On the bookcase in the small library of Spinner's End sat a rather elegant looking photo album. It was covered in comfortably worn brown leather, a single strap wrapped around it to keep the photos inside contained safely.  There was no cheery and banal label on the front proclaiming it to be a book of vacation photos or a special first Christmas. Instead, a plain silver plate on the front merely stated Snape, 1996 - present.

The pictures inside, while meticulously placed with little silver corner protectors on them, were in no particular order.  A clumping of photos showed the barest hint of organization, but each photo was dutifully dated and captioned, mostly with sarcastic undertone as the photos above moved in mostly careless abandon.

July 30th, 1997, just before midnight. A young man stands in his pyjamas at an open bedroom window, clutching a small black wallet and beaming at someone behind the camera. The smile isn't completely innocent, and there is uneven stubble on the man's face, but he still looks rather youthful for having just become an adult. The caption on the photo reads: Elliot's 17th birthday, opening his first gift of the day. Unseen by camera, his father ponders the wisdom of sending three teenagers to Amsterdam.

.....

This year, Snape kept watch on the clock during the evening of the thirtieth.   Harry was puttering about in his bedroom, the light still coming from under the door, though there was no music or any other sound playing.  Snape had never given him a set bedtime, and he well remembered the ritual from the summer before.  At eleven thirty, Snape went downstairs and turned the stove on, breaking chunks of chocolate into a pot and adding some milk.

Harry sat at his desk and finished sorting his school papers, another official year over with.  Harry counted his years in two ways, by the first of January and by the 31st of July.  Tomorrow he'd be seventeen finally, old enough to be an adult in the wizarding world, old enough to have his own place, leave school if he so desired; get a job, vote, perform magic any time he wanted.  Not that Snape had really limited the magic he could do at home.

Harry got up and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little down.  Tomorrow he'd be seventeen. It didn't quite seem fair, that he'd only been at the house for a little over a year and he was already old enough to leave the so-called nest.  Would Snape kick him out?  Harry didn't think so, as he'd allowed Harry to decorate the room at the end of last summer, which was a good indicator that Snape didn't mind Harry being there.   Even still, Ron was talking a lot about not being about to wait to leave the Burrow, both the twins had set out from home, Seamus and Dean from school had also made waves about getting their own flats in London after Hogwarts.  Harry just wanted to stay at home in his room at Spinner's End, waking up in the mornings to Snape's grumpy conversation, walking through town during the day and going to the market, helping out making dinner, tidying up the back garden; doing small things around the house that he'd been forced to do at the Dursleys for a family who never had cared for him.  

Harry flopped himself down on the bed and stared out the open window at the pitch-dark night.   There wasn't a star to be seen in the sky, and Harry figured that by morning there'd probably be an impressive storm passing through. There was a slight breeze, one that was making the random bits of paper on his corkboard flutter, but other than that it was a calm and comfortable night.  Outside his room he heard the stairs creak as Snape came up for the evening. Instead of passing down the hall to the other bedroom, however, Snape seemed to pause and finally knock on Harry's door.

"I'm up."  Harry answered, rolling his wand on his bedcovers.  His dad entered the room and put a tray on the desk, before sitting on the desk chair.  Two mugs sat on the tray, and the steam smelled delicious.

"Ten minutes until the owls?"  Snape asked, picking up a small bottle from the tray and unscrewing the cap.

"N no...yes."  Harry answered, meeting Snape's eyes and realising that the man knew exactly what Harry was waiting up for.

"Are they not all coming to your party tomorrow?" Snape asked neutrally, pouring a small amount of creamy liquid into both of their mugs.

"What's that?" Harry asked, eyes narrowing.  Snape handed him his mug and Harry noted that the smell was rather sweet and had a hint of creaminess that hot chocolate didn't normally carry.  "Yeah, they are. I don't know why I'm staying awake, it's just habit."

"That is Bailey's Irish Cream, for a little hot chocolate enhancement."  Snape answered, taking a sip of his own mug.  "Perhaps your desire to stay awake is indicative of your need to be acknowledged."

"I don't have a need to be certified."  Harry immediately answered, looking rather annoyed and rolling his eyes.  "Acknowledged."

"Of course you do."  Snape responded.  He sat back in the desk chair, eyeing Harry.  The boy sat rigidly against the wall, his one leg folded up and his arm rested on his knee while the other leg was stretched out.  Wearing an old and faded t shirt with black sleep pants and his glasses tossed on the bed for the moment, he looked rather like seventeen year old Severus Snape had looked sitting on the bed in the same room.

