing to be better. He wanted to know what was going on and what the adults were talking about. Whatever they were talking about, it sounded like it was worth knowing…

Snape! Maybe they had found something out about Snape? Or were they looking at Archer’s body?

“. . . still can’t believe . . . how could anyone hurt him?” Professor Flitwick was still there, too, it seemed. But what on Earth were they all talking about? From what he was able to catch, being so far from the others, Harry could not really put anything together. Who were they talking about?

“What . . . now, Albus? We can’t . . . too emotionally worn and physically abused,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice started to rise with her agitation.

Dear Merlin. Were they talking about Harry? Did they all know, now, how abusive the Dursleys were? They weren’t even talking about the Potions master or about the Death Eater, they were talking about him! How could they have known? He thought he had kept them off the track pretty good. He did not want them to know about his sad life in the Muggle world. He did not want them to pity him!

“Poppy,” Albus scolded lightly. “You’ll wake him.”

Harry sat bolt upright in bed. “Please don’t tell anyone!” the Gryffindor cried. “It’s not true, really!”

But as he looked around, even with his vision blurry, Harry could see the shapes of his professors and the nurse. It was dark out, but there was a small glow of wandlight, and Harry thought he saw shock on some of their faces, although he could not be sure. And he was even more confused when there came a sound like someone was crying . . . someone little. What was going on here?

As Harry was trying to figure everything out, Dumbledore raised his hand towards Harry, and only after studying the older wizard a moment did Harry realize that the headmaster was pointing a wand at him. And before Harry could do anything, he fell back into bed, asleep.

 ~*~

Dumbledore put his wand away before turning back to the problem at hand. “I don’t think he could see anything.”

“He’ll be the first to figure it out, though.” Minerva looked down at the sleeping child before her. “I don’t see how anyone could not see the resemblance.”

“We could put him under a charm,” Filius offered. “I would be willing to do it.”

“But how are we going to hide him, charm or not? Someone’s going to realize the strangeness of Severus being gone and the little boy being here,” Minerva said, shaking her head.

Sighing heavily, Albus peered down at the injured little boy as well. “We’re just going to have to think of something. But for now, Poppy, I think you should tend to your patient.”

Waving her wand over the boy’s body, Poppy nodded at the headmaster’s request. “Yes, yes, just let me work.” She had not really been listening. “Poor thing,” she kept cooing quietly as she worked to heal the broken little body.

They all looked down at the little boy, who had far too many injuries than what he should have had. It was disgusting to think of someone harming him as much as he had been. But obviously there were those that did not care about a child’s health. Disgusted and furious on the boy’s behalf, Dumbledore looked up at the professors. “We’ll need to go somewhere to talk,” he said seriously. “Poppy, keep us informed if anything should happen. And under no circumstance are you to tell anyone about him, am I clear?”

“Yes, of course,” the witch nodded understandingly before resuming her work.

With one final nod, Albus looked over at Harry, who had passed out again, sleeping soundly, before he led Professors McGonagall and Flitwick toward the fireplace. “Headmaster’s office,” he called as he threw the Floo powder in. Things were about to get just that much more interesting.

~*~

The next morning, Harry woke up with a dull headache. He had had the craziest dream last night — this odd dream of Dumbledore and the other professors being here in the healing chambers, and they had found out about the Dursleys! It had been really weird. But wait . . . he had ingested Dreamless Sleep Potion. He should not have dreamed about anything . . . which meant that it had been real!

Sitting up quickly, Harry snatched up his glasses and looked around the room. It was very quiet, and there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. The sun was fairly low, which meant that it was still early in the morning, so that meant that no one was up yet, probably. Maybe he could get out of here before Madam Pomfrey got up and decided to ask him questions about his home life. He’d already dodged those kinds of questions before, and he had no desire to do it again.

But as he got up, Harry thought he heard something . . . something that sounded suspiciously like sniffling. He had heard the same noise the night before, he’d realized, when the adults had been talking. There was someone else in here, but whom? Dumbledore would not want anyone in here after they brought Archer and Snape up, would he? What if a child came up here and saw two dead men? That would be terrible!

Curious, Harry walked over to the bed that he thought held the body of a little child. But if it was another kid, he had to be pretty small — much smaller than a first year, certainly. Getting closer, the fifteen-year-old could have sworn that either it was a very little child — say a four-year-old — or a stuffed animal. But he could not think of a logical reason for either one of those things to be here at Hogwarts, especially after last night.

As he got closer, the Gryffindor saw something dark sticking out from under the blankets. It looked silky and soft. It took a moment, but then Harry realized that it was hair. So it was a person . . . a child. But why was there a child here? Was that what the adults were talking about last night? Was this the abused little kid that had them all in such a state? If so, how had they even come across this child? Shouldn’t they have been more focused on Snape and his murderer?

When Harry was several feet away from the bed, the child in question leapt up, startling the older boy so badly that he nearly feel back. But the little child did not waste a moment, and before Harry could recover, it tried frantically to run away. Surprised, Harry had to shake his head to come out of his shock. “Wait! Stop!” he cried, noticing the child had a cast. The older boy did not want this little one to get hurt.

Whether out of fear or stubborn determination, the child did not stop, but desperately tried to get to the fireplace. Merlin, this kid was trying to Floo away! It did not take long for Harry to reach the kid and scoop him up in his arms.

The child yelped.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Harry tried to stay calm while ducking the blows the kid was sending him. Merlin, this kid was a fighter! For a moment or two, the Gryffindor thought he might very well lose an eye!

But while Harry tried to calm the little child, the kid made no other noise except that of heavy breathing as he tried to get away. The older boy walked back to the bed and set the child down carefully. “Calm down, kid, it’s all right,” he said, trying to soothe it.

The child did not respond, but sat very still, looking up at Harry. It was then that Harry could tell that this was a little boy. The long, dark hair had made the older boy wonder, but looking at the face there was no mistaking this kid as a girl. And what surprised Harry was the amount of injuries the child had. The little face was marred with bruises and scratches, as were his little arms. Although he could not see the skin on the rest of the child, the Gryffindor was willing to bet that it looked similar to what he could see. This little one had really been abused. Terribly.

As Harry looked the boy over, he suddenly found himself looking the child in the eyes. He gasped. Those eyes . . . those dark, black eyes . . . Those were Snape’s eyes! This child . . . was this child Severus Snape’s son? Had the Potions master really been as bad as everyone said? Was Snape capable of abusing a child, his own son? Snape must have really been an evil bastard! Harry could not believe that his late professor could do such a thing! Not after he saved that little girl from the Death Eaters.

“Harry!”

Harry spun around quickly to see an angry-looking Dumbledore, followed by an anxious Madam Pomfrey. “Professor!” he exclaimed, surprised.

“Oh, my!” Poppy rushed over to the younger child, who flinched terribly when she touched him. “Has he been awake long?” she asked, looking to Harry.

“Just got up a minute or so ago.” Harry’s mind was numb, but he managed to speak. “He jumped out of bed, so I put him back.”

“He was out of bed?” The medi-witch looked up in amazement. “You are not to be walking around, little one,” she said gently to the little boy, who looked like he was about to cry. “You could have hurt yourself, dear.”

As he watched the scene before him, Harry could not deny the resemblance between this little boy and Severus Snape. The similarities were just too striking. From the dark hair to the pale skin, this kid could have almost been a duplicate of the Potions master. But then, how had he gotten here? And why hadn’t Snape made it known that he had had a kid? Merlin, who had been Snape’s wife? And where had this kid been all this time?

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s stern voice brought the younger wizard out of his thoughts. “A word, if you please.”

Gulping, the Gryffindor followed the headmaster over to the corner, away from Madam Pomfrey and the mini-Snape. Harry found that his eyes kept straying back over to the injured little boy. He was just so small and cute. How could anyone hurt such a little boy? Not even the Dursleys had done that much damage to him! ...but then it surprised him that he had used the adjective ‘cute’ connected with the thought of a Snape…

“I suppose you figured it out, then,” the headmaster said softly, eyeing Harry.

“Sir?” Harry turned to look the old man in the eyes.

“I said, I suppose you’ve put it all together, haven’t you?” Dumbledore tried to smile, but for once, it failed. “What do you know?”

Not comfortable with the conversation or the situation, Harry looked once more at the little boy across the room before turning back to the headmaster. “I’m not sure, sir,” he replied truthfully. “But is that . . . is that Professor Snape’s son?”

“Son?” the headmaster looked completely taken aback for a moment before his eyes lit up with a fierce twinkle. “No, no, not his son. Although I had never even thought of that possibility . . .”

“Sir?” Harry cocked his head in confusion. He was getting a terrible headache.

Dumbledore took Harry by the arm and led him back over to the nurse and her little patient. “Harry,” Albus said lightly, his lips pulling into a smile (it was forced, and only for the little boy’s sake), “this is Severus. Severus, this is Harry Potter. Do you remember him?”

There was a moment when Harry thought his heart stopped. Severus? As in Severus Snape? Was Dumbledore trying to claim that this little kid was Snape? But that was impossible! Snape was dead. Harry had heard the Killing Curse, saw the green light flash, heard the explosion, heard the body fall! There was no way that this little boy before him could be the tall, grim Potions master that he had known for four years. There was just no way!

The child, Severus, locked eyes with Harry. Black met green and the elder boy felt as though he were falling into dark tunnels. It was as though the child were looking straight through him — seeing everything, even the things Harry would have liked to keep hidden. Those dark, black eyes, cold even at such a young age . . . there truly was no mistaking this child. This boy had to be the Severus Snape that everyone had known.

But when the little boy broke his hypnotic gaze, he turned to Dumbledore and shook his head ‘no.’ No? What had been the question, again? Did he remember Harry? He did not remember Harry? The thought both alarmed and delighted the fifteen-year-old. But how could Snape not remember him?

“That’s okay.” The headmaster smiled down kindly at the little boy, who actually looked close to tears. Why was this kid . . . Snape . . . Severus? . . . close to tears, anyway? Harry would never have pictured Snape as the sensitive type. Maybe he was just in pain? There were a lot of bruises and scrapes all over the kid. “You don’t have to remember him if you can’t,” the old wizard said, patting the little black head. The child flinched alarmingly.

“So, wait,” Harry frowned, confused. “You’re telling me that this kid really is Snape?”

The headmaster scowled at Harry’s tone, and guided the older boy away while Madam Pomfrey continued her examination of Severus. “You should not speak so negatively around Severus,” the old wizard said sternly. “He’s been through quite a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized immediately, but then he paused, thinking through everything he had come to notice. “But I don’t understand. Why is Professor Snape a little kid? I heard Archer say the killing curse. I know it killed someone. I heard the body hit the ground!”

“I am not exactly sure what happened, Harry,” Dumbledore admitted wearily. “But if I had to guess, I think that it was Archer that you heard get killed.”

“You expect me to believe he killed himself?” Harry was getting frustrated with not getting any answers.“No, no, of course not.” The headmaster shook his head. “I am merely saying that I believe Archer’s curse, while directed at Severus, missed. The broken cauldron in the room would suggest that the spell then hit the cauldron and bounced back to kill Archer.”

“So, Archer was killed with his own curse?” Harry frowned. “But that doesn’t explain why Snape’s a little kid.”

“That,” the old man said, looking over his shoulder at the little boy sitting on the hospital bed, “is the true mystery. How indeed.”

Looking towards his professor, Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all or start crying from the sheer frustration. “You’re saying you don’t know? That Snape just randomly turned into a kid that doesn’t remember me? Why in Merlin’s name would he turn himself into a little kid? And how did he get so beaten up?”

For the first time that Harry could really remember, Dumbledore looked old. The great wizard simply looked tired. “Although I cannot be certain,” the headmaster began, “we think — Minerva, Filius, and I — that Severus’s . . . current status is partially due to the potion he was brewing. Did he say which potion it was?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “He didn’t seem to want me to know anything about what was in that room.”

“I was afraid of that,” Dumbledore sighed. “In Severus’s line of work, secrecy is vital; but I’m afraid in this particular case, it has backfired. If I am correct — and evidence is in my favor — I believe that whatever Severus was brewing was something of his own creation. Therefore we do not know how to reverse the effects.”

Snape’s own creation? Merlin, the Potions master had been creating his own potions? What kind of potions did a man like Snape make? Even though he tried not to, Harry shuddered. A potion made by a former Death Eater was not something that Harry thought he would ever want to sample first, even if it claimed to heal any type of illness.

Dumbledore seemed to read Harry’s thoughts plain enough and chuckled quietly. “Yes, Harry, Professor Snape did invent plenty of potions in his time. Some of his more . . . creative ones were first brewed while he was still a student here at Hogwarts.”

Again, Harry felt a twinge of jealousy at Snape’s abilities. Not even Hermione had been smart enough to come up with her own type of potion. How did one even begin to make a new potion? You could not simply throw in whatever looked good, as that could cause an explosion or create poisonous fumes or some other kind of horrible atrocity. And Professor Snape had been doing this while he was just a kid? Then there was no way the man could not have grown up to be a Potions master.

“Harry.” The headmaster put his arm around the boy and guided him farther away from the little Potions master and the nurse. “I want to tell you a little story. But I must know that you will not repeat any of this to anyone. Not even your friends.”

Normally, Harry wasn’t sure if he could make a promise like that. Ron and Hermione had always been there for him when he needed them, and he told them everything. But looking over his shoulder at the sad little boy with Madam Pomfrey, Harry knew that he was going to have to keep his friends in the dark if this happened to be about Professor Snape. After all, Snape had risked his life to protect Harry, and if there was anything Harry could do in return to help his professor, he would do it. It was the right thing to do.

Noticing that Harry was debating with himself, Albus patted him on the shoulder. “Harry, what I am about to tell you is a sad story, one that naught but a few, a very select few, know. I want to tell you, but I will not if you do not believe that you can keep this quiet.”

Although he knew he would feel bad about keeping this from Ron and Hermione, Harry just had to know what Dumbledore was talking about. He knew it had to do with Professor Snape. “I won’t tell, sir,” Harry answered steadily. “I promise.”

Smiling warmly, the old headmaster patted Harry’s shoulder again. “Good boy,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Now, let us start from the very beginning, shall we?”

The headmaster led them near the entrance, far enough away so that Severus and Poppy could not hear, and sat down on a bed. Harry sat across from him and waited for Dumbledore to begin. Somehow, he just knew this all had to be about Snape.

“About forty years ago, there was a witch who graduated from Hogwarts who was very skilled and powerful. Her name was Eileen Prince, and she was the youngest child of the prestigious Pureblood family of Princes.” Harry frowned, not expecting this start, but nevertheless remained silent.

“Now,” Dumbledore went on, “after she graduated from Hogwarts, being very proud, she set out to prove herself. Her family was not one to consider Muggles of any worth. In fact, her mother would have probably been a strong supporter of Voldemort, had she been younger. But Eileen, although I do not know why, wanted to prove her family wrong about Muggles, and went to live in a Muggle neighborhood.

“Being a Pureblood, and never having been in a Muggle town before, Eileen did not quite fit in as well as other witches or wizards would have. And being cut off from her family, she went and got a job at an inn in a Welsh mining town. It was there that she met a man by the name of Tobias Snape.”

“Wait.” Harry could not help but interrupt. “Professor Snape is a half-blood? I thought everyone in Slytherin . . .” he trailed off when he realized how ridiculous he had just sounded. Was that what Snape had meant the night before when he was talking about half-bloods?

“You thought that all Slytherins were Purebloods?” Albus smiled. “No. Although you might not be able to tell. Muggle-born and half-blood Slytherins are usually kept quiet and unknown to the house as a whole. Since his time as  Head of House, Severus has made sure that backgrounds remain generally unknown, and has held special meetings with students with Muggle relations, in order to help them get situated and to allow them to blend in with the majority of Slytherin Purebloods. It has helped keep order and unity in that House . . . but I digress.”

Harry’s mind spun with all this new information about the Professor Snape he had thought he knew. Wasn’t Severus Snape, the Potions master, supposed to be an unfeeling, uncaring, royal pain in the arse all the time? He wasn’t supposed to care about Muggle-borns and half-bloods. How had Harry missed seeing this other side of the professor? No wonder all the Slytherin adored their Head of House. If Harry didn’t know any better, he might have mistaken the man Dumbledore was describing as a saint!

“Yes, Professor Snape is a half-blood,” the headmaster nodded. “And as you probably already guessed, Eileen Prince married Tobias Snape. The couple moved to another neighborhood in England and bought a house, which was known as Spinner’s End.

“However, the marriage was far from a happy one. Tobias had difficulties soon after the wedding and lost his job. Being an ignorant Muggle, he blamed it on his wife, saying that it was because of her magic that he lost his job. The two argued and argued. But every time they would make up, they would fight again. Tobias turned to the bottle and often did not come home at night.

“About two years later, after Eileen had gotten a job making potions for a shop in Diagon Alley, she discovered that she was pregnant. I will not lie to you, Harry, when I say that this was not her first pregnancy. Two others had been terminated, but this one, she did not, as it was too far along by then. Nine months later, she gave birth to Severus.”

“Professor Snape’s mum killed off his siblings?” Harry could not help but be appalled. What kind of mother would do something like that? It was terrible!

“The first child was terminated by accident,” Dumbledore explained, his eyes full of sorrow. “Tobias, drunk one day, beat his wife, not remembering she was pregnant. The baby died as a result.” Harry gasped in horror. “The second, unfortunately, Eileen terminated herself, when her parents claimed that they would not help her if she bore a half-blood and tainted the family name. Not that they were helping her,” the headmaster added darkly.

Unconsciously, Harry looked over at the pale little boy that was leaning back in his bed, quietly nursing his wounds, looking around the infirmary with wide eyes. He must have been so scared, not remembering anything, being so small and hurt. Again, Harry felt his heart go out to the poor little creature.

