Amsterdam was not a morning city.  The sun rose early, and in the canals the houseboats swayed with tiny rhythm as their occupants got ready for the day.  Cyclists zoomed through the city, bells ringing and harsh shouts echoing down the streets as they narrowly avoided pedestrians and cars.  The public transit was packed, the little ticket machine pinging away merrily as half asleep workers held tightly onto their AH paper bags filled with breakfast pastries. The grocery store seemed to be the only thing really open in the morning, and there was a long line as people ran in to grab late breakfast or prepackaged sandwiches for lunch.

Harry slept through the whole morning rush.

Snape stood by the hotel window, cup of coffee in hand as he watched a few lazy boats drift through the Singel canal in front of him.  The glass ceiling tourist boats hadn't started yet, but he knew they would by nine, as the tourists woke early to make the most of their time. The shops, however, would not open a moment before ten.

Snape turned and glanced at the small boy that was tangled up in the bed sheets. Potter was wearing an old shirt that was big enough now on him to be considered a night shirt, and somehow he'd wrapped his legs together in his sleep, the blanket tight around him and one arm slung up over his head.  The hair was still an absolute mess, but as a six year old, it was somewhat endearing. Snape took a bitter sip of coffee at that thought.

Shaking his head, Snape unrolled the latest message that had come from Dumbledore via an owl.  Everything was fine back home, his hand was nothing to tell anyone about, and the second pawn had been found.  Hello to his son (Snape scowled at that), and have a nice vacation.  Such a banally light and cryptic message that Snape was slightly annoyed at receiving.  Everything was NOT fine, but the headmaster had other definitions of the word.  At least he'd found Bishop - it would be less work for Snape later.

Snape looked over at the bed again.  Potter, a fifteen year old in a six year old's body, was not to be told about the headmaster's condition yet.  This was for the best right at the moment; Snape could of course see that. However, Dumbledore did not have a lot of time left, and Snape wondered how many people could be taken from Potter before he started to crack.  How would he tell a boy, who'd witnessed his godfather murdered just a month before, that his greatest mentor and role model had finally proven himself mortal?

--

Snape woke him up at eight am, and Harry was very disorientated.  He wasn't used to how tired the six year old body made him, and the lack of nightmare made for a deep sleep. Begrudgingly he rubbed his eyes and groped around for his glasses.  Snape was standing in the doorway to the bathroom with his arms crossed.

"Wear a jumper, we're going out and it's chilly."

Harry dropped his head back to the bed and yawned.   "Great."  The sarcasm wasn't meant to be hidden.

"If you were too stupid to pack one or buy one for yourself I suppose I can sacrifice one of mine."  Neither was Snape's.

"Yes, sir." Harry mumbled.  "Where are we going?"

"We, Potter, are going to the market."  Snape sounded oddly content about this.  "Be ready for breakfast in twenty minutes, and remember Potter, we keep up the act all day. You never know who we might see." 

He entered the bathroom, and shut the door, giving Harry a chance to wake up and stretch.  Harry stared at the door and shook his head, reminding himself that he was supposed to be acting like an adult, or well, an adult acting like a well-behaved child.

Harry did end up having to wear one of Snape's grey knit pullovers, though when he walked past the mirror in the hotel lobby, he smirked to himself upon seeing the reflection.  The sweater was shrunken down almost to fit his body perfectly, with the only exception being the arms that were a bit too long. Harry quite liked the look.

Some of the stalls of the flower market were not fully open yet as they passed through, but Snape seemed not to care and stopped off at every merchant to see what was available.  Harry knew this was a muggle market, and after three stops, all of them started to look the same.  He recognized a few of the flowers from the book on poisonous plants he'd read back in Stockport, but Snape didn't hold any interest in those.  He did buy a fresh bouquet of lilies though, and a few packets of seeds.  Harry walked along quietly, trying not to touch anything and to keep quiet.

Professor Snape was a person who had no reservations spending time by himself, or time spent in complete silence.  Harry was still having a bit of difficulty with that, and it wasn't helping that the deaging potion was making him want to run through the market and smell all the strange flowers.  It also didn't help when Snape told the shopkeeper in English that it was fine to talk for a while with Harry there, as Harry trained to wait quietly. Harry glared at that, but Snape said nothing more and continued on with his purchases. That was just fine with Harry, as Snape would now get what he ordered this morning: a very realistic six year old Elliot Snape. Harry smirked as he crossed his arms and toed some soil that had spilled to the ground.  Snape was not the only one that would have fun on their trip to Amsterdam.