"Your relatives ignored and disassociated themselves from you for sixteen years."  Snape explained. "I'm surprised you've not felt the urge to announce your presence from the astronomy tower."

Somewhere in town the clock struck midnight and bells softly echoed into the window.

"They were more like keepers than relatives."  Harry muttered bitterly.  He suddenly looked up at Snape and gave a little smirk. "Now that I'm seventeen, maybe I should seek them a little orange. No, harbour them a visit."  Harry waved his hand in frustration. "Whatever."

"Oh? Is the great Harry Potter going to resort to petty childish pranks?"  Snape asked, eyebrow raised sardonically.

"Er, no. I was planning on just going back to see if they had sparks of Mum's. Anything of Mum's. Since Aunt Petunia was her sister and all."  Harry answered quickly, taking a sip of the hot chocolate.  "By the way, do you have any really expensive or high class suits I could borrow?"

Snape smiled over his cup, a rather plotting smile that as a student would have sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"That's my boy."

They sat for another five minutes, discussing a last minute to do list for the party the next day.  With the hot chocolate finally finished, Harry was ready to shut the window and call it a night. He was an adult now; he didn't need a silly midnight birthday ritual.   Snape stood as well, setting both mugs back on the tray.

Harry had just made to close the window when he spotted something black in the sky, hovering over the train station. Harry wistfully allowed himself a few seconds to imagine it an owl, before he turned and shut the window.  Snape was standing at the desk still, watching him with arms crossed.

"Open it."

Harry gave him a quizzical look before turning back and noting that the black flying object was getting bigger now. He opened the window and stuck his head out, finally seeing the wingspan of the owl that flew towards him.  It was a very regal black owl that landed on his desk and accepted the treat that Snape offered as Harry untied the note and present.

Sitting back on his bed, Harry unfolded the note and read the very familiar lettering that up until last year had only delivered him scathing remarks.

Elliot;

I am proud to call you my son.

Happy birthday,

Dad.

Harry looked up to see Snape watching him passively, the face blank of any emotion save for the curiosity in his eyes.

"Thank you."  Harry managed to say, knowing that any other card he'd get later that day wouldn't compare to this one.

"Open the present."  Snape nodded, sounding satisfied.

Harry tore it open and a brief flash of confusion passed over his face before he realised what he was holding.  A brand new leather wallet, one that seemed to be extremely sturdy and deceptively small, and that was filled with Dutch Guilders.

"Against my better judgement, it is for a trip that you, Mr. Weasley, and Miss. Granger may take one long weekend to Amsterdam."  Snape supplied.

Harry's head snapped up and he grinned deviously.  Ron was going to love Amsterdam.

"Wipe that smirk off your face, idiot.  Arthur Weasley, one of the Grangers, and myself will be coming along as well." 

Harry's smile faltered and he thought Snape sounded far too smug for having to chaperone a trip to Amsterdam.

"Do you have to?"  Harry asked, feigning innocence as his thumb ran over the engraved ES in the corner of the wallet.  "We do know how to behave, you know."

Snape's scoff of disbelief counted as a goodnight.

July 31st, 1997.   A rather simple but enticing cake sits in the centre of the photo, it's blue and green icing rather brilliant and mixing nicely with the colourful clothes of the party guests surrounding it. Most of them, as the birthday boy is wearing black but his green eyes flash as he blows out the candles.  His friends cheer in the frame as he does so, as they crowd in the tiny library of Spinner's End that has become home.  The caption reads:  A birthday wish; world domination still not obtained.

.....

"Well, your seventeenth birthday, that's a big day."  Mr. Weasley said with a smile of reminiscence towards his own coming of age.  "In the olden days, a wizard was normally thinking of going on to their career or moving into a new house, and was ready to settle with a witch." 

Arthur Weasley was sitting in the library, holding his plate in his lap and taking small bites of his lunch while the others listened in.   Snape had made a simple lasagne for lunch and it was a rather big hit on the rainy day.

"Really? Did they require to the book, or was it beige? Er, normal." Harry was sitting on a stool next to the settee where Ron and Hermione were. 

"No one had to, but most people did." Mr. Weasley answered, politely ignoring the word substitution.  Remus, who was leaning against the windowsill near Mr. Weasley, nodded his agreement.