“But this third time, Eileen kept the baby — and yes, it was Severus,” Albus went on. “There is no greater joy in the world than having your own baby, or so I’ve been told, but even I, not being a parent, find great delight in seeing such little ones. Unfortunately, it appeared that Mr. and Mrs. Snape did not feel the same as others. Eileen raised Severus and protected him up until about the age of three before she got tired of keeping Tobias at bay. After that, Severus was exposed to his father’s harsh abuse.

“For years, Severus had existed in a living hell, being hit or beaten several times a day. He was not allowed to do many things, but his parents made him do a great number of chores and punished him severely when he could not complete them. I am not sure who the worse was of the two; Tobias for physically abusing his son up until the point when Severus would pass out, or Eileen, who usually just stood by and watched. It was a sad existence for Severus.

“So when he came to Hogwarts, Severus was emotionally unstable and socially awkward. Who wouldn’t be? In his eleven years of life, he had only made one friend, and that had been a neighbor when he was eight. So, coming here to Hogwarts should have been a blessing to him, and in some ways it was, but in other ways . . . well, let’s just say I should have watched out for him better.”

“You mean to say that he was picked on . . . by Sirius and my dad.” Harry suddenly felt extremely guilty on behave of his father and his godfather. He had assumed that Snape had been awkward as a kid — Sirius had told him that much — but he had thought it was just because Snape was generally unlikable, not because he was abused and did not know how to fit in. Harry was strangely reminded of himself . . . only he seemed to have had a better experience here at school, even with Voldemort hunting him.

“I suppose the point of all this is that the injuries you see on Severus now directly correspond to injuries he had sustained at the exact moment when he was this age.” Dumbledore paused to let Harry take in that information. “All of his injuries, with the exception of his left arm, were all ones he had gotten from a beating from his father years ago. Severus has completely reverted back into the child he once was.”

Stunned, Harry could not do anything but stare at the headmaster, his mouth hanging slightly open. After all the years of hating the man — watching as he abused his rank, pushed his authority around, flaunted his status — it all made sense now. In part, his arrogance was a show for the former Death Eaters that Dumbledore was still having Snape keep tabs on, so that they would think the Potions master was still loyal to Voldemort. But the bigger part was perhaps because Professor Snape did not know how to handle the authority he was given. He had been brought up by an abusive father and a neglectful mother. It was no wonder that he wanted, and perhaps needed, complete control; he did not want to get hurt.

All the unfair punishments, all the barking, hissing, yelling, all the sarcasm . . . was it only because Snape simply did not know how to interact with others? Dumbledore had said that he had only one friend, his neighbor. And Sirius had commented on it once, calling Snape a nasty, greasy, sulky kind of kid. Being abused himself, Harry knew it was no easy task to get over your fear of others and put aside your aggressive feelings. That seemed to be what Professor Snape could not overcome. And Snape’s family had been much worse than even the Dursleys.

 “So what are you going to do with him, Professor?” Harry asked the headmaster, while looking over his shoulder at the little boy, who caught him staring.

Turning back around to face Dumbledore, Harry saw the blue eyes look absolutely dead. “I don’t really know,” the headmaster shook his head. “That is something we haven’t been able to figure out yet. He needs to be cared for by someone — ”

“You can’t tell me you want to send him to his parents!” the young wizard scowled. What would the Snapes think if their adult son was brought home again as a little boy? They’d kill him!

“Do not be ridiculous, Harry,” Albus rebuked him. “Tobias and Eileen have been dead for years — killed while Severus was still his school, actually.”

“So he’s an orphan now?”

“I suppose that is the term you’d use,” Dumbledore nodded. “But you see, I was given custody of Severus after his trial as a Death Eater. The Ministry gave complete care and guidance of him over to me. So I suppose that I am going to have to watch out for him, as I am the legal guardian.”

Sighing in relief, Harry nodded. “That’s good, then. Right?” He grew uneasy when Dumbledore continued to look uncertain.

The headmaster stroked his long white beard thoughtfully as he stared into space. “I suppose it is,” the old man nodded. “But I’m afraid I am getting too old to run after a six-year-old child.” Harry blinked several times; Snape certainly did not look six. He looked four! “But I do not know what else to do with him. I cannot give him the almost constant attention he needs, as I have to deal with Umbridge and the Ministry, as well as the Order . . . not to mention the school! I simply do not know what I will do with him.”

Harry suddenly felt a stab of grief. He knew Dumbledore did not want to make Snape feel like he was unwanted or a burden, but when it became obvious that the headmaster had no idea what to do with him, Severus would end up thinking that anyway. Harry remembered all too clearly how it felt when he thought he was a burden on his family, and it had not felt very good. He did not want Severus to feel the same thing . . . again.

When Harry looked back up from his musings, he saw the headmaster watching him, the twinkle back in his eyes. “Harry, my boy, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.” He knew Dumbledore was going to ask him to do something for Snape, and Harry was a bit surprised at his willingness. After all, this kid was not the Severus Snape Harry had gotten to know; this was just a sad, neglected little boy that needed to be looked after.

“I do not want you to go to class today. Could you stay here with Severus and make sure that he does not get up and hurt himself? Just sit and keep him company?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded. Skipping class to watch after a sick little kid did not seem all that terrible to the fifteen-year-old. In general, Harry liked children. And since Snape had potentially saved Harry’s life, and had come very close to dying, Harry felt that it was his responsibility to watch out for Snape in his time of need. 

“Good!” Dumbledore exclaimed, delighted, standing up abruptly. He guided Harry back over to the bed, where Severus still sat propped up.

Severus watched the advancing pair of wizards like a hawk. He had been tracking them discreetly throughout their conversation. He had even noticed that they would occasionally look back at him. He did not like people staring at him. So when they came over, he was afraid that they had decided that he was a no-good little bastard like his father always said, and they were going to take him home.

When Albus and Harry reached Severus’s bedside, the little boy’s eyes watered up. “Severus, what’s the matter?” the headmaster asked softly, his face stricken at the sight of the little boy’s tears.

The child did not respond, but seemed to desperately apply the ‘stiff upper lip’ rule as he looked up into the headmaster’s eyes. “There’s a good boy,” Albus smiled kindly. “Severus, this is Harry. You’ll remember I introduced you a few minutes ago?” Severus nodded. “Well, he is going to look after you today while I go to work.” The child looked alarmed. “Don’t worry, he’s a good boy,” Dumbledore said quickly. “And Poppy will still be here for you. Is that all right with you?”

Although it was clear that it was not all right with the little boy, Severus nodded once anyway. Albus smiled gently again, and patted the back of the little pale hand. Harry watched as the child flinched once more. “There’s a good boy,” Dumbledore said again. “I’ll be back later to eat lunch with you. Okay, Severus?”

The boy nodded mutely once more before the headmaster, with a final smile, turned and went through the Floo. Turning back around, Harry found himself staring into the wide black eyes of Severus Snape in the face of a little, hurt boy.

What had he agreed to?

~*~

What is little Severus made of?

Bruises and tears and long lasting fears

That’s sadly what little Severus is made of. 

Sitting alone with little Severus, Harry began to wonder just what he had done. Why had he agreed to watch out for his professor? The professor he hated most, incidentally. But when he looked down into the pale, frightened face of Severus Snape, such a vulnerable little boy, Harry’s heart melted and he remembered why he had done what he had. Snape needed him right now. That was all there was to it.

“Uh . . . hi, there, um…Severus,” Harry smiled, trying hard not to wince at saying the name. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The little boy only stared at Harry for a moment before he dropped his gaze back down to his hands, as though he didn’t want to look Harry in the eyes again. Realizing what Snape was doing, Harry felt himself grow even more sympathetic towards the child. “It’s okay to look at me, you know,” he said gently, startling Snape. “I won’t get mad if you want to look around or something.” He knew all too well the kind of ridiculous rules abusive adults gave children.

Severus’s black eyes began to glitter with an emotion Harry could not define. The small boy glanced up briefly into Harry’s green eyes before letting his own fall. Harry waited patiently for his professor to speak, but he never did. Instead, the child went back to studying his hands and his bandaged arm.

Frowning, the Gryffindor realized that perhaps Snape . . . Severus . . . was already heading down the path towards becoming a social outcast, even at the age of six. Merlin, the boy did not look six. Harry had mistaken his former professor for a four-year-old, but Dumbledore had seemed convinced that he was six.

Taking the time to study Severus while the boy was looking away, Harry noticed that besides the injuries littering the tiny little body, Snape was actually very skinny, much like Harry had been himself at that age. And height-wise, the former Potions master was incredibly short for the average six-year-old. But what caught Harry’s attention the most was Severus’s hair. It was almost exactly the same as when he was an adult, only as a child, Severus let his black locks curtain his face . . .

Snape had not kept his hair the way he did for any sort of fashion purpose; it had been kept to hide his face. The Potions master had wanted to hide, even in his own class; it had been a security blanket of sorts . . .

Again, Harry felt a surge of understanding for his professor. Smiling sadly down at the little boy before him, the fifteen-year-old pulled up a chair and sat next to Severus’s bed. “Can I tell you something, Severus?” he asked softly.

Frightened dark eyes peeked through the curtain of protectiveness and looked into the kind green ones. The child gave an almost unnoticeable nod.

“You and I aren’t that different, Severus, you know that?” Harry could not help but smile broader when the boy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “It’s true,” Harry went on. “You see, when I was about your age, I wasn’t treated too nice by family either. They did lots of bad stuff to me too.” Onyx eyes filled with tears. “I just want to let you know, Severus, that if you ever want to talk about something, you can talk to me about it. I won’t ever tell anyone else.”

Instead of seeing gratitude or happiness in the dark eyes, Harry perceived only doubt and suspicion. Even at this young age, it seemed that Severus Snape was not one to take anyone at their word. Perhaps that was partially what made him such a good spy; his doubts. But it was sad to think of a child so young not being able to count on anyone but himself. It actually unnerved Harry.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey scuttled into the room with a tray of potions. Severus’s eyes darted from Harry to the medi-witch and Harry noticed that the little boy watched the witch’s every movement like a hawk. It seemed nothing escaped the child’s notice, and it was sad to think that it had been forced upon him when he had not wanted to get beaten as a child. Harry began rethinking his childhood all together. The Dursleys had seemed liked angels compared to the Snapes, it seemed.

“Time for more potions, dearie.” Madam Pomfrey smiled down at Severus.

Harry watched as the witched poured out the proper amounts and held the cups out for her patient. It surprised the older boy when Severus took the offered cup, stared at it for several seconds, sniffed it, and then drank it down, as though he could already identify the potions being given to him. Could he? No, he was just a six-year-old boy! But then again, he had been a thirty-five-year-old Potions master the night before. Maybe he could still tell?

As he watched the younger child, Harry could not help the feeling of pity that arose within him. He noticed that Severus had a hard time holding the potion vials with his injuries, but neither he nor the nurse made a move to help. For a moment, Harry wondered why, before he realized that it would not be a good thing. Severus would get scared. He already flinched when someone lightly brushed up against his hand.

Everything that he had ever believed about the Potions master dissolved in Harry’s mind and he was determined to re-think Severus Snape. This man had been a boy very much like himself, and it surprised Harry to think that his stern, strict, physically able professor had once been a terrified, beaten child. Maybe that’s why Snape stressed physical and magical prowess the way he did; he wanted to teach his students how to be ready, how to take care of themselves without them getting abused. But why then did he abuse them? Was he testing them?

“Severus, dear,” Poppy cooed once the child was drinking some water to get rid of the lingering potions taste — it actually surprised both the older people in the room that the child hadn’t gagged or tried to spit it out — “I think you should try and rest for a little bit longer. You are up rather early after last night.”

The child said nothing, but looked down at his hands. It was then that the nurse grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt and drug him away into her office. “Are you staying in here today, Mr. Potter?” she asked curtly.

“Y — yes, ma’am,” Harry nodded quickly.

“Merlin’s beard, Albus,” the witch said, rolling her eyes. “Well, Mr. Potter, I can’t say I like the thought of you being in here with Severus all day, but it seems that the Headmaster thinks it’s all well and good. But I warn you . . .” Poppy pointed an accusing finger at Harry. “Scare him, hurt him, make him cry, do anything to distress him, and I’ll have you kicked out of here so fast that you won’t even have time to think. Do I make myself clear?” she hissed.

Harry nodded quickly, actually becoming scared of the usually friendly school nurse. Nodding once herself before snorting one last time, the medi-witch stalked away to check on Severus again before Harry decided that it would be best to follow the witch as well. Had the nurse always been this mean? No, she just looked tired and was probably on the verge of a mental breakdown. Who wouldn’t be if their co-worker, and possible friend, had been attacked and turned into a little kid?

“Severus.” The nurse was suddenly smiling and looking the exact opposite she had a moment ago. “I’m sure you’re hungry, dear, and Harry’s going to stay with you while I go get your breakfast, all right?”

The little Potions master did not really look up, but darted quick glances upward every minute or so as the witch spoke. Harry observed the boy for a moment and realized that even though many would assume that the child did not understand, Severus was actually catching every word. Even though he was not looking at Madam Pomfrey, Harry could tell that he was listening to her tone of voice, trying to understand her not just from her words, but by the way she said each word. The kid was actually quite clever.

The nurse went to fetch breakfast form her office, since she did not know how Severus would react to a house-elf popping out of nowhere. She knew that Severus was a half-blood and that his parents had been much too poor to afford a house-elf — or anything else, for that matter. So she came back to find Harry sitting by her patient’s bedside, just sitting there quietly as the smaller boy refused to look up.

“Here you are, dear,” Poppy said gently, and smiled when the child looked up. The onyx eyes went wide as saucers again as he stared at the plate of food. Poppy had not put that much on there, considering that the child was so underfed, but it seemed Severus was thinking that there was too much.

“Now, you eat that, all right, dear?” The nurse smiled at the child that had once been the Potions master. “Eat what you can, and don’t be shy. Eat as much as you like. If you want more, I have more.”

Severus looked up for a moment, suspiciously scanning over the witch’s face before looking back down at the food on his plate. There was a great deal of it. He could not recall seeing so much food before him in his life. It was just oatmeal, but to the starving child, it was a grand feast, one where he knew he’d cry if it were taken away from him, as his meals so often were.

So carefully, guardedly, Severus picked up his spoon and began to slowly eat his meal. It was sad to watch the child eat the way he did. Harry understood the protective instinct towards food, as he had had to learn how not to act quite so barbaric at mealtimes when he went to school. But it seemed that even though there was a distrust and protectiveness about Snape, he did not growl or hunch over his meal as some children that had been starved might. Instead, ever the Slytherin, Severus seemed alert and ready for anything, his body tense.

After the child ate five or six bites, small bites, Harry noticed that the smaller boy seemed to be tiring and filling up. There was something that flashed in Severus’s eyes that Harry caught, and he knew that he would have to intervene. “It’s okay if you can’t finish, Severus,” the older boy said kindly. “You won’t get in trouble if you leave some of the food. It won’t be wasted.”

Large black eyes merely stared for a moment before turning back to the meal before him. For just a moment, Harry thought the boy was going to say something, but he never did. It was starting to frustrate him that the child would not speak. He never thought he would be so desperate to hear something from Severus Snape’s mouth. Anything would have done — even a ‘Twenty points from Gryffindor!’ would have been better than this constant silence that the little Snape seemed to think was necessary. It was unbearable.

“Do you like your oatmeal, Severus?” Harry asked instead.

To Harry’s further frustration, the little boy only nodded once. He had been hoping for a word answer, not just a nod of the head. Maybe he should give up on the yes-or-no questions. But what else could he ask the little boy? He desperately wanted to know what had happened, but Dumbledore said that Severus did not remember Harry. What else didn’t the Potions master remember? Did he even remember being an adult?

“So, um, Severus, where did you live at?” he asked uncomfortably.

The child cocked his head in confusion and frowned down at his hands. It was clear that he did not understand what Harry meant, and Harry could have kicked himself. Snape probably thought it was still the sixties, when he was born. That had to be it, because it was clear that the child understood what other people said to him, whether he acknowledged it or not. Maybe Harry shouldn’t have volunteered to sit with this kid. Severus seemed to be a complex child and Harry had been told very little information about what exactly Snape knew and what he did not.

“I meant where do you live.” Harry tried to cover his mistake, but he could tell that the little Snape was not fooled in the least. And as punishment, the boy did not answer Harry’s question.

“Okay, that’s okay, I guess you don’t have to answer that if you don’t know,” Harry’s smile wavered. “Um . . . so, what do you like to do for fun?”

Here, Severus cocked his head to the side once more as though he did not understand the question. Again, Harry kicked himself for asking. With a childhood such as he’d had, Severus probably did not get a lot of fun, if any. Harry should have known, since Snape’s childhood was eerily similar to his own. It was actually unnerving the more he thought about it.

The Gryffindor tried one last time to get any sort of answer. “Do you have a favorite color?”

The little boy said nothing, but Harry could see the scowl on the child’s face. It was then that Harry knew that even now, the former Potions master thought that Harry was a fool. It was becoming aggravating to think that he was being so nice and understanding for nothing, and that the little boy just thought that he was an idiot for trying. Where did Snape find the nerve to think about his elders that way? Harry had been scared to show any of his real feelings for his family or teachers, and yet here was Snape, a boy that had apparently gone through more than Harry had, and he was outwardly showing defiance without really defying anyone. Was Snape sorted in the right House?

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry looked around for inspiration. What could he talk about that would interest the child enough to get him to talk? Apparently, Severus was too good for casual conversation.  But what would Snape like to talk about as a little kid? All Harry had know about the adult Snape was that he was brilliant at Potions, was apparently highly gifted in the Dark Arts, and he was a spy. Not that he could talk to the child about any of those.

“So,” the older boy looked around again. “What would you like to talk about, Severus?”

Again, the child glanced up and studied Harry for a moment before looking away. He did not say a word, which bothered Harry exceedingly. Why wouldn’t the kid talk? It was becoming more and more aggravating. Surely Snape knew how to talk; Harry could tell that the child understood what everyone was saying. He was six, after all.