After a minute he started poking some of the leaves on a potted plant by the front entrance of the stall they were in, poking the base of the leaf where it met the plant.  Snape was discussing proper bulb care with the shop owner in fluent Dutch (Harry was still curious to see what this babelfish invention was) and Harry was bored.  The plant started waving against his finger, and Harry grinned to himself. His wand was in a hidden pocket Snape had made in the side seam of Harry's pants, but even without it he could make the plant move.

"Elliot."

The plant dodged under his finger and tickled Harry's skin slightly, causing him to laugh a little. 

"We are leaving now, Elliot, unless of course you wish to get better acquainted with the plant?"  Snape's voice was the perfect mixture of sarcasm and impatience.

"Daaaaaaad."  Harry whined, stomping his foot a little.  He nearly burst into laughter at the horrified look that registered for a second on Snape's face.  "You're silly. It's just a plant!" 

Harry said it with the youthful innocence he'd seen of other children of that age, and he watched Snape try to control his reply.  Technically, Harry was acting his part just as he was supposed to; the revenge for making Harry get up and go to a boring market in the morning was just a bonus.

"C'n we go to McDonald's on the way to the museum?"  Harry cheerfully asked, slipping his hand into Snape's.  He tried to ignore how warm the calloused hand was.

"Absolutely not." Snape replied, keeping his teeth clenched and his grip on Harry's hand very loose.

--

Lunch turned out to be something called a tosti that Snape ordered for them. It was a grilled sandwich with melted cheese and ham inside of it that Harry found he quite enjoyed.  He told Amy Benson all about this while they sat at a new café at a less populated square over the Singel canal, and she gave him her undivided attention.  The lilies that Snape had bought sat next to her, still carefully wrapped in their paper. 

"We went to the Anne Frank museum, too!"  Harry said with a big smile on his face.  The potion was helping him act overly exuberant, though he couldn't remember being this pleased to talk to anyone when he was a kid.

"Did you like it?" The paper was passed to him and the writing was in block print, just in case Harry wasn't able to read cursive writing.  He didn't bother to hide his reading skills. Pretending to be a child was one thing, hiding a basic skill was another.

"I did, yes ma'am.  It was sad to see the pictures though, see how skinny the people were. Reminds me of when I was..."

"Studying them in school." Snape interrupted, handing Harry a glass of juice that the waitress had dropped off. He gave Harry a warning glare, but Benson had already started to guess what Harry had originally been meaning to say.

"Are you Jewish?"  She asked Snape, guessing wrong.

"No." Snape replied, tapping his muggle pen against the notepad he'd once again brought.  "We're not Jewish."

Harry tilted his head curiously. It occurred to him that this might be an opening to find out about the middle name, and he was fairly certain Snape wouldn't hex him in front of Benson.

"My middle name's Fyodor." Harry said, pretending to be a proud child. "So we're not just English."

Snape coughed to cover his admonishment of Potter, before reluctantly explaining further.

"We have Russian lineage."  Snape was annoyed that the conversation wasn't proceeding where he wanted, and that he had to use Potter as leverage to get the woman to talk.  His original idea of a pleasant week in Amsterdam was shot to hell.

"Does your dad have a nice Russian name too?" Benson was smiling and had handed the paper straight to Harry.  She mistook his smirk for child's delight.  Harry wasn't sure, but he was itching to find out.

"Oh yeah. Dad's got a really nice one."  Harry grinned, showing his white teeth.

"I sometimes can't say it right though."  Harry tried to look troubled at this, and prayed that Snape's middle name wasn't a simple English one like John.

He turned to look at Snape and managed not to wince at the smile on Snape's face. It wasn't a grin, it wasn't an upturn of lips, it was an actual real smile.  Harry suddenly felt like he may have gone a bit too far with the teasing.

"Ilya." Snape replied, tearing off a few pieces of paper from his notebook. He placed them in front of Harry and pulled another pen from his pocket, which Harry was certain had been quickly conjured from a quill.

"Which reminds me, my little Elliot."  There was the smile again and Harry's faltered a little.  He wasn't quite sure if Snape had used the name, or actually said little idiot. 

"Your great grandmother will be checking up on your penmanship when she next comes to visit. I think it best to practice writing your name a few times, don't you?"

Harry slunk down a bit in his seat. Snape had given him enough paper to do at least two hundred lines.