"There used to be ritual gifts when you turn seventeen, too."  Ron quipped. He held out his arm and Harry inspected the very fine gold watch that he wore.  "Watches and pocket watches are usually given to the males, and there used to be a sword or dagger as well that was given."

"Brilliant." Harry grinned. "What appropriate skirts? Agh. What boxes obtained the crosses, the women?"

"An arranged marriage, if she were pureblood."  Snape answered wryly, his sarcasm not quite tempered even though they had several of Harry's friends over for the party.  Snape leaned forward and rubbed the side of Harry's ear softly, popping out the babel fish. 

"Really?" Harry blinked, rubbing his ear. He sat back and thought of the pure-blooded students at Hogwarts, of the Slytherins especially.  "Is that repetition current?"

"They probably still do, Harry." Hermione interjected, putting her plate down and moving into lecture mode. She completely missed the raised eyebrow from Snape, who was tapping the babel fish with his wand.

"Witches coming of age used to receive ornate baskets with all the necessities to start up a new home."

"Huh."  Harry answered. He supposed that would be a rather useful, if not slightly belittling, gift.  After all, most of the girls from his class were rather more focused on getting a career and travelling than settling down as soon as they'd left Hogwarts.

"Did you get a lantern, Neville?"  Harry asked.  He shook his head a second later and corrected himself.  "A watch?"

Neville shyly held out his arm for Harry to see the new watch that he wore.  Though Neville had rather filled out, being in the house of Professor Snape obviously had put him on a bit of an edge, which Harry could rather understand.  Maybe after a few months Neville would be more comfortable visiting.

Snape handed him back the babel fish and Harry popped it into his ear again, counting to ten in Dutch and nodding in relief at the crystal clear echo of his own voice.

"That's really the only tradition that left now, Harry. Besides, Snape already gave you a brilliant watch."  Ron grinned, remembering how the watch was dead useful when Harry got into a bind. His grin faltered when he realised what he'd said "Er, Professor Snape."

"What, you mean there's no mystical magic inheritance when I turn 17? No grumbling and cob webbed goblin bursting out of the shadows with a blood quill and the key to an ancient and cursed vault?  Harry laughed, ignoring the name correction and noting that Snape didn't say anything about it either.  The babel fish was working well again and his paraphasia seemed to be settling.

"The only thing you'll get when you turn 17 is the intimate knowledge that if you get arrested, instead of bringing you home to me they will let you rot the night in the Ministry's version of a drunk tank."  Snape said, swallowing a bite of lasagne as he spoke.  "Depending on the crime, you may find jail preferable." Snape added as an afterthought.

"Severus, enough talk about jail. It's the boy's birthday."  Molly Weasley interrupted from the kitchen.  "Now, who wants cake?"

Lunch plates were banished and the room dimmed as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley started a rather off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.  Harry noted that Snape did not join in the singing, but instead looked rather pleased as Fred and George brought the cake out of the kitchen and towards Harry. Seventeen candles flickered on the cake, the tiny flames jumping between each other and surrounding the icing snitch that was in the centre.

"Make a wish, Harry!"  Ron commanded after the singing stopped.

Harry quickly glanced at the whole room watching him, thought for a second, and closed his eyes as he blew out the candles.  Applause filled the room and Harry knew it didn't matter if his wish came true. This was his first birthday party, and that was prize enough.  Snape handed him a knife to cut slices, and there was a shocked silence as it screamed murder as he cut into the blue and green cake.  Red blood gushed out and Harry's eyes widened before he realised that it was raspberry filling. The charmed knife was still moaning as Harry flung two small gobs of cake towards the laughing Fred and George, with rather surprising precision.

August 2nd, 1997, Amsterdam.   Neon lights flash through the drizzling backdrop of the photograph, a busy thoroughfare in the foreground.  One red faced boy, the shade of his blush clashing with his hair, and a rather calmer looking black haired youth stand at the money exchange shop. They appear to be counting out change, and seem completely oblivious to the Sex Museum beside them, until at the last second, they slip inside.  Right next to this photo is another, a close up of Ronald Weasley with a rather pained grimace on his face.  The blurred buildings in the background speak of an old part of town, and there is a maroon painted traffic obstacle beside his leg. Neat but small writing accompany the photos: Elliot and Ronald attempting to be casual, visiting the Sex Museum for the first, and Ronald Weasley becoming intimately acquainted with the non-passive side to Amsterdam for the latter.