Leaning back in his chair, Harry opted to just sit there and be silent as well. Maybe if he was, then that would provoke conversation from the boy. Harry would be so quiet that Snape would be forced to talk after that. Little kids could never sit still for long or keep quiet. If it were true of first years, then it had to be true for younger kids. Right?

So, with that, Harry grabbed a magazine to flip through. He noted that it caught Severus’s attention, and he had to hide his grin. It seemed his plan was working. Sometimes he had to marvel at his own brilliant ideas. But ten minutes later, Harry bitterly regretted bragging to himself as Snape made no move at all, let alone any sound. It seemed that the little professor was much more disciplined than the average child.

With the combined factors of the boring magazine and the preceding night’s events, Harry soon fell fast asleep.

~*~

While Harry slept, Severus looked up and watched the older boy while he silently contemplated the recent events in his life. Nothing really seemed to make sense anymore. One minute he thought he was locked in his room where his father left him, and the next he woke up in a strange place . . . this castle, Hogwarts, he had found out. It all seemed so strange . . .

~*~

The moment Severus became conscious, the first thing he was aware of was pain. There was a fierce burning all throughout his body. His head was throbbing mercilessly, and his arm hurt terribly. There seemed no end to the agony. But then again, he had gone through such things before. His father really hadn’t done anything too terribly different then what he normally did.

Just lying there, though, the little boy knew that something was not right. The floor did not feel like the floor in his bedroom, nor did it feel like the basement. Opening his eyes carefully, the first sight that greeted him was a splatter of a glowing blue substance. It was a potion of some sort.

Frightened, Severus sat up, but immediately clenched his eyes shut again against the pain. Gasping, he looked down at the main offender, and was surprised to see that it was actually his arm that hurt the worst. There was flesh missing from his left forearm, and blood was trickling down his robes . . . robes that he did not recall seeing in his life. And when had he gotten his injury? He could not remember his father cutting his arm this time, although Tobias had broken his arm before . . .

Turning his attention to the rest of the room, Severus found that he was in some sort of stone room, one that was extremely messy. There were broken tables, broken potions instruments, and a horribly destroyed cauldron. The cauldron was so large that Severus was sure he could have easily fit inside with more than enough room left. Who ever owned this lab, he was sure they were not going to like the state it was in at all . . . or the fact that their potion seemed to have exploded everywhere.

As he inspected further, Severus’s eyes fell to a dark shape on the floor not too far from where he sat. Biting his lip against the pain, the little boy got to his feet, but immediately gasped in pain. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he was sure he was going to get sick from it. But he stubbornly stayed standing and walked the short distance before he collapsed to the floor. It hurt so badly, but he was curious and he wanted to get out of . . . wherever he was.

Slowly, the little boy examined what was before him with a critical eye. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting of the room, he noticed that whatever this was, was not all dark, but had something light . . . a light brown to it. Carefully, he reached out with his relatively good hand before he realized that it was fabric before him. Intrigued, he lifted some up before he saw that the light brown was hair . . .

It was with horror that Severus realized this was a body. A man’s body. This man was dead.

Appalled and frightened, Severus’s hand shot back as though he had been burned. Sickened, the little boy got to his feet and ran the best he could away from the corpse. He did not kill this man; he did not even know where he was! No one could blame him for this! But what if someone did? Would they tell his mother and father? Merlin, he prayed that they would not! He hadn’t done anything wrong; he did not know how he had gotten here, nor did he know how this man died or how he had gotten into these nice dress-looking robes. He did not know anything!

Although in pain, Severus crawled under a cabinet and began to cry. He did not understand what was going on, nor did he like it. What would happen to him? He just knew that someone would blame him and then he would get punished even though he didn’t do anything. They would punish him and he would not be able to take it. He already had fresh wounds that weakened him; he knew he could not take any more. He just couldn’t!

Unwillingly, Severus began to cry. He hated crying, it solved nothing, but oh, how sweet was the release of it all! He ended up curling up, still sobbing, until he fell asleep. He slept until he heard the sound of footsteps coming, and heard voices; strange voices, ones that he had never heard before, but sounded so terribly familiar…

~*~

And that was how Albus, Minerva, and Filius found the Potions master after Dumbledore had used the spell to retrieve Snape’s robes. Severus the child could still see the shock and horror on the adults’ faces when they had found him. The absolutely stunned expression would always be remembered by the boy as he had tried to run away. To be safe.

It had taken a lot of coaxing before the professors were able to get close enough to the boy again to grab him and take him up to the hospital wing. The people had been really scary to the six-year-old, especially when they took him away through these long, dark halls and into this really odd room with lots of beds and a very nerve-wracking woman that fussed a lot.

~*~

Severus looked up at the witch that was carrying him and noticed that she was pressing her lips into a thin line. That meant that she was mad, didn’t it? She was angry at him for being a nuisance and not being smart or brave enough. Severus had often tried to be brave, but it always seemed to fail him. He did not know how to be brave, and who could in the face of a man like Tobias Snape?

Sniffling, the little boy stiffened in Minerva’s arms and she wondered at it. “It’s all right, Severus. We’re almost there,” she cooed.

He had heard that line before. Severus did not believe her for a second, but what else could he do besides let her do as she pleased? He was hurt and nowhere near strong enough to fight her off or run. Besides, she had two other people with her; a little man that was as almost short as him, and an old man with a beard that looked suspiciously like Merlin, or what he had been told Father Christmas looked like once. But Merlin was dead and Father Christmas wasn’t real, so who were these people?

The company made it to the hospital wing, and Albus gently called for Poppy while laying out the body of Archer, whom he had floated up behind Minerva and the boy. “Poppy, you’re needed,” the headmaster called out again.

Bustling out of her office, the medi-witch was scowling and muttering. “About time you showed up. Now tell me what Harry was . . . was . . .” Her voice trailed off when she saw a dead body in one of her beds and a bleeding little boy in Minerva’s arms.

“I believe this little one is in need of your skills, Poppy.” Albus tried to remain as calm as he could. Were it not for the child, Dumbledore did not know how he would be acting at the moment. Even his nerves were being stretched thin, and that took a lot!

“Over here,” the nurse commanded the Transfiguration professor shortly while she rushed off to get medical supplies and the like.

As gently as she could, Professor McGonagall set the little boy down on one of the beds. “It’s all right, Severus. Everything is going to be all right,” she purred when the child whimpered. Poor dear, he must be in terrible pain.

Although no one had harmed him, Severus was not sure he liked all of this attention. Who were these people, and why did they know his name? They all seemed to know him, but he was sure he had never seen any of them in his life! What was going on here? And where were his parents? 

A shorter witch came over to him, and Severus cowered while she took out her wand and pointed it at him. He had not done anything wrong! Why were they going to punish him? He really did not know how he had gotten to this place or why that one man was dead or how he had gotten into these nice robes. He did not know! He did not want to get hurt for nothing again. He was already injured; he could not take another beating. He couldn’t!

“Don’t cry, love,” Poppy crooned. Her heart was breaking at the sight before her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. I’m a nurse and I will make you feel better.”

Of course she would; that’s what they all said. Severus did not believe the witch for a moment, but he did not attempt to get away. Not that the thought did not occur to him. He was just too tired, and in too much pain, to really do anything but lie there helplessly, tears streaming from his eyes.

“You’re going to have to help me with this, Albus.” The nurse ordered, and it annoyed Severus to think that she was talking about him as though he were not even there.

“Of course,” the old man — Albus, apparently — said. “What can I do?”

“Well, help me with the spells. He’s going to need a lot of work.”

So Severus watched as the two wizards and the two witches waved their wands around him. He flinched and he was scared, but he was also relieved. The spells they were casting did not hurt . . . in fact, they were making him feel better. He had never been on the receiving end of a healing spell by anyone but his mother. But even Mother did not do it as often as Severus would have liked.

After Severus’s wounds were dressed and his minor injuries healed, Poppy sat down heavily, her magic worn out. “He’s going to need potions,” she said tiredly.

“I’ll retrieve them,” Filius offered, and scuttled off.

“Where’s Severus?” the nurse asked a bit angrily, and the little boy flinched at the tone. “His healing skills would be a great help here. Besides, I need him to brew more potions for the wing.”

“Have you have not guessed who this is?” Albus walked over from the fireplace, where he had been talking to someone. The little boy noticed that he had several thick folders in his hands.

“I beg your pardon?” the nurse asked, frowning at the headmaster as he spouted his riddles again. “What is that?” she asked when she too caught sight of the folders.

The old wizard did not say a word, but handed over the folders for the nurse to read. Sneaking a glance, Severus was able to tell that it was a medical folder of some sort. It was hard to read in the relative darkness, but he was able to see the name St. Mungo’s written on the front. Was he at St. Mungo’s?

“Dear Merlin!” the woman exclaimed, almost dropping her wand. “Do you mean that this little boy . . . that this is . . . Severus?”

The others in the room nodded solemnly, and Severus knew that he must have done something bad if they all looked so grim. He did not make a sound, but held his breath. Since they were talking like he wasn’t even there, maybe if he remained quiet enough they really would forget that he was there. It was worth a shot. They all seemed frustrated, if not sad. He had not meant to make anyone sad. They would surely hurt him if they remembered him there.

“What happened to him?” the nurse squeaked, her voice shrill with panic.

“We found him in his laboratory after he was attacked by Archer, who was apparently a Death Eater,” Dumbledore explained quietly.

“You just found him like this?” Poppy’s voice was panicked.

“That’s what I said,” the old wizard sighed. “He was attacked by Archer after he hid Harry, and he disappeared — all but his robes, which were under the cabinet. We found him in the robes when we were trying to get them out. He was just like this, I am sorry to report.”

What were these people talking about? Why did it sound as though they thought he had a Potions laboratory? And he did not remember getting attacked by a man named Archer — just his father, like usual. But what in Merlin’s name was a Death Eater? It sounded frightening, and Severus was not sure he wanted to find out what one was. Wait . . . was Archer the man he had found dead? Yes, that had to be it. And he was a ‘Death Eater’? Strange though it was, he listened on.

“Like this?” the nurse exclaimed still in disbelief.

“Keep your voice down!” the stern-looking witch hissed. “You don’t want to wake Harry, do you? And remember Severus; you don’t want to scare him.”

It was then that Severus used his skills as at hiding and faking slumber, and he closed his eyes quickly and pretended to be asleep now. It seemed to work, and he felt all the eyes upon him again. It was scary and unnerving, but he did his best to ignore it and stay ‘sleeping.’

“Poor little bloke!” Filius looked close to tears as he stared at his old colleague. “I still can’t believe it! How could anyone hurt him?” his eyes looked over the small frame of Snape.

“What do we do with him now, Albus?” Madam Pomfrey asked. “We can’t just leave him somewhere for someone to hurt! He’s just too emotionally worn and physically abused.”

“Poppy,” Albus scolded lightly, looking down at Severus, whom he thought was sleeping, “you’ll wake him.”

That was when Severus had become frightened and confused. Out of nowhere, there came the sound of another boy’s voice — this one older, but still a boy. “Please don’t tell anyone! It’s not true, really!”

~*~

Severus shook his head out of his memories. He was ashamed that he had been so scared. He had thought that these people had been silently torturing the other boy as he cried out, but in the dark, he had been unable to see the boy. Looking over at the boy named Harry, Severus realized that it had been he that Severus had heard last night. And this other boy seemed to be just fine . . . if not a bit dense.

Although he had no idea why, Severus felt as though he should know who this Harry kid was. In fact, he felt like he should know everything about this place, and all the people he had seen. But he knew for a fact that he had never met any of them. Maybe they were people he had dreamed about come to life? Or perhaps he had read about them somewhere?

Whatever it was, the little Potions master decided that he could think on it later. Right now, with the potions in his system and his stomach full, he was getting sleepy as well. Maybe when he woke up from another short nap, things would make more sense? It was worth a try. What was the worst that could happen? He would wake up at home at Spinner’s End? He had had similar nightmares. He could handle it.

~*~

Sleep, baby, sleep,
Our cottage vale is deep;
The little lamb is on the green,
With woolly fleece so soft and clean,
Sleep, baby, sleep . . . 

When Harry woke up several hours later, he found he had a terrible cramp in his neck. Sleeping upright in a wooden chair was never a good idea. Rubbing his poor neck, Harry looked down to see that his magazine had slipped from his hands and onto the floor. Scowling, still groggy, he leaned over and picked it up.

Sitting back up, the young Gryffindor stretched out his arms before turning his attention to the bed beside him. There, snuggled deep in the hospital blanket, was his hated Potions professor, Severus Snape, sound asleep. The sight melted away all of Harry’s earlier frustration with the other boy as he watched the little professor sleep peacefully. No wonder everyone seemed to be so protective of Snape; he was adorable!

But just as soon as that thought popped up, Harry had to frown. Had he just thought that about Snape? Merlin, Harry had finally gone crazy. Was the world coming to an end? Yet there was something to the little Potions master that inspired a sense of protectiveness…

The little boy rolled over and opened his large, obsidian eyes to behold Harry staring at him. The child bolted upright, as though afraid at getting caught sleeping. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Harry crooned. “You’re all right, Severus. You’re all right. I’m not mad at you. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Watching the child calm himself down hurt Harry’s heart. It was sickening to think that the boy was so jumpy, so terrified because his parents had made him that way. Harry had always thought that parents were an absolute good, the people that protected you and loved you no matter what. Apparently that was not always the case. For just a moment, the teen wondered if Snape ever thought that Harry was lucky, having his parents killed and leaving him orphaned. For Snape, it would have been a blessing!

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Harry apologized gently.

“Not scared,” came an indignant little mutter.

Here, Harry froze. Had Snape just talked? Merlin, it was a miracle! After being tortured for so long with silence, after trying to envoke conversation, the child finally spoke! It surprise Harry so much that he almost fell out of his seat. He had not been expecting Severus to respond to that. Harry had just thought that the little boy would look back down at his hands in embarrassment, or something of the sort. But it appeared that the little Slytherin was feistier than he let on.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized again, but this time with a slight smile on his lips. “I thought you were scared when you jumped up,” he said, trying to nudge the child into saying more. It was nice hearing the little boy’s voice.

“Wasn’t scared,” the child growled again. It seemed that Severus was angry with Harry for accusing him of being scared, but Harry said, just as long as the boy was talking.

Not wanting the conversation to die, Harry shrugged. “Sorry, I just thought that you were, you know?”

“I wasn’t,” the child glared up at the older boy for the first time, and here, the Gryffindor could see bits of the old Snape left.

But just as soon as he had looked up at Harry, Severus seemed to remember his place and quickly looked back down at his hands, as though ashamed he had stood up for himself at all. It actually made Harry feel a bit sick to think that this little kid had not even been allowed to stand up for himself. Was that what Sirius and James had liked about Snape when they had first met him, that the Slytherin did not stand up for himself? And was it when Snape had actually put his foot down that the true hatred began?

It did not sit well with Harry to think of his father and godfather picking on and tormenting his professor, especially seeing now what kind of child Snape had been. Folding his hands on his lap, Harry swallowed his guilt and pushed it aside for later examination. He would think on all that later, when he had time and was away from Severus. Right now he had a little boy to look after.

“Well.” Harry tried to sound lighthearted. “My mistake, Severus. You were just pretending to be surprised, weren’t you? I can see that now.”

Peeking up through his curtain of hair, Severus looked over Harry’s face. The older boy did not seem angry, but he knew that looks could be deceiving. How many times had his father tried to coax him to do or say something only to turn around and hurt him? No, Severus would not be taken by surprise by anyone. He had been disrespectful to this Harry boy and he knew that he should expect a beating— if not right then, then later. Tobias Snape never forgot anything, and Severus was fairly certain that other adults would be the same. And since this older boy looked like he was close to an adult, he would more than likely act the same.

Frowning when the child opted to stay silent, Harry tried to think of something else he could do to pull the little boy out of his shell of shyness. It was obvious that little Snape did not like being scared or accused of it, so what else could he get the boy to talk about? “So, Severus, how did you sleep?” he asked lightly. It was the only thing he could think of at the moment.

The child seemed to completely relapse back into his silence, and Harry almost wanted to stand up and scream in frustration. But what good would that do? It would only scare poor Severus and would more than likely incur the wrath of Madam Pomfrey, and Harry had no desire to be on the wrong end of that witch’s wand. Even though she was a nurse, she could be downright scary at times! Almost as bad as Snape had been as an adult.

“Would you like something to do?” Harry asked at last.

This seemed to finally spark some interest as the little black head looked up. “Like what?” came the quiet question.

Smiling triumphantly, Harry was pleased that he had managed to get Severus to speak again. It was only after his sudden rush of victory that he realized that he didn’t have any idea what to do with the boy at the moment. What did little kids like to do? Not having had many toys or the time to play much when he was little, Harry desperately tried to think of the things he had always wanted to do as a child. “I, um, supposed I could…get you some paper to draw on?” He winced. That wasn’t the best thing in the world, he knew, especially considering neither of the boy’s hands were in the best of shape. But at the child’s firm nod, Harry got up and decided to go to Madam Pomfrey’s office. “I’ll be right back, okay?” he turned around, realizing that he’d have to leave the boy for a moment.

At the timid little nod, Harry gave a comforting smile before he knocked on the witch’s door. When it opened, he went inside to see the medi-witch sitting at her desk. “Mr. Potter! What are you doing? Is Severus all right?”

“Yeah, he’s fine,” Harry held up his hands for peace, not wanting the witch to get up. “I was just wondering if you had some paper and maybe something to write with. Severus wants to draw.”

“Does he?” Pomfrey stood up, her blue eyes wide. “He’s spoken to you?”

“Only a little bit,” Harry nodded. “Not much, really.”

“But what did he say?” the nurse stretched.  