A strong hand leaned over and scribbled something down on the top of the paper, the elegant spidery writing that normally was commanded by Snape losing a bit of it's power coming from a ballpoint.

"Good boy." Snape, once again, had the last smirk.

The rest of the conversation, which Harry only partially listened to as he wrote his lines, touched only briefly on Benson's time in the orphanage.  Voldemort wasn't mentioned, but instead they gained a very clear image of the bleakness of growing up in a depression era London orphanage.

After saying goodbye and agreeing to meet again the next day, Harry followed Snape back to the hotel, deep in thought.  Thinking about the orphanage description and the few memories of Snape's that he'd seen, Harry couldn't figure out between him, Snape, and Voldemort, who'd had the worst childhood.

--

The nightmare that Potter had been dreading happened that night.  Wednesday night in Amsterdam was rather quiet, and with the window open Snape could only hear a very low murmur of conversation from the second shift workers who were unwinding at the light night pubs.  He was not quite asleep, lying under the light blankets, but still jumped and grabbed for his wand upon hearing Harry's cries.

He sprung up to his feet and moved next to Harry's bed, listening as Harry pleaded to be let out of somewhere. There were few tears on Harry's face, but he trembled slightly as he tried to claw frantically out of some sort of confined space.  Snape thought about speaking loudly to wake him, but he was distracted by the reality of the dream. At six years old, Harry Potter was begging not to be left behind in...a closet.

Snape knew the potion would bring back the same fears from that age, but for Harry to have remembered the dream well enough before hand to bargain with Snape over it made Snape conclude that he'd had this dream quite often.  This wasn't the regular childhood nightmare of some faceless monster trapping him though.  Harry's body was posed on the bed, on his side, as if he was ready to bolt as soon as he got out of whatever was containing him. He kept crying to be let out, and begged for his aunt and uncle to open the door.

Snape suddenly felt very uncomfortable. He had seen enough of Privet drive in the disastrous occlumency lessons to know that the cupboard was a very real place.  The only problem was, Snape had no idea what the proper way to wake Potter up was without terrifying him further.  Snape stared at Harry, not moving an inch as the boy twisted and cried in bed. He'd seen many people in that pose before, but at those times simply lowering the wand stopped the curse and the pain.  Snape had no experience with children's nightmares; usually the prefects at school handled that.  This was nothing like the first bad dream Harry had had in Stockport.

Thinking that tactile stimuli might work best against mental anguish, he quickly summoned a cloth from the bathroom and with his wand cast a cold aguamenti to soak the towel. Holding it over Harry's head, he let the water drop offer Harry's forehead, freezing cold water to contradict the surrealness of his dream.   The first few droplets startled Harry and he yelped out.

"Let me out! It's in here with me, I can see his eyes!"

Snape frowned at the yell and watched like a hawk as Harry's face scrunched up under the water. His trembling calmed very slightly, but he was still mumbling.  Snape turned on the bright overhead light and, unable to think of anything else, pulled the blanked off Harry and started to lightly tickle his feet.  After a moment, Harry's eyelids bolted open and he looked around with a very confused look on his face.  Snape saw only the six year old; his green sleepy eyes looking innocent and still afraid. Snape sat on the bed and awkwardly opened his arms, remembering that with small children physical contact was sometimes comforting.  He'd read it in a book somewhere.  

Harry eyed him cautiously, and Snape slowly understood that the boy had never been offered comfort after such a traumatizing dream.  It was oddly alright with Snape, as he didn't know how to give comfort and therefore Potter could not be disappointed. After a moment's consideration, Harry crawled over tentatively and sat beside Snape.  He shivered a little, and Snape put his arm around him.

"You're safe." Snape said, his voice low and deep.  Harry seemed to melt against his side, and Snape started reciting a potion recipe, one that was used as a general kitchen cleaner. It was the first thing that came to mind, but seemed to be working as Harry was starting to calm down. After ten minutes the harsh breaths had turned to short hiccups, and the damp head against his shoulder relaxed completely.

Snape gently put Harry back under the covers, and conjured a little light to put on the nightstand.  He pulled the blankets up and spelled off the lights, determined to get to the bottom of the dream in the morning.

--

Harry woke up much quieter than he usually did, and looked to be deep in thought as he slowly peeled away the blankets.  The extra one that Snape had draped over him the night before was still there, on top of the duvet.

"Oh damn."  It was whispered, but Snape still heard it.

"Good morning."  There was a bit of sarcasm in his voice, but neither he nor Harry believed it.

"Sorry for waking you. Again." Harry muttered, sitting up and stretching. Snape stood at the dresser and fastened a muggle watch to his wrist.

"I will not speak of this to anyone else." Snape offered, bringing up the deal they'd made.  Harry waited for the condition.

"Where were you locked up?"

Harry pulled at the covers and shuddered a little, staring at the nightstand. 

"Uncle Vernon used to like watching horror movies late at night in the living room." Harry answered, avoiding the original question. "He used to tell Dudley that monsters wait in closets and under beds to trap and attack horrible children. I used to tell myself they weren't real, it was just a dream."

Snape nodded, and waited for Harry to continue the story.

"I don't know why I beg them to help me. They're the only family I have, but they never would." Harry said, talking to his hands and not noticing how much Snape stiffened at this random tangent. "Anyway, then I got to Hogwarts and found out he was right. Monsters do exist."

Snape didn't smile, but Harry wasn't looking at him anyway.

"I was in my cupboard."  Harry whispered.

Snape gave Harry a small nod and told him to get dressed, as they were going to visit Madame Tussaud's wax museum before meeting up with Amy Benson again.

"Since you kept bothering me about it."  Snape grumbled, refusing to admit he was doing it to cheer Potter up.

--

Snape sipped his coffee as they waited for Amy Benson to return for the third meeting in as many days and cafes. Snape had to admire her caution; and wonder what she was worried about. He glanced to the oversized chessboard that was near the outdoor seats, where Potter was playing an older Dutch gentleman.  This little square, Max Euweplein, was a much less touristy place than the others they'd met at, and Snape was quite content to sit in the sun quietly and watch Potter get trounced in chess. The plastic pieces were half his own height, but Harry still moved them as if he were a general facing battle, much to the amusement of the older man. Little idiot, Snape thought with no malice whatsoever.

Benson arrived right on time, flanked with the two grandchildren and a younger man whom she introduced as her son Jan. The youngsters were sent to play with Harry, and Snape wondered how long it would take for a chess piece battle to ensue.

Twenty minute later the plastic pieces were fiercely defending their sides o the chessboard and Snape had gotten as much information from Benson as he could without directly asking about the cave. She was still very reluctant to speak, and Snape figured that he would be better off questioning Dennis Bishop instead.  Or a brick wall, for all the avoiding this woman could do.

Harry watched Snape talking to Ms Benson's son, politely sipping his coffee. It was a very warm afternoon, and after all the walking they had done that morning, Harry felt himself becoming quite tired.  From the looks of his companions, they were getting sleepy too, though seemed to be absorbed in an argument with two other kids that had joined them.  Fortunately, the other children were from America, and Harry could understand them.

"My dad can run forever and not get tired!" The girl yelled, startling Harry's attention back to the group and starting a whose dad is best contest.  Harry stayed quiet, thinking of James Potter.  His father had made the ultimate sacrifice to save Harry, but these kids around him wouldn't understand that.  He was pretending to be a Snape anyway.

"Your dad is scary!" Jeroen, one of the grandchildren, breathed out in Harry's direction. He fearfully glanced over to where Snape was sitting.  Harry smiled and then laughed with the kids. 

"Yeah, he is scary."  Harry snorted, wondering if Snape would hear and take points.

After another twenty minutes of playing, the group was getting tired and a bit cranky with each other.  Finally having enough, the three made their way back to the table and Harry watched as Jeroen's sister Emma promptly climbed into her grandmother's lap, yawning a question to Harry.

"Have you ever seen the boogey man?" 

There was a slight murmur of amusement from the adults at the topic of conversation, and Harry hid his blush by covering his mouth and faking a responding yawn.  Jeroen had settled on the bench next to his dad, but Harry just stood beside Snape, feeling a bit left out.

"Yeah. He's got red eyes."  Harry answered, looking beyond Jeroen to a shadow playing across the façade of one of the buildings in the square.  He was sleepy and wanted to be held too, but he kept his eyes averted because he knew that Snape would laugh if he asked to -

Thin hands suddenly snaked under his armpits and Harry was lifted up into Snape's lap, a strong arm around the front of him so he rested back against Snape's chest.  Harry felt instantly relaxed as he rose slightly with every breath Snape took, and smelt the delicious coffee that Snape continued to sip.  Harry took a deep breath and burrowed softly against Snape's shirt, almost falling asleep minutes later.