Harry frowned again at the witch before him. “Well, he just repeated to me that he wasn’t scared after I startled him when he woke, and then asked what he could do.” He shrugged once more. “Really nothing much. I don’t think he’s comfortable talking to people much yet.”

“Understandable.” Madam Pomfrey scowled as she gathered a few sheets of parchment, a quill, and some ink. “After what that poor child’s been through I’m surprised that he can speak at all to anyone!”

“Hasn’t he spoken to anyone yet?” Harry asked incredulously. It was odd to think of all the people Severus Snape could have decided to talk to, he had ignored them all and had chosen instead to talk to him, Harry Potter.

The witch handed the student everything necessary for drawing before she went back to her desk to grab some potions and her wand. “No, he hasn’t,” she answered swiftly. “He’s either been so scared or too tired and weak to even say a word!”

Severus’s annoyed “Not scared!” rang in Harry’s ears and he almost found himself giggling out loud. But as angry as Madam Pomfrey seemed to be at the minute, Harry bet that it would not be a very wise decision to laugh just then. She seemed furious about Severus’s injuries and how he had obtained them, and Harry couldn’t argue with her. What had happened to the little boy was despicable, and should never have happened. Harry wondered briefly why no one had helped Severus when he had been young. Surely the neighbors would have seen something?

It was true that none of Harry’s neighbors helped him, but that was just because the Dursleys rarely let him out of the house in an area where people could see him. Had Severus’s parents done the same thing? But then how could Snape have made his neighborhood friend? If Snape’s snarky attitude was any sign, Harry was fairly certain the Potions master would not pick an idiot as a friend, so surely that one friend that Snape had had would have noticed the signs of neglect and abuse? Or perhaps Severus had been very good at covering it all up?

But Harry shook his head and tried to think of something else. It was so strange to think of the Potions master as a scared little child, one that had been beaten. When Harry had first seen Snape his first year, sitting at the head table, he had known that the man had not liked him, but Harry would have never guessed that he and that man had shared a similar childhood. And the first day of Potions class, when Snape had utterly berated and mocked him, Harry still would have never guessed that the man had had such a terrible childhood. Snape always gave off a feeling of power and control, but had it all been a cover-up for how he really felt? Was Severus Snape not really as confident as he always tried to make everyone believe?

“Well…” Harry scratched the back of his neck, thinking. “Thanks for the stuff. I’m sure he’ll like it.”

The teenager turned quickly to leave, not wanting to be caught in another web of Pomfrey’s questions or inquires. Besides, little Snape was probably getting anxious for his return. The little boy was so skittish that Harry was actually concerned with leaving the child alone for any long periods of time.

Returning out of the office, Harry saw that the little boy was simply sitting where he had been, slyly looking up as he followed Harry with his dark gaze. It was a little bit unsettling, Harry realized, but he could not fault the child. After all, if Snape were really six-years-old and he had been mistreated for so long, Harry understood why the boy felt the need to watch everyone. But it still made Harry anxious, because that look reminded him far too much of adult Snape. Yet the teenager found that he didn’t quite hate the adult Snape so much anymore—just in this one regard, as he could understand why the man had always done such a thing.

“So,” Harry smiled over at the little bundle sitting on the bed, “I’ve got some parchment, a quill, and some ink.” Suddenly the older boy had a rather panicked thought when he remembered that Snape must have been mostly Muggle raised. “Can you use a quill?”

Severus crunched up his face, looking slightly disgusted and more than a little offended at the statement. His eyes narrowed a bit, but he nodded his head, looking as though he wanted to say something, but he did not. Again, Harry wondered at the child’s temperament. It was obvious when Severus was scared, but the boy could also look angry or some other offending emotion at the same time. Thinking back on what he had been told of Snape’s past, he wondered if that was part of the reason why his father constantly beat him. And thinking in Tobias Snape’s shoes, Harry wondered if he would not get annoyed with a child that could stand to defy him without words, not giving you a valid reason to punish him other than a look or a feeling.

It was terrible to think of, but at the same time, Harry knew that he must be right. At times, Uncle Vernon either hit him or screamed at him for no real reason, so if he had had a child like Severus, Harry was sure the boy could provoke some sort of violent reaction from him too. Sad that Snape should be blessed with the talent of infuriating others.

“Sorry,” Harry apologized, sitting down. “I didn’t really know how to write with a quill when I first came to Hogwarts.”

The little boy frowned, losing his offended posture and taking on more of a curious air. “Why?” he asked gently, as though if he spoke too loud, he might once again get into trouble.

“Well,” Harry said, smiling down at the boy. “I was raised by Muggles. My mum and dad were killed when I was only a year old and I was sent to live with my aunt and uncle. I didn’t even know that witches and wizards were real until I was eleven.”

Large black eyes widened in surprise, but what caught Harry off guard was the slightest look of envy. Was Severus envying Harry for his parents’ death? It was a morbid thought, but then again, the Gryffindor was starting to learn that Severus Snape was a rather morbid creature, out of habit. Thinking on it again, Harry supposed that if he had been Severus he might have envied himself too. After all, all Snape knew was that his parents were bad people who had hurt him terribly or didn’t care about him. It might even have seemed like a dream come true had such parents disappeared or died. On occasion, Harry found himself wishing the same for the Dursleys… but that was only on very bad days.

“Why didn’t they tell you?” the little Potions master asked carefully.

“Well, you see, my aunt—my mum’s sister— didn’t much care for my mum or the fact that she was a witch,” Harry explained. “So when I came to live with them, she and her family thought that they could make me act like a Muggle, and ‘stop all my freakishness.’”

“Being a wizard doesn’t make you a freak,” Severus said very softly, pain ringing in his voice, but with a resolute determination. Harry could tell that that must have been what life at home had been like for his professor as well under his father. But he was pleased that the child seemed bold enough to resist the temptation of thinking that he really was some sort of freak.

“No. No, it doesn’t,” Harry agreed wholeheartedly, smiling brightly down at the child.

Seeming to become bolder at the confirmation of his statement, Severus nodded as well. “It makes you superior.” His voice was hard.

A scowl replaced Harry’s smile in an instant. All pleasure at seeing that at least Severus was not ashamed of being a wizard drained from Harry at that moment. At such a young age, was Severus already a bigot when it came to Muggles? But that couldn’t be right if he’d made friends with a Muggle in the neighborhood. “Being wizard doesn’t make you better than being Muggle, Severus,” Harry scolded firmly, but gently, not wanting the child to become afraid of him again.

Here, the child looked up into Harry’s face, as though he did not quite understand what the other boy was saying. All his life, Severus had been told two different things: by his father, he was told that he was a freak, and needed to cease his oddity. By his mother, Severus was told that he was a wizard, and that even though he was poor, he was still better than all of the Muggles in the world. But when Severus had asked why, then, his mother had married a Muggle, she had only slapped him across the face and stormed away. It had been one of the few times she had ever hit him that he could remember, but the little boy was always left with the puzzle of whether being wizard was a good thing or a bad thing.

When Severus had first noticed he could make things happen, like move a glass from one end of the table to another without touching it, or jumping up to the top of a tree without having to climb, he found that he liked his magic. A lot. There was a sense of completeness that he felt whenever he felt magic or did magic himself. It filled the darkness of his life with light, and he wanted to embrace it, even though his father was determined to beat it out of him.

Severus did not blame his magic for making his father hate him; rather, he found he liked it more. Even at such a young age, Severus was certain he did not want to be liked by a man like Tobias. His father was disgusting and never did anything but scream, drink, and hit Severus and his mother. The only good thing his father ever did was fall over unconscious or sleep out on the lawn where he couldn’t hurt anyone. Magic was Severus’s only friend, magic made things look not quite as bleak. Magic would make him strong, and Severus very much wanted to be strong, so strong that no one would ever hurt him again!

But when Harry scolded him, Severus felt suddenly ashamed of himself. He had not meant for that to come out quite the way it had. It was just that his mother always stressed to him that he was much better than non-magical folks, and it was the only thing that kept Severus sane at times. When he was kicked out of the house he had to endure the other children’s remarks about what a trashy, poor little rat he was, and how revolted they were at even the sight of him, it hurt. It had really hurt listening to them all, knowing that he could never be like them, and yet never wanting to be like them. It was all so confusing, and sometimes, at night when he was alone, Severus would cry, not knowing what he should be like or how he should act.

“I’m sorry,” the boy whispered quietly, tears welling up in his eyes once more.

Feeling as though he’d just beaten a wounded puppy, Harry felt his heart break once more when he looked down at the little boy. How was it that Snape could completely undo him like this? Harry didn’t know if he should hug the boy or just start crying himself. Severus looked so sad, so alone that it hurt. “It’s all right,” he said gently. “I…I just wanted to make sure you knew Muggles were no worse than wizards,” Harry tried desperately to explain. “Please don’t cry.”

The only question that lingered in Harry’s mind was whether Severus would listen to his words. After all, Tobias was a Muggle, and one that had constantly abused his little wizard son and his wife. In that line of thinking, it really wouldn’t have surprised Harry had Snape hated all Muggles. But then there was the fact that the boy’s mother had never done anything to stop Tobias from harming her son, and had let her husband continue to abuse not only herself, but her son as well. Shouldn’t Severus also hate wizards and witches too? Not for the first time Harry realized that Severus Snape was going to be a very complicated person to figure out, if indeed anyone could figure him out.

Little Snape nodded miserably, as though he had just been punished for some horrible deed. Unlike the older Snape, it appeared that the younger one felt rebukes more keenly. Although Harry had not meant to chastise the little boy, he did realize that it could be useful in teaching the child to listen more to another person’s side of things. When the Potions master was older he never listened at all, even if confronted with a forceful argument. It either took a person Snape truly admired or respected or an argument so compelling that not even Snape could find fault with the logic.

“So,” Harry said, clearing his throat awkwardly, “here’s some parchment.” He laid everything out before the child and grabbed a magazine to read so that the other boy could work on whatever he wanted to in peace.

Harry stared down at his magazine intently, hoping that Severus could easily forget the censure and carry on with his drawing. But even as he told himself this, Harry knew that Severus would not forget it. Indeed, when Severus had been Snape, the Potions master, he had never forgotten anything anyone had ever done to him. Snape and Sirius’s grudges and hatred was proof of that.

After several minutes, peeking up from his magazine—he still had no real idea of what it was about— Harry was pleased to see that Severus had employed himself with some sort of task. The little black-haired boy worked busily, and the only sound was his quill as it moved across the parchment. It was good to know that unlike many other small children, Severus did not find it necessary to pout after getting a scolding. No, Severus seemed to understand that he needed to be reprimanded for his earlier words. Harry could not decide whether that was due to Severus’s severe upbringing or the fact that the boy had been a thirty-five-year-old less than twenty-four hours previously.

“What are you working on?” Harry decided that there was no point in pretending to read anymore.

The child handed over his parchment for Harry to inspect. The older boy saw Severus’s nervousness, but smiled on, trying encourage the child to be more open. But instead of some sort of picture, Harry was surprised to see the alphabet written in a sloppy, childish handwriting.

“Oh,” he frowned, but quickly tried to smile again. “This is very good, Severus,” he praised the boy. “I didn’t know you knew the alphabet.”

The complement seemed to strike the little Snape as an insult once again, but the boy merely nodded, accepting Harry’s words.

If Harry had a knut for all of the times he regretted saying something to little Snape, he knew he’d be pretty well off by now. He always found the worst things to say to the little boy. But it really wasn’t his fault! How on earth was he supposed to know what little kids were like? Sure, he watched first years sometimes, tried to think back on when he had been a little kid, but that wasn’t the same. Severus was not a normal child, was he? There were times when Harry could have sworn he saw the old, mean, bitter Snape instead of a little boy.

“Uh, well, you know, I didn’t really know the alphabet too well when I was your age,” Harry squirmed uncomfortably. Had he known the alphabet at that age? He couldn’t really remember, but it was blatantly obvious that Severus did and Harry was learning that he should not treat this child like other children his age.

Severus looked at Harry again with an odd look on his face, and just from the flash in the dark eyes, Harry got the feeling that the six-year-old thought he was an idiot. That was not the impression that he had wanted to give his former professor. There definitely had to be a bit of the old Snape left in the boy. It suddenly reminded Harry of why he did not like the Potions master.

“I know it now,” Harry added quickly.

The other boy nodded slightly before he looked back at his writing, seeming to remember what Harry had said earlier. “Isn’t it good?” His voice suddenly held concern.

Forgetting his irritation, Harry looked down at the sloppy handwriting again and smiled. It was pretty messy, the strokes not so fluid or smooth, but it was a pretty good attempt for a little kid with injured hands. “It’s fine, Severus.” Harry grinned. “You did just fine.”

The black eyes lit up for the first time since Harry had met the boy, and it made the Gryffindor feel very good. He liked being able to give compliments to a little bloke that desperately needed some encouragement. Perhaps it would help the little boy, or even the man if Severus changed back…

Which got Harry to thinking, when would Snape turn back into Snape? It could, in all likeliness happen in the next minute, or it could take weeks or even months considering no one knew what the Potions master had been brewing when Archer had attacked. Dumbledore would think of what to do with Snape later on though, he always did seem to know what to do.

“Why didn’t you draw a picture?” Harry asked after another moment of studying the jumbled handwriting, trying to figure out if he could make a connection with it to the handwriting he had seen Snape produce as an older wizard.

Severus snapped his eyes back down to his hands. The childlike part of Snape that seemed to come back while the adult side was pushed back. “I can’t draw,” the boy admitted.

Harry was actually a bit surprised. He had never been much good at drawing either, but when he had had the chance to when he was little, he always liked doing it. Weren’t all little kids supposed to think that they were the best artists ever? Apparently not.

“Well…so?” Harry shrugged. “It’s still fun to do.”

The other boy shook his black head stubbornly.

“Sure it is!” Harry smiled. “Who cares if it doesn’t look all that great?…Not that I’m saying your picture wouldn’t look good or anything…I’m just, you know, talking hypothetically.”

The hard obsidian eyes were back and they locked on to Harry’s emerald ones again. Severus simply stared at Harry for what felt like forever to the Gryffindor, and the coldness that could be seen was staggering coming from such a young face. “There’s nothing fun about failure,” he muttered ruefully.

“It’s not a failure if you’re just not good at drawing. It just means that you’re good at other things.” Harry found it odd that he should be speaking so complexly to such a young child. But then again, he had to keep reminding himself that Severus was not an ordinary child. There was still a snarky old Potions master in the boy somewhere, and that was who Harry was talking to at the moment.

It seemed Severus was intrigued by the thought, and cocked his head to the side, much like he had earlier that morning. Harry thought back, trying to remember if he had ever seen Snape do such a thing when he had been older, but he could not recall any instances. Maybe this was just a childhood habit that he grew out of?

The little patient seemed to think on Harry’s words before nodding slowly. Seeing this, Harry decided there was hope left for Severus. If all went well, and a miracle happened, maybe he could even rid Severus of his apparent need for sarcasm or his condescending manner? I can dream, he thought pleasantly to himself.

“Can you draw?”

The question caught Harry off guard and jolted him out of his thoughts. “Huh?” he looked back down at the boy. “No, not really,” he admitted. “I don’t even write all that neatly.”

Pursing his lips together, the little kid stunned Harry by giving the older boy a smile. It was shy and guarded, but it was a smile nonetheless. “Maybe we could practice together?”

Astonished Harry could not help that his eyes widened. There was nothing in the black eyes but a child’s hope, and yet Harry knew that for the boy to be so daring he needed some confidence, which he was either learning or already knew from his adult side. But Harry could not deny that he was delighted that Severus was trusting him so much. After all, the boy did not even remember him, and had not liked him when Severus had been older. “Sure. Okay.” Harry smiled warmly at the boy.

On Severus’s part, he wondered at his own boldness of character during the morning. But there was something about the older boy that Severus found he liked almost instantly. He had tried to distrust Harry, had even done or said some rather… not good things, but still the other boy had not gotten to angry with him and had not hit him once! He couldn’t believe that he trusted Harry, but something in his gut told him that he could trust the older boy. There was just something about those green eyes…

The two sat smiling at each other for only a moment longer when the Floo flared to life and out stepped Albus Dumbledore.

“Hello there, my dear boys!” Dumbledore smiled brightly as he stepped out of the Floo, dusting himself off. “And how are we this fine afternoon?”

Harry was found that he was a little perturbed by the Headmaster’s interruption of the first ever kind interaction between himself and Snape in the history of ever, but he was also a bit relieved that the old man had come back. When Dumbledore had left that morning, Harry had noticed Severus’s alarm and fear. It seemed to be a good thing for the little boy to know that Albus hadn’t abandoned him.

“Hello, Professor.” Harry smiled at the old wizard. “We’re fine.”

“Excellent, excellent!” The headmaster walked towards the two boys, a smile still plastered on his old face. “And how are you, Severus? Feeling any better?”

While Severus had appeared to trust the old man that morning, Harry noticed that the boy was a little hesitant with the professor now that he was back. Severus was in an extremely sensitive state. The little bloke was still learning whom he could and could not trust. Perhaps Severus felt a bit unsure of the headmaster because he had left him that morning with an older boy he didn’t even know? Seemed likely. Harry was sure he’d be wary if he were Severus.

Instead of speaking, however, the small boy nodded once to the old wizard, not giving Dumbledore the honor of hearing his voice.

“Excellent!” Dumbledore exclaimed, not noticing his former employee’s fears. “Been having fun, have we?” The headmaster looked at the parchment that was lying on the table.

Knowing that Severus was probably not going to speak, Harry decided to step in. “Yeah. Severus was practicing the alphabet. See?” Harry held up the parchment. “Look at how well he’s done!”

Dumbledore took up the parchment, and his smile somehow grew even more brilliant. “My, my! How wonderful, Severus!” the old wizard praised. “This is magnificent! And you did it all by yourself?”

Harry snapped his eyes over to the little boy, and once again caught the child’s reaction. Same as he’d done with Harry, Severus looked offended at the thought that he did not know the alphabet. The spark that seemed to be present in the older Snape was back in the black eyes, and Harry had to wonder if the professors had been wrong, and Professor Snape was still very much in there. There were times when Harry was certain that his Potions master was still there, still waiting to growl and snap at anyone who questioned him.

But again, the intense look of insult melted away, the compliment that was given finally seemed to reach Severus’s mind, and the little boy blushed ever so slightly and gave a shy nod. It seemed that Dumbledore had completely missed the affronted look Severus had given altogether, as he beamed on, seeing only the pleased expression the little boy wore.

“My word, I daresay that you will be an excellent student here once you come to Hogwarts, my dear boy,” Dumbledore went on with his praise.

“Uh, sir?” Harry said quietly, seeing Severus becoming a bit uncomfortable with the attention. “Where have you been?”

The headmaster looked over to Harry, his blue eyes twinkling brightly, looking very much like the twins when they thought of a particularly clever prank. “In my office. Just taking care of some business matters.” The old man smiled. “But now that you bring it up, there was something I wished to discuss with you, Harry. Would you mind coming with me for just a moment?”

Turning to look back at Severus, Harry found the small child sitting up, staring intently at the headmaster with bright obsidian eyes. The look in the small child’s eyes reminded Harry very much of the look his former Potions teacher had whenever Dumbledore seemed prone to sharing some rather interesting information. Again, Harry found himself wondering if the old Snape were not still in there, still observant, still influencing a large part of young Severus’s mind. But when Severus did notice that he was being watched as well, the little boy’s courage seemed to falter and he looked away, back down at his hands.

“Uh, yeah. Sure. I can talk.” Harry nodded towards the headmaster. “But, um, what about Severus? I don’t think that he’d like to be left alone.”

“Oh!” Dumbledore looked over to the little boy again, as though he had completely forgotten the child he had been doting only a few moments before. “We won’t be leaving,” the old wizard told his former employee gently. “I just need to speak with Harry over there,” he said, pointing to a spot several beds away from the one Severus was sitting on. “We’ll be right back.”

Looking over to where the headmaster was pointing, Severus was not sure that he liked the idea of Harry going away from him again. True, he had not known Harry for very long, but there was just something about the other boy that Severus liked. Something within him told Severus that Harry was not like the other older children that he had run into, and Harry was certainly not like any, adults either! There was something…special about Harry. Severus could see that every time he looked into the emerald eyes.

After a long moment, Severus looked up at the headmaster and gave a small nod.

Dumbledore gave an even brighter smile and patted the bed, where he thought Severus’s foot might be. “There’s a good lad. We’ll be finished talking in just a moment.”

Harry frowned in concern, wondering what Severus thought of all this, but went along with the headmaster when Dumbledore began to walk a short distance away. There was something in the black eyes that made Harry suspicious when he watched the little boy. Severus seemed to be smarter than he was letting on. But then again, he had been a thirty-five-year-old man not too long ago.

“Professor?” Harry whispered. “Is…is Professor Snape still there, d’you think?”

Albus frowned in confusion. “Of course, Harry. That really is Professor Snape there.”

“I know that.” Harry shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts. “But what I meant was…is Snape’s…adult self still here?”

“You mean in the boy?” Dumbledore carefully peeked over to look at Severus, who had turned his attention back to his writing, but was no doubt trying to catch part of the conversation between Harry and Albus. “I told you, Harry, Severus has reverted back into the child that he had been. He does not remember us.”

“I know that.” Harry nodded. “But…but there are times when he seems…a lot like Snape. Old Snape, I mean.”

“Professor Snape,” the headmaster corrected gently, before he frowned again. “Has Severus demonstrated signs of adult self? Has he remembered something?”

Slowly, Harry shook his head. “No. No memories or anything like that. I just meant that he seems…old for his age, I guess. He doesn’t act much like I thought a little kid should.”

“He has had a troubling past, my boy. Have you kept that in mind? With such a past he would not act much like a normal child might or ought.” There was concern and sorrow in the usually bright blue eyes.

“I know that. But there’s still…something in the way that he acts at times. Like he’s an adult, not a scared little kid.” Harry wanted the headmaster to understand, but at the moment, he could not think of the words to say to make Dumbledore comprehend what he was saying. “There are times when Severus acts very shy and scared, like what you’d think a little kid his age would,” Harry said, deciding to start over. “But then there are times when he acts very...well, a lot like he would when he was a professor.”

Dumbledore turned his head over to stare at young boy that was sitting in his bed practicing his letters and trying very hard to pretend that he didn’t notice the headmaster watching him. “I suppose it is possible that he could still project a few of his adult-like manners.” Dumbledore stroked his beard in thought. “Though I cannot be sure. What’s happened to Severus seems to be more complex than anything I’ve ever encountered before. It does not seem like a normal age-reversal potion, as Severus would still have his adult memories if it were. And we could guess when such a potion would wear out. But whatever Severus has gotten into this time is much different. It’s almost as though he has gone completely back in time…” The old wizard trailed off.

Shifting uncomfortably, Harry could not help but look towards the little boy as well. “Could it be possible that something like that happened?” Harry asked quietly. “That Professor Snape made a potion that could take him back in time? You said that he created all kinds of different potions.”

Still stroking his beard, Dumbledore turned back to Harry. “That is a very creative thought.” The headmaster smiled, but it was a forced smile, one letting Harry know just how worried Dumbledore actually was. “But I do not think that is very likely. You said you saw Professor Snape’s hand get injured, or rather that you saw it after it was injured, yes?”

“Yeah.” Harry began to grow uncomfortable, but a little excited about the mystery of what had happened to Snape.

“So, Severus still retained that injury, and he does not recall how he’s gotten it.”

“He told you that?” the younger Gryffindor asked in surprise. “Madam Pomfrey said that Severus hasn’t spoken to anyone until this morning, to me.”

Again, Dumbledore smiled sadly. “He didn’t have to, my dear boy; I could see his confusion. Of all his injures, even his broken bones and his other bruises and cuts, he stared a great deal at that hand the night before. Although he might have been good at hiding his thoughts as an adult, he’s rather transparent now, and I could tell that he did not remember that injury, which lead me to believe that this is still the same Severus that we have always known…but one that does not remember being an adult!”

“This is giving me a headache,” Harry muttered.

Dumbledore began to chuckle lightly as he placed a comforting hand on the younger wizard’s shoulder. “Indeed it is, my boy. I’ve stayed up almost all night pondering this little puzzle of ours, and I have yet to get any further than figuring out who is alive and who is not.

“But this is not what I wished to speak with you about. What I wanted to tell you is that I have come up with a plan on how to hide Severus, and have also come up with a story on how to hide Severus’s disappearance in Potions.”

After figuring out which “Snape” Dumbledore was talking about, Harry frowned. “What are you going to tell everyone once Snape doesn’t show up for Potions?”

“Professor Snape, Harry. And I’ve come up with a story for that, as I said.” Blue eyes began shining with excitement. “I will make an announcement later at lunch today that Professor Snape has been called away on a very exciting opportunity to study potion ingredients in Eastern Europe. I will not go into specifics. But the excuse for such a sudden departure is that at first it was thought that there would not be a spot for him to go, but since someone from the party dropped out, there was an opening allowing him to attend, and he just found out last evening.”

“That’s…a good idea.” Harry tired to find a loophole in the story, but he could not think of any except one. “But he wouldn’t leave. I mean, he’s a Death Eater. Won’t Voldemort and the other Death Eaters think his leaving is a little suspicious?”

“Too true,” the headmaster agreed. “But one Death Eater already came here to confront Severus on his betrayal, and you said that his Dark Mark began to bleed, so what’s to say that the Voldemort didn’t know of Severus’s betrayal? Isn’t it possible that all the Death Eaters figured it out?

“No, this is a good plan, I think. Only a handful of students know that Professor Snape is a former Death Eater, and none of them would ever tell. If the other Death Eaters knew of Severus’s treachery, then it would logical to assume that he would try to hide or run away.”

“I guess I didn’t really think of that,” Harry admitted. “But how are you going to explain this Severus here? People are going to notice a little kid wandering around eventually.”

“Ah, but that is where I need some of your help, my boy.” Dumbledore’s eyes began sparkling like mad. “I believe that I shall masquerade Severus around as my grandson.”

“Grandson? But you’re not married, sir!” Harry’s eyes widened in shock. “Or are you?”

The old wizard began laughing again, only this time, his laughter rang out throughout the hospital wing, catching little Severus’s attention. “No, Harry, I am not married.” Dumbledore lowered his voice again. “Nor have I ever been. But what’s to say that I never sowed a few wild seeds in my past?”

“Sir?” Harry was flabbergasted. “Wouldn’t that ruin your reputation, sir?”

Again, the headmaster chuckled. “I doubt it. What man hasn’t done something foolish in his past? And I am rather getting on in years now, and I have done quite a bit in my time. I doubt if the public knew or thought that I had had an illegitimate child, and then a grandchild, that it would matter too much. I’m too old for such a thing to be considered too scandalous.”

“Are you sure?” Harry looked at the headmaster doubtfully. “I mean, it will be a shock to find out that you have a grandson and all.”

“Yes, but he would be my grandson, meaning that any woman I might have gotten pregnant would have been in the past…a rather long time ago, I’m thinking. And the story will go that I received word that I was left custody of the boy after his parents died. My anonymous lover told our son that I was his father, but neither one ever came forth, so when my son and his wife died—both from a Death Eater raid—I was left custody of the boy. I had tests done, and it showed that the boy was my close relative,” Dumbledore explained.

While the headmaster was giving his fake family history, Harry could not help but stare at the old wizard in a stupor for several minutes. Dumbledore really seemed to be getting into his new role. “You’ve really got this all figured out, haven’t you?”

“Yes, yes.” The old man smiled happily. “I’m lining up witnesses, should anyone want more evidence.”

“But why do you need me?” Harry was starting to get nervous with where this was all leading.

“Well, I obviously need you to go around confirming my claims,” Dumbledore said very matter-of-factly. “If you must, you may say that when you were going to see Professor Snape last evening, you happened upon Severus and me talking about his departure and you saw the boy, whom I had brought with me.”

Something told Harry that he would come to regret all of this, and there was a part of him that wished that he had never gone down to see Snape last night, and that he knew absolutely nothing about this mess. But then, if he didn’t know, and he learned of Snape leaving and then saw a small boy that was said to be the headmaster’s grandson, he’d be suspicious and want to figure everything out anyway. Yet, Harry had the feeling that he would come to regret helping the headmaster out in this at same point.

Sighing in defeat, Harry knew he could not refuse Dumbledore, especially now that he had gotten to know Severus a bit better. If for nothing else, Harry wanted to help the little boy as much as he could. After all, he and Severus actually shared a similar past, as odd as it sounded, and if he could help his former professor out when he was a kid, Harry was more than willing to do it.

“I’ll do it.” Harry nodded. “But why did you not let me go to class today? People will ask.”

“Just tell them the truth in that regard.” The headmaster smiled. He knew that he could get Harry to help him. “Tell them that I wanted you to watch over him today since I had quite a bit of business to take care of with Professor Snape leaving.”

“Right. But what are you going to call him? You can’t say that your grandson is Severus!” The very idea of it just made Harry squirm.

Here, Albus looked thoughtful and he was silent for a few moments. “I believe I shall call him Archimedes Zadok Octavius Dumbledore.”

The oddness of the names caught Harry off guard for a moment, before he was able to blink again, at which point he just stared at the headmaster for a long moment. “Archimedes Zadok Octavius Dumbledore?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” Albus asked in confusion.

“Why those names?” Harry grimaced at the thought of really being named “Archimedes”.

As though reading the boy’s thoughts, Dumbledore chuckled. “Well, I suppose no one would ever think of Professor Snape as an Archimedes—”

“That’s for sure!” Harry mumbled under his breath.

“—and I suppose that I’ve just always had a liking for these three names. I believe I might have used these names had I really had a son.” 

“Well…I guess there are worse names out there,” Harry muttered. “But what about the way he looks? People are bound to notice the similarities between your grandson Archimedes and Professor Snape.”

“Ah, but that is where only a few minor spells can help us out.” Dumbledore took out his wand, as though to demonstrate. “Since Severus is so young now, he has not taken on many of his…adult features yet.”

That’s for sure! Harry thought. He’s actually not all that terrible to look at now.

“So,” the headmaster went on, “I believe that in order to make him look more like a Dumbledore, all I need to do is change his nose and his eyes. After all, no one knows what my past lover might have looked like, or my son and his wife, so Severus’s other features would be safe. It would be a very good disguise without going overboard, don’t you think?”

It did sound like a good idea. Since Severus still had some baby fat— if he had any fat on him at all!—and his rounder face, no one would think to look for Professor Snape’s harsh features in the grandson of Albus Dumbledore! Certainly not if the headmaster gave little Severus bright blue eyes! “But what are you going to tell Severus?” Harry asked after a moment. “You can’t just tell him that you’re his grandpa now and then change his name and his looks.”

“That is a very good point.” Dumbledore’s smile faded slightly. It seemed that he had gotten so into his planning that he’d forgotten to take the actual people involved into account.

“You should tell him the truth,” Harry spoke up after a moment’s pause. “He has a right to know what’s happened to him, and what’s going on.”

“But he’s just a little one.” The headmaster looked over to Severus with a pitying expression on his face.

Harry nodded once. “Yeah, he is. But I still think he’s got the old Professor Snape in there somewhere. I think if you talk to him about this he’ll understand.”

Looking very tired, Dumbledore sighed. “Yes, I suppose you are right. Funny how I should be scolded by  you.” He smiled kindly.

Smiling back, Harry turned to glance back at Severus, who was still writing out his letters. “I should probably go back to him.”

“Yes. But do not tell him anything of this. I will explain everything to him tonight at dinner. I think you should go to dinner with your friends tonight.” Dumbledore began walking back over to Severus’s bed with Harry. “I am sure they are anxious to see you, especially after you did not return last night.”

Harry could just see Hermione panicking, and Ron planning to do something rash, believing that Snape had murdered him or something of the sort. He had been so angry with Snape last night, it could have been possible that he and Snape had another row and the two of them had had some difficulties leading to detentions or Snape flying off the handle again.

“Yeah. Thanks, Professor.” Harry smiled before stopping at Severus’s bedside where the smaller boy looked up at the older two wizards. “What time will you be back?”

“Oh, around six o’clock or so,” the headmaster said. “I need to go to lunch now and make my announcements. I’ll have lunch brought up to you both soon. Severus?” he turned back to his former Potions master, his voice gentler. “I’ll be back later to collect you, all right? Will you be fine with Harry for a few more hours?”

Shyly, the little Snape gave two small nods before very quietly answering, “Yes.”

Grinning as though he had just been awarded all the gold in England, Dumbledore looked about ready to burst with happiness from the little boy’s answer. “Very good, then, my dear boy!” he exclaimed. “I shall be back soon. Have fun, you two!” he called before he walked back over to the Floo and disappeared.

Turning back after watching the headmaster go, Harry found Severus watching him. “What did you two talk about?” the little boy asked.

Everything that Dumbledore had told him began swirling in Harry’s mind, and he started to get nervous, thinking about everything that he could and could not say now. Could he keep all this from everyone, even Ron and Hermione? Would this be a secret with only Dumbledore, Madam Pomfrey, and Professors Flitwick and McGonagall? It seemed like a lot to shoulder with everything else Harry had to think about lately.

“Nothing,” he said instead. “Professor Dumbledore wants to tell you later tonight.”

Frowning, Severus felt the old flares of doubt and suspicion rise again, but he fought to keep them down. After all, Harry had been very kind to him so far, and Albus had been very nice the night before. Severus wanted to trust them, he wanted to so very badly. So, with a small nod, Severus decided that he would keep working on his letters and wait for the night to come.

~*~

That night, Harry walked from the hospital wing and down towards the Great Hall. He felt a bit nervous, though he knew he shouldn’t be. The thought of seeing everyone after he had skipped classes all day even though he hadn’t been sick or injured really sat wrong with Harry. What would his teachers say? What would everyone one else think? But it was under Dumbledore’s orders! he thought.

Walking into the Great Hall, listening to all the noisy chatter, Harry didn’t have to look hard for his friends, because he had barely set foot into the room before Hermione and Ron were on him like flies to a carcass. “Harry!” they boy exclaimed.

“Where have you been?” Hermione demanded.

“Mate, I thought Snape killed you!” Ron spoke over Hermione.

“You missed all our classes today!”

“I mean, you didn’t even come back to the room last night!”

“We had a quiz in Charms today, and you missed it!”

“And then the twins said they swore they saw you going to the hospital wing last night!”

The constant bombardment of scolding and inquires left Harry’s mind reeling, and he started to get a headache. “Whoa! Half a moment!” Harry cried. “Can’t I even sit down first?” 

Neither Hermione nor Ron were in a particularly patient mood, and before Harry could have said “magic,” the two grabbed him and dragged him to the table before making him sit. “Now then.” Hermione sat down next to her friend, trying to look calm and proper. “Where were you last night? I thought you said you were going to talk to Professor Snape.”

“I was!” Harry insisted, still feeling a bit suffocated under Hermione’s suspicious glare. “But while I was going there, I heard Dumbledore—”

“Did you hear about what happened with Dumbledore?!” Ron interjected. “He got up in front of everyone at lunch today and told everyone that he had a grandson that would be staying here with him for a while at Hogwarts!”

“And, more importantly,” Hermione cut in, scowling at Ron, “Professor Dumbledore also said that Professor Snape left last night to go on a Potions masters’ seminar in Eastern Europe to study rare potions ingredients.”

Again, Harry was trying to shift his way through all the information his friends were telling him that he already knew. He was getting a bit angry that no one would let him say more than six words put together. “Can I just tell you what I know?” the green-eyed Gryffindor huffed.