"My dad's a death eater."  Harry whispered, his head resting in the crook of Snape's neck. "He keeps me safe from the boogey man."

Snape stiffened slightly and then relaxed again after a minute.  He thought about what Harry had said, ignoring Jan as he mumbled about the prices of coffee these days. 

Harry had called him a death eater, yes, but there had been no malice or accusations in his tone. Instead, there had been a quiet admiration. It only took a few minutes for Snape to realize that Harry had fallen asleep.

Harry's hair tickled a little under Snape' neck, but oddly he didn't mind all that much.  Potter was very light for his age, but Snape found the weight on his lap rather comforting.  I'm going soft, Snape thought wryly.  He looked across the table at Benson's son Jan, who was now holding his son gently and rubbing the little boy's back subconsciously. Harry shuddered suddenly in his sleep, almost as if he'd sighed.  Snape's hand immediately flew up to cup the side of Harry's head, and he wondered if that would help if Harry got another nightmare.  Snape's eyes widened as he tried to process where on Earth that thought had come from.  He saw Ms Benson smile at him, and fought hard to keep his face impassive. Did they really look like father and son?

"He seems older than he is." The paper was passed across the table quietly.

Snape nodded, wondering where she was going with this.

"His mother died when he was a baby." Snape said it quietly, hoping to not wake Potter.  He heard her scribbling something in her notebook.

"I'm so sorry to hear that."

Snape merely nodded again as he thought of Lily and accepted condolences that were not rightfully his.

Snape carded a finger through Harry's hair absentmindedly and watched a few men pick up the chess pieces to play again. Hearing Jan's voice brought him out of his thought that he was very much enjoying the warm sunny day and bustle about of people carrying on in another language.

"That's a rather angry scar he has." Jan spoke, nodding towards Harry's forehead.  Snape looked down and saw that the scar was bright red against Harry's pale skin and black hair.

"It's from Tom." Snape replied, pretending to be deep in recollection.  He noticed out of the corner of his eyes that Amy Benson had sat straighter.

Suddenly, as if the last tumbler in a lock finally clicked into place, Snape saw Amy Benson's defenses crash.  Her eyes glistened slightly as she shakily pulled a diary out of her bag, old and worn at the edges. Several bands held it together.

Snape waited as she scribbled a note to go with the diary, and took it gently when it was handed over.

"It was almost sixty years ago.  Don't arrest Tom for me. Arrest him for your son."

Snape thought the sentiment was nice, but he had no intention on merely arresting the Dark Lord.  Snape wanted mass destruction. Perhaps Potter would even throw in some of his spectacularly dumb luck and create a small catastrophe in the process. One could hope.

Snape opened the diary slowly as Jan ordered a round of drinks for the adults. The diary was full of sketches mostly, childish ones that had increased in skill as Amy had gotten older. Finally, after flipping through a few pages, Snape found what he was looking for and read slowly.  There wasn't much written, but it was enough to give him flashbacks to the night he had joined the death eaters.

The Dark Lord had lured both into the cave, and at the age of ten proceeded to torture them by rubbing stinging nettles over their hands.  It explained to Snape the itching that Benson had experienced when he first met her, and from the notes in the diary Snape saw that she'd had that problem her whole life.  It was a strong curse for a boy to command, but Snape stopped letting himself be surprised with the Dark Lord a while ago.  The burn of stinging nettles wasn't too far from an accurate description of the Dark Mark summons, and Snape wondered if this was where the idea had come from.

While their hand was burning from the nettles, Snape ascertained from the diary that Riddle called forth a snake, and for lack of a better term, used it for his own amusement and to push the children to their snapping point.  The snake had crawled all over Benson, flicking it's tongue out to taste her as she tried to stay as perfectly still as possible. The snake eventually wrapped itself around her throat, keeping a tight hold on her and keeping her terrified. 

Snape felt sick at the last description of what had happened in the cave.  After twenty minutes of having the snake crawl all over her, Riddle had ordered it to bite her.  It hit her neck and it was then she lost her ability to speak, though no one had realized the handicap was caused by a snake.  Benson did not think she could convince anyone that after doing all that damage, Tom Riddle had healed the wound.

Snape shut the diary and drank his beer. He knew that Riddle had done it out of self preservation, as he certainly wouldn't have cared if a muggle walked around with a snake bite wound.  Looking down at the undersized child sleeping in his lap, Snape prayed that the Dark Lord never captured Potter or his friends, and subjected them to his demented pleasures.