Ron looked a bit confused, as though he did not understand why his friend was getting angry, while Hermione continued to scowl. By this time, the trio had attracted the attention of Neville, the Weasley twins, and a few other Gryffindors as well. Realizing that he had an audience now, Harry worked to keep himself calm and tell his story, just like he and Dumbledore had talked about.

“You see,” Harry began, “I did go down to see Snape last night, just like I’d said, and when I went down there, I heard Snape talking to someone. I didn’t know who it was for a minute, but I soon realized that it had been Dumbledore. I snuck up quietly to the door—which had been cracked open for some reason— and peeked inside. Snape was telling Dumbledore about leaving for Eastern Europe—to Transylvania, I think—and about what a great opportunity it would be for him to go and about how he had just found out and all that.

“But, while those two were talking, I saw a little kid with Dumbledore. I think the kid realized I was staring, and he looked over at me. Of course, Snape noticed and opened the door—which nearly hit my face!—and Dumbledore invited me in while Snape threatened to deduct points for ‘eavesdropping on a private conversation’ or something like that. But Dumbledore didn’t mind and he introduced me to his grandson, and when Snape left to go pack or something, the headmaster asked me if I’d like to stay and play with his grandson, and, then asked if I’d like to watch him today. So I did.”

While some of the Gryffindors looked pleased with the story, and turned to each other to gossip and chatter away happily, Hermione did not look all that convinced. In fact, her eyes held accusing thoughts in them, but she remained quiet, knowing it would not be wise to point the finger at Harry while everyone else was still around. Ron, on the other hand, did not seem to mind the tale quite as much, but still did not look satisfied.

“What does the kid look like, Harry?” Ron asked.

“And what’s his name?” Hermione added.

Harry was thankful that he and Dumbledore had gone through everything when the headmaster had come back that night. “Well…” Harry trailed off. “The kid’s got the worst name in the world, I can tell you that much.”

“What’s that?” Ron frowned. The twins had started listening again, too.

“Archimedes,” Harry said. At everyone’s sour expressions, Harry went on. “Archimedes Zadok Octavius Dumbledore.”

“That is bad,” Ron muttered.

Actually, Harry wondered how Severus was taking to the news that he had to change his name to this long, crazy name. He wished he could have stayed behind with the little boy while Dumbledore told him the news that he was not really a little kid, but a thirty-five-year-old Potions professor. Would Severus take the news well, or were things going terribly even at this moment? Harry hoped not. He wished he could have said goodnight to Severus, but the little boy had fallen asleep shortly after Dumbledore had left and had still been sleeping when the headmaster returned.

“Yeah. But he’s got black hair and blue eyes, and…um…well…he’s really little, and shy.” Harry tried to describe Severus as best as he could with Dumbledore’s changes included, but he had never been very good at describing people’s appearances all that well. He was much better at describing people’s character and attitudes.

“Archimedes, eh?” George winced.

“That’s bloody terrible.” Fred shared his twin’s expression.

“How old is he?” Hermione pressed.

“Six,” Harry answered automatically. “But he’s really small for his age. He looks four to me…though I don’t really know how fast kids grow.”

It seemed that everyone’s curiosity had been slaked for the time being, and the small crowd went to their meals hungrily, their minds full of news and their tongues burning to spread gossip. Able to breathe once more, Harry went about filling his plate quietly. He was glad to be out from under the spotlight, but he was not all that comfortable. He did not like having to lie to his friends and housemates. It was one thing to keep something from them, but completely different when he thought it through and helped fabricate a story to tell. It just did not sit well with Harry.

But it’s for Severus’s own good, Harry tried to justify. After all, if everyone knew that little Archimedes Dumbledore was really Severus Snape, what would the Death Eaters do to him? More importantly, what would the students do to the man who had punished them unfairly and berated them? No, Harry had to deceive everyone so that Severus had a chance to get through all this. Harry just hoped that the Potions master would turn back to his old self again soon.

~*~

“All right, Harry. Tell me what really happened.” Hermione demanded once they were back in Gryffindor Tower, alone in the corner of the common room.

Sighing, Harry decided that sometimes it was not always a good thing having a friend that was a genius. They were so much harder to fool. “All right, this is how it really goes; I went down to see Snape, like I said, only they weren’t taking about Snape leaving to go study potions ingredients, Snape was talking about leaving because the Death Eaters found out that he was a spy.”

“Merlin!” Hermione gasped, covering her mouth quickly. “He’s running because he’s been threatened, hasn’t he? And Dumbledore made up the story to throw off the Death Eaters’ children here, right?”

“So where is he really going to?” Ron asked. Even though he did not like Snape—at all!—Ron still understood the Potions master’s worth and realized that Snape did know a lot of Order business and plans.

“I don’t really know where he went,” Harry said, shaking his head. He did feel terrible about lying to his friends. “Dumbledore really did have his grandson with him when I went down, and when Archimedes looked over at me, Snape did catch on and really laid in to me about spying. So while Dumbledore was helping Snape get ready to leave, I watched out for Dumbledore’s grandson.”

The trio sat in silence for several minutes while Hermione and Ron soaked in the new information and Harry tried not to give anything away by looking guilty.

“That makes much more sense,” Hermione muttered. “I knew there had to be a rather good reason for Professor Snape to just leave all of a sudden. But is there any connection with Dumbledore suddenly getting a grandson?”

“That’s just coincidence I think.” Harry prayed that he hadn’t said it too fast. “I think the appearance of an unknown grandkid really threw Dumbledore off. He seemed close to panic last night with everything going on.” And that was the truth. Harry could not remember a time when Dumbledore had looked so scared and worried as he had the night before.

“When do you think Snape will come back?” Ron asked.

“He might never come back,” Hermione pointed out. “If he has Death Eaters on his trail, I believe there’s a very good chance he might…might be killed.” Her voice fell.

Hermione’s words hit Harry hard. No one really knew just how devoted Snape was. The man was a triple agent, constantly risking his life to bring the headmaster news of the Death Eaters and the Dark Lord’s plans. It was because of Snape that the Order got most of the information it did, and it was because of him that some Muggle and Muggle-born lives were saved.

Harry could only picture Snape standing in the doorway last evening, blocking the Death Eater’s way to finding the Boy Who Lived. Snape had not liked Harry, but he had stood his ground, doing his very best to make sure that his least favorite student had a chance to get away and get help. Despite his hatred for James Potter, Snape had always helped Harry. Sure, he had made life hell while Harry was in his class, but at the same time, and in the long run, Snape had only been looking out for him. Snape had made a promise, an oath, to protect Harry, and that was only thing that mattered now to Harry; that Snape cared.

“But he’s always been good at hiding, hasn’t he?” Ron pointed out, startling Harry from his thoughts. “I think he could get away.”

“But he still has the Dark Mark.” Hermione shook her head sadly. “Although I don’t know exactly how that works, I believe that it would be easier for Voldemort”—Ron flinched at the name—“to track him down. If Professor Snape gets out of the U.K.—which he would be very lucky indeed—I don’t think he’d make it too far into Central Europe before he’s found.”

The three teenagers fell into a heavy silence. Although none of them had been very fond of Professor Snape, they all had discovered that the man had given up quite a bit to play spy for Dumbledore, and even though they may have talked about wanting to kill the greasy git, the reality of him actually having a chance at being killed did not sit well with any of them. None of them very seriously wished death on anyone, except perhaps the Dark Lord.

The tension was realized, however, when the twins set off one of their fireworks in the common room and all the students had to duck for cover. As the other students grumbled and complained about the animated Weasley twins, Harry’s thoughts turned back to the little boy he had left sleeping in the hospital bed. He hoped Severus took Dumbledore’s news well, and he hoped that the little Slytherin wouldn’t be too angry with him in the morning.

There were just some things in life that seemed too outlandish, too ridiculous to be true, and the story that this Headmaster Albus has just sprouted had to be one of those kind of stories. Although Severus was young, even he could tell the difference between reality and a poorly constructed lie, and the Headmaster had definitely been telling a lie a moment ago. What, did everyone think that he was stupid? His father had always reminded Severus that he was stupid, but the boy did not think that he was. In fact, he was beginning to learn to use people’s misconceptions against them…

But honestly! Dumbledore’s little story was not fun or enchanting in the least. In fact, Severus was actually insulted that the older wizard would even try to tell him that this story was even remotely true. Please! There was no way that Severus had been an adult ever! And there was no way that he would simply forget almost thirty years of his life like that, even if he had turned back into a child. There was just no way!

The old wizard seemed to pick up on Severus’s disbelief though, and he sighed. “What I’m saying is true, Severus,” he said tiredly.

The little boy sat still, looking at the old man with suspicious eyes. There were few things that Severus could ever depend upon in life, but one thing was facts. There were no facts to support the Headmaster’s claim at all. There were no distinctive clues, no witnesses, no nothing. The idea of losing your memory was all fine and good, Severus had heard about people having something called “amnesia” before, but none of those people had ever suddenly just turned into children. That was absurd! There was just no possible way for this to happen!

Next to the little boy, Dumbledore began to rethink everything that he had just said. And here he had been relying on childlike faith to get his story across. So much for that! It seemed Severus Snape had never been able to trust so easily, not even as a six-year-old child. It was sad really, but it was just another fact to add on to the man that had been Severus Snape…though he still was Severus Snape.

“Would you like me to prove to you that my story is true?” Albus asked gently.

Severus hesitated. Was the Headmaster angry with him for not automatically believing him? Would Dumbledore be mean to him now that they were alone? The little black-eyed boy began wishing that Harry was back. It had been a rather nasty shock to wake up and discover that the older boy had disappeared. But thus far the Headmaster had been kind, and Severus could not really complain about the treatment he had received, so he gathered up his waning courage and nodded.

Even though Severus was scared and he did not know this Headmaster all that well— or anyone else here for that matter!—there was something telling him that he could trust Dumbledore. It was like there was a little voice inside him, telling him that the Headmaster would not harm him, that Harry would never hurt him, that he could trust Madam Pomfrey… The little Snape did not know where this voice had come from, but it was comforting. It spoke to him almost like it knew these strange people…

With a kind smile, Dumbledore summoned a large stone looking bowl. Severus watched with fascination as the object came floating in towards him. Even though his mother had abused him with her magic, Severus was always still fascinated whenever he saw magic being used. There was just something so whimsically wonderful about it that made the little boy’s heart ease.

The large stone basin stopped before it got too uncomfortably close to the little boy, and Dumbledore stood up. “Do you know what this is, Severus?” he asked gently.

For just a moment, Severus thought that he did know what that thing was, that he had used it before, but just as quickly as the thought had come, it was gone again, and he was left with frustration, knowing that at one point in time he had known, but just could not remember anymore. How that was possible, the little boy did not know as he was certain he had never seen such a thing before. His mother did not have one, and he did not usually leave the house or the neighborhood. If he had ever seen such a thing, it would have had to have been only the briefest glimpse of it in someone else’s house.

So, to answer the Headmaster, Severus shook his tiny little head and looked back down at his hands. He heard the old man chuckle, but as to what the wizard found funny, the little boy was certain he would never know. “This, my dear boy, is what is called a Pensieve,” Dumbledore explained. “One puts his or her memories in a vial, and when they want to review memories, they pour a certain one into the Pensive and look inside it and watch the memory play out and maybe gain some insight on the situation that might otherwise be lost.”

The idea of the willingly going back into a memory sounded just terrible to Severus. Why would anyone want to relive something in the past? How then could a person forget about what’s happened if they kept going back into this Pensieve thing to review it over and over again? Memories, as far as Severus was concerned, were things to be forgotten and pushed back into the darkest recesses of the mind. It was unfortunate, however, that he possessed a very keen mind and could not forget as well as he thought he should be able to.

But at the same time, there was a small part of the boy that was excited about the prospect of looking into the Pensieve. Was it the same part that had known what the Pensieve was? But all the same, something told Severus that this was a good thing, that even though most of his own memories were bad, this thing that made someone remember was good.

Curiosity won over shyness in the end, and Severus found himself leaning forward, trying to look into the stone basin that seemed so mysterious to him. Even though a part of him screamed that this thing was good, there were still doubts playing in the young mind of Severus, doubts shrouded in suspicion that could not easily be dismissed. But if there was something nice about all this…

“These,” the Headmaster startled the boy from his enthrallment, “are some of your memories that you’ve stored. I found them in your old quarters here in the dungeons.”

Dungeons? He had his own quarters in the dungeon? If this was all some sort of trick, then Albus was certainly going the whole nine yards. Severus knew that dungeons were cold, dark, grim places and he never wanted to live anywhere that remotely reminded him of the emptiness inside him. Dungeons were just too closely related to his own home on Spinner’s End. To the childish part of Severus’s mind, he believed that everyone should realize that he did not like anything that gave off a despondent air. He was not evil like his parents! What the Headmaster was telling him was just too absurd! Everything the old man said seemed so utterly improbable; and yet there was a small chance that it was, indeed, possible…

“I’d like to show you some of these memories, if I could,” the old wizard went on. “It won’t harm you. I promise that.”

This was a strange place, Hogwarts. Until he had come here, Severus had never really been spoken to nicely, nor had anyone asked him if something was okay with him or not. No one had ever cared about him before, and to suddenly be thrown into a place where everyone seemed to want to care about you was a bit overwhelming to Severus. Unlike the nurses he had had at St. Mungo’s, the nurse here actually seemed concerned about him, and did not just coldly look over the injuries. Albus seemed desperately to want Severus to trust him, and Harry seemed to understand him better than anyone else in the world! Even that stern witch and the small little wizard Severus had seen the night before seemed concerned over him.

Although experience from the past that he remembered told him no, Severus found himself nodding to the old wizard. That voice within the boy seemed to think that this was the right thing to do, that whatever the Headmaster was wanting to show him would not harm him. That voice seemed to give Severus the courage he needed to get past the suspicion, the fear, and all the doubts. It was a major leap of faith for him, and yet, he was not all that worried. Something told the boy that things might very work themselves out.

When the old man touched him, Severus flinched terribly. He hated being touched. By anyone. His only references to touch ended badly. The last thing he remembered before coming to Hogwarts was his father beating him senseless and he had had to crawl away in agony. But that voice, that warm, soothing voice within him kept telling him that Albus would not hurt him, that this touch was necessary, that everything would be all right in the end. So, the former Potions Master and the Headmaster peered into the swirling mist together.

Severus had never seen such a thing before. The memories within the Pensieve looked like some sort of sparkling, silver water, but was neither a liquid or a gas. At first, the little boy was almost afraid that the old man holding him was going to drown him, but soon fear fell away into utter fascination and wonder as he dipped his head in and he could not only breathe, but it appeared as though he was standing side by side with Albus.

At first, everything was black, it was as though they were in a black painted room, but soon that all fell away as the mist that they had gone through came rushing down and began swirling into different objects. Soon enough, Severus found himself back in his home on Spinner’s End, in his “bedroom”. And before he could even find the time to be frightened, he was suddenly struck dumb when he saw himself sitting in the corner of his little attic room, playing with a spider.

Shocked, Severus watched as the mirror image of himself was playing with the little black arachnid happily. He remembered this event, it had happened a couple months ago before he had been hurt so badly. How had the headmaster gotten a hold of this memory? Severus certainly did not remember giving anyone permission to take a memory from him! Was that it then? Was that the Headmaster’s angle? Had the old man been stealing his memories while he had been sleeping? But no, that did not make much sense, why would anyone want his memories? None of them were very happy, and as the little boy watched himself in the corner with the spider, he could not help but feel odd, just standing there watching something that had already happened in the past.

But before the little black haired boy could have said anything, everything seemed to swirl and change right before his eyes. Soon enough, Severus found that he was outside his house, standing at the edge of his property, and just as before, he spotted himself sitting on the stoop…Only this mirror boy was not younger, but older than Severus! That could not be! This new boy looked to be about seven or eight, while Severus knew he was six! And yet, there was no mistaking who that mirror boy was, it most certainly was Severus Snape.

The little six-year-old watched with his mouth agape as the older version of himself stood up and wandered towards another yard. There was a moving lorry because a new family was moving in. Severus watched with wonder as the older boy hid himself in the bushes and watched as the new family watched the workers carry everything into the house. “Be careful with that!” a strawberry blonde man called out, his blue eyes flashing. Severus shrank back, frightened, and the older version of himself did too, until they both heard the sound of giggling. Both the memory Severus and the six-year-old Severus turned to see two girls running around the lorry, laughing and chasing one another. One of the girls had brilliant blonde hair, the color of wheat, while the other had fiery red hair.

“Petunia! Lily! Please stop all that running!” Suddenly an anxious looking women came into view. She had bright blonde hair, the same as the older girl’s, only she had brilliant green eyes.

The two little girls came to a stop, and looked up at what Severus supposed were their parents. “Lily said I had big feet!” the blonde girl immediately pouted, her voice was whining. Both Severus’s scowled.

“Well, you do!” the little red head—Lily—giggled.

“That’s enough for now, girls,” the man said, crossing his arms. “Why don’t you two help me and your mum put some things away?”

The older Severus kept on his watch, until a leaf tickled his nose. Without much warning, the memory boy sneezed. Little Severus wondered what was going to happen, and hoped that no one would see him, when the little red haired girl stopped and turned around. Radiant green eyes scanned the area while the older Severus ducked down in the bushes, praying he wouldn’t be seen. But when the little girl decided that it was nothing, she turned back towards her new home and skipped merrily into the house, humming a tune that Severus did not know.

That pleasant and confusing memory faded as well and soon Severus saw an even older version of himself sitting in a Hogwarts school uniform, a Slytherin crest on his chest. This older boy was hunched over a book, furiously scribbling notes down, verifying he was correct from his book before he went back to scribbling some more notes. In the corner of the library the older Severus sat, alone, away from anyone else. He did not look unhappy, but he seemed like he was concentrating pretty hard, trying not to mess up the assignment, writing with a quill.

“Hey, Sev!” someone whispered as they plopped down beside him.

The six-year-old had to do a double take when he saw the red head sitting down next to his older self. The working Slytherin looked up with wide eyes, as thought taken by surprise that someone had actually said something to him before the black eyes mellowed. A gentle smile came over the other boy, and before he could have said anything, the scenery began changing again.

Next, Severus found the next version of himself standing before a large lake, looking as though he was around seventeen or eighteen-years-old. The background was very dark, no stars were shining through the cloud-covered sky, but the moon was fighting to be seen. The wind was blowing, rustling dried leaves, the trees were bare. A shiver ran down Severus’s spine when his older self was revealed and he discovered that he looked strikingly similar to Tobias Snape.

The old Snape seemed to be staring down at something, and it was then that Severus’s attention was gained. The little boy also looked down in the direction his older self was, and gasped. The wizard in black was staring down indifferently at a pair of headstones: Tobias Lawrence Snape 1930—1975 Eileen Elizabeth Snape 1935—1975. That was all that was printed on the pair of matching headstones. There were no other words of comfort or encouragement, there was not a crucifix or print of angels. No flowers were left on the graves, nothing to show that anyone remembered these two people that had once been walking on the earth. Instead, there was ivy growing around the grave, creeping up the headstones, slowly devouring the rock.

The young man peering down his long nose at the graves did not even look the slightest bit troubled with the fact that his parents were dead. His pale face was set in an apathetic mask, with only the faintest scowl of disgust gracing his harsh, angular features, making him look far more callous than perhaps he had meant to look.

The little boy stood transfixed in his place, his eyes wide with wonder and confusion. He was horrified that this man standing before his parents’ grave was actually him when he grew up. Severus had no desire to be reminded of his parents, especially his father, when he grew up, but it became tragically apparent that Severus would never be able to be rid of the memory of his mother and father. He had inherited Tobias’s overall appearance with his mother’s pale skin and magic. But besides looking far too much like his father, Severus was slapped with the mystery of how his parents had died…

But before he could have turned to Dumbledore to ask any questions, the older Snape turned away from his parents’ remains, black cape flipping impressively about him before he stalked away into the night, robes billowing majestically behind him. And that’s when the memories began shifting once again.

Now, the little boy found himself standing in the back of a room. It was crammed with people, students by the looks of them. Everyone was wearing a Hogwarts uniform, some bearing the crest of Slytherin, others Gryffindor. They seemed to have set up cauldrons as if readying to brew, then the doors in the back of the room burst open and a towering black figure stalked to the front of the room. Turning around with a dramatic spin, Severus saw himself again, only this time, as a much older man. If he had to guess, he would have said he was about thirty or so in this memory.

The professor turned suddenly on his students, and with a cold expression, regarded them all for a moment. “You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion making,” he began, whilst little Severus in the back could only stare in wonder. “I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses ... I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death —if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”

The sneer at the end caught the little boy in the back by surprise. The man standing before the classroom was tall, dark, and horribly cold. The man standing before the class had a voice that might have been pleasant had his looks been more comforting, and his manner more gentle. The man standing before this class of first year students reminded Severus an awful lot of Tobias Snape, while his coldness seemed the embodiment of Eileen. In essence, this man standing before the class with his midnight black robes was everything that Severus had never wanted to be, but had grown up to become anyway…

At last, the memories faded back into black and the little boy felt as though he were being lifted up. The darkness swirled around him, and just as suddenly as it had felt like he had been dipped into the Pensieve, he was out again, and found himself back in the hospital wing, with Albus Dumbledore holding on to him, leaning over the stone basin.

Silence reigned over them both for a moment. The little boy in Dumbledore’s arms had gone very stiff and rigid, not quite sure how to feel after everything that he had seen.

On the one hand, Severus felt as though everything he had seen was just some big lie, that someone was trying to fool him into believing that those “memories” were true. Those little snippets that he had seen could have been fabricated, after all. If someone really wanted to, they could have just taken an image of Tobias and turned him pale to make these images. It really wouldn’t be too hard, but it would be time consuming. And yet there was that small, previously unheard of voice in the back of the boy’s mind that was shouting legitimacy. Why anyone would make those images about Severus, of all people, was beyond him, and there was a certain feeling of déjà vu that came with watching those older versions of himself…

“What do you think, Severus?” the Headmaster said quietly, startling the little boy in his arms. “Do you believe my claims now?”

Although young, Severus found that he could not easily dismiss the evidence brought before him. Along with the Headmaster’s claim of truth also came his own mind’s scream of reality. Very slowly, the child nodded his black head. “Yes,” he answered. He was just too shocked to do anything else. “But…” He trailed off.

The old man sitting before him smiled kindly at the child. “But it doesn’t seem possible, does it? But you are still confused. Do not worry about that, my dear boy, that is to be expected. I’ve just placed a heavy load upon you, one that will require a lot of thought on your part. But I do ask you to trust me during this time…like you used to do.”

The blue eyes of the old wizard twinkled brightly, making the little boy wonder whether things would be well or not. There was something strangely familiar about that twinkle, something that even the new voice of confidence in his head did not quite like…but at the same time, it was strangely comforting. Again, the little black head nodded and the Headmaster smiled brightly.

“I am so glad that you are willing to trust me!” Albus exclaimed happily. “But, I am sorry, there is one more matter I would speak with you about…”

~*~

The next morning, the whole school was abuzz, still talking and wondering about the goings on from the day before. Everyone was gossiping either about the sudden disappearance of the Potions Master or the wild discovery that Dumbledore had a grandson. It all seemed so strange, but strange goings on usually came in pairs, so no one had any serious misgivings about where their teacher had gone or where this new grandson of the Headmaster had come from, except, of course, Hermione Granger.

As the Great Hall filled with students and professors for breakfast, Harry, Ron, and Hermione took a seat at their normal spot, wondering just what would become of the day. Harry was rather nervous, worrying about Severus and the Headmaster, while also trying to balance the guilt he felt for lying to his friends. It was so strange, not a full day had gone by and yet Harry felt just about as terrible as a newt in the potions room.

“So, what do you think will happen now?” Hermione asked softly once they had seated. “We won’t have Potions class until we get a new Potions Master, and unless Dumbledore saw this coming at least several months before hand, I’m not sure we’ll have a new professor for a while!”

“No Potions?” Ron’s eyes brightened up at the thought.

“I know! Isn’t it terrible?” Hermione cried. “We’ll all fall behind! We’ll fail our O.W.L’s! Come next year, none of us will pass! We’ll—”

“Calm down, Hermione!” Harry touched his friend’s shoulder. “It won’t be so bad. Dumbledore will figure something out I’m sure. In fact, I’m sure he’s already thought of what to do now.”

“Did he say anything to you yesterday?” Hermione perked up. “What did he say?” she demanded.

“Nothing!” Harry threw up his hands in defense. Ron snickered. “I’m just saying—”

“Well, I hope a new Potions Master can be found quickly,” she went on, as though not really hearing her friend. “Potions Masters are in short supply and…and…oh my!” the bushy haired girl exclaimed, staring up at the head table.

Harry and Ron snapped their heads up towards the front, and suddenly, it seemed every girl in the Great Hall all let out an affectionate “Awww!” There, sitting in the lap of Headmaster Dumbledore, sat a tiny little boy with long dark hair, peering out at the crowd with large scared blue eyes.

“Is that…is that Dumbledore’s grandson?” Ron asked, squinting up at the child he saw place in the Headmaster’s lap.

“Um… yeah…Yeah, that’s him,” Harry nodded, just about as surprised at everyone else in the room. Even though only two alterations had been done to the child, Severus looked almost like a completely different child. The recognizable black eyes had been changed into a deep, royal blue color, which seemed to soften the child’s face considerably. The black eyes against the pale white skin had always seemed such a harsh combination, but with the blue eyes mediating the white skin and the coal black hair, the boy suddenly looked less stern and a bit more childlike. And even though as a child Snape’s nose had not been as prominent as it had been when he was a professor, the new, straight nose he sported now would throw anyone for a loop had they been looking for Severus Snape. In short terms, the boy now had the perfect disguise without really having to try all that hard.

“He’s adorable!” Hermione openly gushed, smiling affectionately up at the child she saw. “Look at him! He looks just like the Headmaster!” she giggled.

It was true in a way. With the blue eyes that matched well with the Headmaster’s and the nose that looked like it could have been Dumbledore’s before it had been broken enough time to remain crooked, and from a distance, the two did look rather similar. But Harry thought it could also be due to the fact that Severus’s youthful, more rounded face helped smooth out the remaining severe features of the former Potions Master that almost everyone here had known and loathed.

“So that’s Archimedes, eh?”

Harry turned to see Fred and George sitting beside him, also staring up at the new attraction.

“Cute kid.”

“Wonder if he’s spoiled?”

“Bet Dumbledore feeds him lemon drops all day.”

“Bet the kid learns to hate them.”

The two twins snickered at their own antics while everyone else simply rolled their eyes. “I’m sure Professor Dumbledore doesn’t spoil little Archimedes,” Hermione responded tartly. “He’s an old enough wizard to know the proper way to raise a child, including the proper nutrition for him.”

“Please, Granger,” George rolled his eyes right back.

“Haven’t you ever been to a grandparent’s house?” Fred asked.

“Grandparents just love spoiling their grandchildren!”

“Especially when it comes to food!”

“That’s what grandparents are for!”

As Hermione huffed and Ron and several other Gryffindors sitting close by laughed, Harry’s gaze again fell on the little boy of certainly everyone’s discussion. All of a sudden, Harry found that the boy in question was staring back at him. Even though the eyes had changed from black to blue, they were still the eyes of Severus Snape, and they pinned Harry down like a moth in a bug collection. Behind those blue eyes the Gryffindor could tell that the child was pleased to see him, scared about the large crowd that now surrounded him, anxious to get away, and above all just plain confused and in need of a friend. Strange that Snape should be seeking him out for company…

For just a moment, Harry was assaulted with the desire to jump up and run to the front of the Great Hall and sit beside the small child that seemed terrified beyond belief. And who could blame the little boy? To not only wake up to discover that you were no longer at home, but to be told all those confusing things about how he had once been an adult, and that now he had to pretend he was someone else’s grandchild…and the new name! Merlin, Harry wondered how Severus felt about his ridiculously long and ludicrous name! The green eyed boy was certain that the former Potions Master would not have approved. At all!

But as the Gryffindors chatted and kept pointing forward, over at the Slytherin table, the serpents all whispered in hushed tones, more than a bit confused. What was this? What was going on? Why had Professor Snape simply up and left? None of them believed the explanation that the Headmaster had given the night before, nor could they get over the suspicion of this new development with the newest Dumbledore residing within the halls of Hogwarts. They knew something was going on.

Sitting amongst his usual crowd of Slytherin groupies, Draco Malfoy stared thoughtfully up at Dumbledore’s supposed grandson. The child was small, cute, and very Dumbledore like to him…at least on the surface. There were just enough similarities to claim relation while enough differences to deflect the idea that someone may had simply changed the boy’s appearance into a young version of the Headmaster. It really seemed that Dumbledore now did have another relative besides his sour brother in Hogsmeade.

And yet…something told Draco that things were not as they seemed. The appearance of this child came on so suddenly, that it just did not seem likely that this all happened by chance. And with the disappearance of his godfather... Snape’s flight had confused Draco more than anything. The blonde certainly did not believe that Snape had simply been called away to some random potions convention at the last minute, but the only explanation that came to his mind was that his godfather had displeased the Dark Lord in some manner, thus causing the Potions Master to flee. But what could Snape have done to fear the Dark Lord enough to run?

As he studied the little bloke sitting in the Headmaster’s lap, Draco decided that his godfather’s departure and the arrival of this child were connected somehow. He just had to figure out what. So he promised that he would have to keep a close eye on things, keep tabs on the boy. Hopefully answers would come to him later. But for the time being, the young Malfoy decided that he could do nothing at the present except enjoy his breakfast before classes began.                                                                                                                          

Sitting in Albus’s lap, little Severus looked around the Great Hall in awe. He was not sure he had ever seen such wonderful magic in all his life, nor had he ever seen so many people in one place. They were everywhere! There were students all crowded into that one, huge room, and there were staff members also. With so many people, the little boy suddenly became frightened. Severus did not like people as a general rule. People usually hurt him, people were mean, most people were bigger than him…

But as his enchanted blue eyes wandered through the many students, who all seemed to be looking at him for some reason, Severus spotted Harry sitting at one of the tables in the horde before him. Seeing the older boy, the only student that he knew—or, rather that he remembered—Severus stared at the Gryffindor, hoping that Harry would understand him even though he was far away. Severus was frightened and worried and he didn’t like being around so many people. All he wanted to do was just go hide somewhere, somewhere safe, where no one could hurt him.

Even though he was at the other end of the room, Severus saw Harry make a rather interesting face. It seemed that the older boy had been jolted by something, by a thought or an idea. Although it did not happen very often, even though he was young, the corners of Severus’s mouth began to twitch upwards. Harry understood him! Harry knew that he didn’t like it here!

The little boy watched as the older black haired boy smiled back at him gently and waved. Severus sat nervously in Albus’s lap, wondering what he should do. No one had ever waved at him before and he wasn’t so sure if he should wave back or not. Peeking up at the Headmaster, Severus realized that the old man was deep in conversation with the one witch he had seen the other night—Minerva— and wasn’t paying him any attention at the moment. So, without trying to attract any attention, the little boy raised his own hand up and waved tentatively back, feeling as though he had made a great accomplishment.

Harry’s smile made his courageous act all the more worth it. The little boy could not help but feel proud of himself. Even though there were all these people in the room he had managed to wave, he had opened up just a bit and allowed himself to be noticed; consequences be damned!—at least for a moment. As soon as he could though, Severus lowered his hand and placed it right back next to its brother so that no one else in the room would notice him. One person was enough for the day.

But unbeknownst to the child, someone else had also seen him wave, and she did not like it one bit. Brooding in her pink robes, Dolores Umbridge watched the little boy in the Headmaster’s lap. She was not quite sure what to make of this turn of events. She was furious that Snape had up jump and flew away, but she was even more livid with Dumbledore for letting the Potions Master go without even finding a replacement first. There were not too many Potions Master that would easily just get up from their jobs to come teach a bunch of dismal children how to make a halfway decent concoction.

As Severus tentatively reached out for a piece of sliced apple, after Albus had reassured him that it was okay to eat, Umbridge spoke up, startling the boy so badly that he jumped and pressed himself in close to Dumbledore’s chest for protection. “Headmaster,” the woman began. “If I may, what have you been doing about the recent vacancy in your staff?” Her eyes burned with an unusual gleam, one that made Severus’s stomach clench painfully. “We cannot keep on without a Potions Master, you know.”

Albus eyed his Defense professor detatchedly, as though not at all upset that she seemed to be questioning his authority. “I’ve sent out some inquiries this morning, before breakfast,” he gave her a small smile, just to make her angry. “I am counting on hearing back from several of them this evening.”

Although trying to hide, Severus peeked out just enough to see the look on the large woman’s face. It was sour, full of anger, not quite as terrifying as Tobias’s glower, but still enough to make the child squirm. The little boy did not like this woman, nor did he like the events of the morning. When he had gotten up this morning, Albus had told him that everything was going to be okay, but so far, with all of the other people and this toad looking woman, Severus could not help but doubt what the Headmaster had told him. Other than seeing Harry and knowing that the older boy was all right, things did not seem “okay” in the least.

“That’s well then, Headmaster,” Dolores nodded, taking up a clipboard. “The Minister would not approve of the school being run without a Potions Master.”

Potions Master? Something about that made Severus fidget in Dumbledore’s lap. Hadn’t the old wizard told Severus that he had been the Potions Master of Hogwarts? How odd it felt to know that he had once been a grown man…

A mental door within the child’s mind slammed shut. Thinking too much about being an adult hurt. Those flashes of feelings he sometimes felt, whenever he thought he knew someone or knew something were most likely memories, memories from his older self. The night before, after Albus had told him everything, Severus had stayed awake a long time to think about everything he had been told. To be honest, he didn’t quite know what to think. He didn’t want to have to worry about what would happen to him now, or the school because he had once taught here, had helped people. All that little Severus knew was that he was still injured and he did not like crowded rooms or the toad woman that was sitting too close. He just wanted to close his eyes and get away from everyone and everything, to go back to the Hospital Wing.

Hot tears began slipping from the little boy’s eyes, and he could not help it. His anxiety over crowds was proving to be too much and his head felt like it had been split open with an axe. He didn’t want to be out in the open where everyone seemed to be staring at him, like he was some sort of freak show! He didn’t want everyone to think he was a freak, his father already called him that, he didn’t want anyone to call him that every again!

Dumbledore, for his part, realized his charge’s distress. So, thinking quickly, the Headmaster cuddled the child up closer to him to shield the boy’s view of Umbridge. While it saved Severus from Umbridge, Albus’s sudden move pinned Severus close and froze the boy in fear. Even as little as he was, Severus had never been used to such physical contact before. Whenever someone had gotten this close to him before, or had touched him, it had hurt. Not having any other references to take example from, Severus did the only thing that his mind could think of; he froze and waited. He just knew something bad was going to happen.

~*~

Although he tried not to, Harry continually found his gaze drifting towards the Headmaster and little Severus. He couldn’t help it! Although Snape had not been a child for very long, Harry still felt compelled to watch out for the boy. It seemed so strange that that innocent little bloke was actually the callous and hated Severus Snape. There were times when Harry actually tried to convince himself that the child was Dumbledore’s long lost grandson, but then he felt ashamed of himself. Even though the Potions Master had been a terrible git, that did not mean he deserved to be forgotten completely, to fade away into nothing but a bad memory until he was merely a school legend until, eventually, he was forgotten by all and history.

But that is Snape up there! The whole situation still had Harry’s head reeling. The Potions Master and the little boy he now saw was the same person and yet it seemed impossible since the two halves of the same man were so totally dissimilar that it seemed unfeasible that they could be from the same man. But yet they were not two different, distinct halves at all! The boy Harry now saw was just what Snape had been long ago, when he had been a child the first time around. The Snape that fifteen-year-old had known for the past four years had grown out of the boy that the Gryffindor was beginning to get acquainted with.

A jolt shot through Harry when he realized just were his thoughts had gone. Even beaten and bruised, there seemed to be some small fight left in Severus, something that the Gryffindor had been pleased to see, and such an attitude, such pride did not die easily. When faced with abuse it was difficult to maintain such spunk, but Snape— Harry had come to know all too well— was a stubborn man, and even as a child, he realized that the Slytherin was still quite stubborn. However, despite that stubbornness that the older Snape had possessed, the Potions Master had lost that fight, that tenacity, that will to thrive that Harry thought he still witnessed in the little boy he now saw.

The cold, black tunnels that had been Snape’s eyes still haunted many of the children that attended Hogwarts. There had been no fire, no will behind the Potions Master’s eyes like there was within his younger self. Abuse at home was something that would make one with such fire want to fight harder against those that hurt him, so when had Snape lost his fire? When had the fire gone out in the boy?

Severus’s parents had been much more abusive and neglectful than the Dursleys; by a long shot. Although Vernon hit him some times and Petunia “forgot” to feed him, they had never seriously crossed the line into torturing Harry. Sure, the sociological abuse would always hang over Harry’s head, but he would survive, especially now that he had friends and a godfather that loved him. Snape, as a child, had been beaten within an inch of his life almost every day from the way things sounded, and everyday could have very well been his last. And yet the boy still seemed resilient to the abuse, still seemed to have some sort of hope.

What startled Harry was how as an adult, when Snape was free from his parents, free from being tortured, he appeared more hopeless than even the boy he had been. Sure, Voldemort was back, but even before that old necromancer was back, Snape had seemed bleak. There was bitterness to the Head of Slytherin, a defensiveness, an anger smoldering close to the surface, but everything the Potions Master did was cold.

It was puzzling really. Although Harry was only seeing a six-year-old version of the Potions Master, perhaps Snape’s parents had managed to break him after so many years? Perhaps, after so long, Snape just gave into his despair? Although it was painful to admit, his father and Sirius had not made Snape’s life better by pranking him and teasing him. Perhaps the pranks were just the icing on the cake as far as Snape was concerned and he had given up. And then there was the fact that Snape had been a Death Eater for several years. Add everything together and Harry was sad to see that the outcome was a man as apathetic and acrimonious as Snape.

But could things be different now? Harry could not help but wonder. After all, no one knew what was going to happen with Snape. For all anyone knew, Snape would have to grow up again, or even worse, was stuck as a child for the rest of his life, having to spend year after year the same age! That was something that Harry had now considered before, and it frightened him. What would happen to Severus if that happened? Even though Dumbledore would care for him, of course, the Headmaster could not live forever, and nor could anyone else really. Would the little boy be doomed to be passed from one family to the next, never changing while watching everyone else around him age and slowly succumb to death? Perpetual youth might have held its appeal to some, but not to Harry— at least not like that— and he was certain it would hold no charm for Severus either!

“Harry!”

Blinking several times, Harry was forced out of his musings. “Huh? What?” he spun around to face Hermione’s worried face.

“It’s time to go to class,” she said slowly. “Are you all right?”

“Huh? Yeah, I’m fine. Sorry,” he mumbled as he gathered up his satchel. “Just sort of…you know…dozed I guess. Daydreaming.”

“You’re looking a bit rough, mate,” Ron scrunched up his face in concern as well.

“I’m fine,” Harry rolled his eyes, standing up. “Just, you know, got lost in a thought.”

“It wasn’t about Snape was it?” Ron whispered before Hermione swiftly elbowed him in the ribs. Even though Snape was still a hot topic for everyone to discuss, it would not have been wise for the trio to speak about him openly like that considering Hermione and Ron were both under false pretenses.

Glancing up at the head table, Harry noticed that Dumbledore and Severus were gone, and much of the Great Hall had already cleared out. He had been pensive longer than he’d thought. “Yeah, I was,” Harry admitted. “It’s just...so odd.”

Misunderstanding, Hermione nodded. “I know, Harry, but we shouldn’t be late for class. We can talk about Snape’s flight later when we’re alone in the common room.”

And so, unable to do anything else, Harry followed Ron to his Divination class.

~*~

While Harry and Ron were undergoing Trelawney’s predictions, Dumbledore had taken Severus back to his office. It seemed the only place that a grandson of the famous Albus Dumbledore would be, considering that the Headmaster was a busy sort of person. It just seemed the best place for the child to be without raising suspicion.

“Here we are, my dear boy!” Dumbledore said cheerfully as he deposited the tiny child into a chair near his desk.

Without a word, Severus allowed himself to be sat down in the large chair without even the tiniest noise of protest. To further help deflect suspicion, Dumbledore had chosen the boy’s outfit for him. Dressed in grey slacks and a royal blue shirt along with the blue eyes and straight nose, the child did not seem to resemble the former Potions Master at all. In fact, for a split second, Albus let himself believe that the boy sitting there quietly really was his grandson…but that was just playful thinking. Albus had never carried on such an intense relationship with anyone, not one that could have ever produced children anyway.

No, behind the blue eyes was Severus. A pang of grief hit the old wizard when he realized that the chair the boy was sitting in now, looking so small and helpless, had last been occupied by his older self a day and a half ago when Severus had come in to report complaints against Umbridge from his Slytherins, and maybe a few himself, although in a more round about manner. The thought of no longer having Severus there to talk with, to think with, to plan with,was something Dumbledore had never considered. He had always assumed he’d die before Severus…

But Severus was not dead! Albus did not know why his mind continuously created the falsehood despite having proof of the opposite. No, Severus was very much alive and staring back at him behind the little glamours. It was just so hard to think of the Snape he had known as this little boy though…

Looking back over at the boy, Albus smiled warmly when he realized the child was inspecting his office. The magicked blue eyes were wide with wonderment as he soaked in everything within the room with a ravenous hunger, one spurred on by the need to learn. But as the boy studied, his face set in concentrated wonder, his big eyes made the old Headmaster chuckle lightly.

The boy snapped his attention back to Albus in an instant, as though afraid he was not supposed to be looking. “Do you like my office, Severus?” he asked gently. Slowly, the boy nodded, as though waiting for the Headmaster to attack him. The expression of fear that flashed over the child’s innocent face stung Albus in the heart. A deep sense of pity washed over the old man in a rushing tide.

It had been difficult to piece together Severus’s history since the man was so private, but Albus had done it over the years. When Severus had come to him that night, fourteen years ago, begging that Albus protect Lily Potter, Dumbledore had been suspicious of the Death Eater, and rightly so! The Headmaster knew so little of Snape then, only knowing that the young man had apparently been in love with Lily and that when his parents had died at the end of his fifth year, the Slytherin had been happy; not leaving the best impression upon people.

When the Potters had died, and Severus had come back to Hogwarts, weeping over the loss of his only childhood friend, was when Albus first truly developed a curiosity about the boy. Albus had been all too familiar with the rumors that had floated around the school of Severus being a dark wizard even while the boy had been a second year. Albus knew that the Slytherin was an extremely smart young man, able to perform some of the most complicated magic in the Wizarding World with little effort. He had been talented in Potions and Defense especially, which did not help the image of him being a dark wizard much. Severus had been an almost constant victim of the Marauders, and had even almost been killed by an ill thought through prank by Sirius Black, but no harm had come to anyone in the end, except that had further embittered Snape.

In Severus’s fifth year he had been humiliated by James Potter and had ended up losing the friendship of Lily Evans. Dumbledore knew what had happened, but to the old wizard, it had all seemed like childhood mischief, nothing too serious. Only now did he know just such “jokes” could send someone spiraling downward into despair and emotional disaster. And it had been shortly after this episode that Severus had been told that Tobias and Eileen had been killed. That day Albus would never forget, when the teenage Severus had stared at him for a moment, the scowl that always seemed present slipped off his angular face, and was slowly replaced by an unsure grin which turned into a wicked smile. It had been horrible to see that such news had elicited such delight from the boy who then proceeded to laugh at the horror that had befallen his family.

The last two years of Severus’s career at Hogwarts had been rather quiet. The Marauders found it extremely hard to prank Snape after his fifth year as the Slytherin had finally had enough. Once the lions tried to pounce, the serpent struck back viciously. And since James had become more interested in Lily anyway, the Marauders found themselves out a man, and Severus was able to live in relative peace.

It was in this time of “peace” that Dumbledore had forgotten a lot about Severus. He had seen the signs in Severus, knew that the boy might be persuaded into Voldemort’s waiting hands, but he had truly believed that since Severus was no longer being picked on—at least as much—that he would be fine, that he was no longer in danger. Little did the Headmaster know then that by his sixth year, Severus was already sporting the Dark Mark on his arm and that the young Slytherin had already started down the path to darkness.

From there, Dumbledore did not know much about Severus as a person. The years after school were still hazy and unsure to the Headmaster. Of course he knew that the boy had gone further into Voldemort’s inner circle, and Severus himself told of the horrors the Death Eaters had to perform on Muggles, Muggle-born, and even in some cases half-bloods, but he had never volunteered much information about himself personally. Everything else was strictly business with Severus, and for the first several years, that had been okay with Albus as well.

It was only after Severus had been working at Hogwarts for several years and had improved himself in Albus’s eyes had the Headmaster wanted to reach out to the Slytherin at all. After years of knowing the boy, it was only then that Albus began wondering what the other wizard was like, what his favorite color was, what he liked most to eat, what his favorite childhood story was, but even as the years past, Severus worked very hard to keep himself cold and detached from everyone and everything. Severus had never offered any information out about himself unless it served his purpose. To that very day Dumbledore still had no idea what the Potions Master’s favorite color was or which types of music he enjoyed.

After finding the other man as a small child had Albus more than doubled his search to find out Snape’s past. The medical records had given him great insight, and looking through several memories that Severus had stored within his chambers had confirmed some suspicions and brought to light new ideas. Now Dumbledore knew Severus, knew what he had been through, why he acted the way he did at times, why he was the way he was.

“I have a great many things in here, don’t I?” the old man looked around his office with a kind smile. “Do you remember this room?” He was rather curious as to what the boy actually remembered. Like Harry had told him before, there were times when the little boy seemed very much like the adult he had been.

Severus did look around the room again, concentrating on the desk and the bookshelves the most, until he finally looked back up at the Headmaster and shook his head negative.

Albus had to stop himself from sighing. Although none of this could be considered Severus’s fault, the Headmaster could not help but feel frustrated. After all, he had lost someone close to him, someone he considered a friend, even though the boy was very much alive. “That’s all right, my dear boy,” he ignored his true feelings for the moment. “You don’t have to remember it. It’s not all that important.”

The child seemed to sense the disappointment behind the old wizard’s voice, however, and the blue eyes began watering. The response wounded the old man’s heart. There were times when Albus could admit that he was somewhat thoughtless, but he never purposefully tried to hurt anyone, especially the sensitive feelings of an abused child. That was just about as low as drowning kittens!

But the child’s tears never left his eyes when they scanned something upon the Headmaster’s desk. Albus turned his attention to where the child had turned his gaze and hope shot through the old man. He looked up just in time to see Severus reaching out.

“Do you remember this?” Dumbledore asked, picking up the ebony wand.

For his part, Severus seemed to realize that he was actually silently demanding the return of his wand and quickly put down his hand again.

“No, no, it’s all right!” Albus smiled brightly. “This is your wand, after all. You remember this, don’t you?”

It was the first time that Dumbledore had seen the child nod vigorously, as though completely unafraid. The fire that glowed in the child’s eyes was refreshing and indeed, magical. The boy remembered his wand! It was not much, but it was a start. Perhaps it was a sign that the potion was wearing off? No, one step at a time! Albus told himself sternly.

Handing over the black wand to its rightful owner, Dumbledore watched in wonder as a surge of magic was emitted from Severus, much like it would from a first year holding their wand for the first time. Only…only the magic that wafted through the air was much stronger than that of a first year child…

Dear Merlin! He’s got the magic of an adult! The thought struck the old wizard like a slap to the face. What did that mean? What would be the result of giving a six-year-old child the power of an adult? On a whole, children were not as responsible as their elders, and ever as a child, Severus could be rather vindictive when he saw it fit, would he be responsible with the magic he had?

“Severus,” Albus’s voice was soft as the boy turned big eyes to him. “Can you do magic for me? Can you do a spell?”

The boy sat a moment as if wrestling with himself. Surely the child did not remember spells, did he? How could he? He did not even remember being an adult! But then, could it be that the body had taken the full force of the potion? Could the mind of the Potions Master Severus Snape still be salvageable? It had to be in there somewhere considering the boy came to recall his wand and how to write his letters.

Pouting, making himself look adorable, Severus seemed to realize he didn’t know any spells, so he just flicked his wand. To both his and the Headmaster’s surprise, a spell shot out from the wand and hit the window behind Albus’s head. The stain glass instantly reorganized itself and changed colors while moving.

Before Albus could have voiced his astonishment, an excited cry of “I did it!” resounded around the room.

Turning back to the child with a wide grin, Dumbledore clapped his hands together merrily. “You did do it, Severus!” he congratulated. “Excellent work!”

The praise seemed to make the little wizard uncomfortable as he went to staring back down at his wand, though there was a small, genuine smile playing on the boy’s lips. Was this the first time that the child remembered ever being commended?

For the next several hours Dumbledore watched as the child practiced spells and wand work. Albus would say a charm or spell and show Severus the appropriate wand movements, and the boy would imitate. As one might expect, these lessons went on famously. Although the boy could not remember his own other life as an adult, when it came to magic, the boy seemed to recall many details he had learned before. It seemed that his hidden years of study came out and were easily grasped by the child. It seemed scholarly knowledge came more easily than personal memories.

Dumbledore was just about ready to give the child a fifth year spell to try when his office door opened and a rather angry looking Umbridge waddled it. Seeing the professor again, Severus let out a quiet whimper, and went ridged in his chair. The Headmaster stood up immediately and went over to his supposed grandson. “It will be okay, my boy. She won’t be here too long,” he whispered.

“Headmaster,” Dolores greeted. “If I may, I wish to speak with you further on our conversation this morning at breakfast.”

“Oh?” the old man raised an eyebrow. He sat down with the boy in his lap and smiled cheerily at the Ministry spy. “And what were we so rigorously discussing this morning?”

That was apparently not the response Umbridge had been looking for, judging from her momentary scowl. “About the absence of a Potions Master here at Hogwarts.”

“Ah yes!” the Headmaster nodded. “Of course. I know you are concerned, my dear, but everything is under control. I will be hearing back from some of them today.”

The toad-like woman nodded once. “You said as much this morning. However, I am still concerned,” she went and sat down casually in front of the Headmaster’s desk, right where Severus had been sitting only moments ago. “This school cannot function long without a Potions Master.”

“I am aware of that.”

“Then why did you let Professor Snape simply waltz out of the castle without first finding a replacement?” her voice hardened and Albus felt the child in his arms snuggle up closer to his chest. “I would have never thought him to be so carless and leave without—”

“This was an opportunity of a lifetime for Severus,” Dumbledore came in smoothly. “This study in Transylvania was an invitation for only the greatest Potions Masters in Europe and North America. This was not something to be missed, my dear. In all the excitement I’m afraid we both became a bit thoughtless, though he did leave behind his lesson plan for the year, so whoever picks up his post will have something to go by. Truly it will not be all that much trouble.”

“Headmaster, I do not think you fully realize the seriousness of this situation!” Umbridge squeaked. “These children must know potions! It’s a Ministry requirement! You do not want their education to suffer simply because you were thoughtless, would you?”

“Certainly not,” Dumbledore’s smile was icy. “Just as I would not dare hinder their education by not allowing them to practice their wand movements in Defense class! After all, dark wizards wouldn’t be stopped by someone detailing the effects of the curse thrown at them.”

The pinkness of Umbridge’s outfit clashed with the magenta of her face. The toadish features seemed to magnify as the professor puffed up with anger. “Learning the dark spells is strictly forbidden, Headmaster!” she growled, “And to encourage students to practice the counter spells could very well lead them to try the dark curses as well! After last year, I would have thought that—”

But Umbridge never got to finish her rant because while she was huffing, Severus sat up and peeked out from his hiding place. Although Albus was not sure how, where, or why, the boy seemed to have gotten a burst of courage and with his wand, levitated up an apple that had been sitting on the desk. In her fit, Dolores had not seen the fruit rise, and therefore had no time in dodging the apple that came zooming at her, contacting with her forehead solidly.

“Ouch!” she cried, grabbing at her head while the apple fell lifelessly to the floor. “What in Merlin’s blo—”

“Dolores, please!” Dumbledore cried, covering Severus’s ears. “Do mind your language around my grandson! He is only six you know, and does not need to hear such curses.”

When the witch looked up, Severus had stashed away his wand and proceeded to snuggle closer to the Headmaster for safety. It seemed that in their few hours together practicing magic, Severus had formed a bond with the older wizard and began trusting him. Or at least he realized that Albus would not hurt him and would defend him. So when Umbridge scowled at him, the little boy hugged the Headmaster around the waist as best as he could and watched through a curtain of black hair for the events to ensue.

“He made that apple hit me!” the woman gawked at the child furiously.

“Oh come, come now my dear,” the old wizard brushed off the anger. “He’s still young! Accidental magic will happen from time to time. He didn’t mean anything by it.”

It seemed that the witch had had enough. She stood up from her chair and glared down at the Headmaster and his grandson. “Do keep me up to date on your inquires,” she ground out before she stomped out the door.

Looking down at Severus, Albus chuckled. “Lovely shot, my boy!”

Little Severus smiled.

~*~

An apple a day keeps the Umbridge at bay!