....

"Why on earth do they put a museum like that right on the main street? Anyone can see you walking in."  Ron grumbled, slouching on the bench and pretending to study his map.

"Maybe that's the point. You shouldn't be ashamed of sex."   Harry shrugged, checking his watch.  "Look, we've got to meet The Dads in an hour.  Let's just go."

Ron stood after Harry and jammed his map into his back pocket. "Alright, alright."

"Just think of how cultured you'll be. Maybe Hermione will appreciate that."  Harry teased, stopping Ron in front of the money exchange office to count out the exact change they needed.

"I'm just glad Hermione won't get here till tonight." Ron mumbled.

The sex museum was quite a bit more educational than either Harry or Ron had ever imagined it would have been.  Harry thought that the ancient Romans and Greeks were a lot more comfortable with sexuality than he'd ever given them credit for, and that the downstairs ‘kink' room display was a bit too much for his personal tastes. A lot too much. Ron seemed to be taken by the pornography photographs from the turn of the century, which Harry had to agree were rather well done for the technology of the time.

When they left the museum an hour later the rain had subsided mostly, only misting here and there as they weaved their way through the tourists along the Damrak. To their left there were calls from restaurant matrons who tried to lure them in to eat there. Harry didn't know the exact name for the profession, but he found them highly annoying and both he and Ron steadfastly ignored them.  It only took a moment to reach the little park square just on the north side of the De Bijenkorf, and both Snape and Mr. Weasley were already waiting.  Mr. Weasley had a black and red umbrella in hand, with three white X's on it, and Snape looked bored.

"We're detouring to my tea shop before going to De Kromweg."  Snape announced, standing and leading them towards the southeast corner of the square.

"Sounds valid." Harry shrugged. "Sounds good, I mean." 

They rounded a corner and started walking up Warmoesstraat, which Harry thought looked vaguely familiar.

"So. Did you boys have fun?"  Mr. Weasley asked, causing Ron to blush.

They passed two sex shops, which Mr. Weasley didn't seem to notice but that both Harry and Ron did.

"Er...yeah. We did. Took in a museum, learned some stuff, you know."  Ron stuttered.

"Oh really?"  Snape asked, and Harry's eyes widened as he realised where they were.  Snape's fancy tea shop, Geels & Co, was right next door to the sex shop Snape had caught him in the summer before. "And was it...illuminating?"

Harry watched as Snape swiftly walked to the back of the store and selected bags of loose-leaf tea with precision. He had a feeling that Snape knew exactly where they'd been, as usual.

"Elliot?"

"Huh?"  Harry asked, blinking the shop back into focus. Snape was paying for enough tea to keep a normal person stocked for months.

"I asked if it was enlightening." Snape repeated, his eyebrow quirked and a smirk on his face.  Ron was in the back of the shop still, explaining the different tea gadgets to his father.

"Yes." Harry answered, ignoring the blush on his cheeks. He was seventeen now, he could talk to Snape like an adult.  "If muggles are that creative with pornography, I can only imagine what wizards can do with moving pictures."

Snape didn't hold back his laugh.

They took a different route back towards De Kromweg, the Red Light District not looking nearly as dangerous or seedy in the daytime as it had that night last summer.  Ron seemed to be rather embarrassed that Mr. Weasley was very curious about most of the shops and tattoo parlours in the area, even pausing to ask about the leather shop that they passed on the way.  Snape answered his enquiry with a rather calm voice, but Harry suspected he was rather amused at Mr. Weasley's subsequent ‘well then!" 

"Honestly, this place is one of those what happens in Amsterdam, stays in Amsterdam kind of places."  Harry said in a low voice to Ron.

"Yeah, or anything here stays under oath or something."  Ron agreed. They'd fallen behind Mr. Weasley and Snape a little bit, and were looking around with rather wide eyes at the neighbourhood.

"Definitely. But a friends don't obliviate friends kind of thing. I imagine it would be a weekend to remember."  Harry snickered.

"Friends don't obliviate friends?" came Snape's disbelieving repetition.  Harry wondered just how refined Snape's hearing was.  "Tell me that after you've gone to university."

"Ah, would you really want to know what I got up to at university?"  Harry asked cheekily, remembering what Snape had told him about things that he really did not want to know about Harry's life.

"Not particularly." Snape confirmed.

They came across a church, which was marked on Harry's map as being the Oude Kerk, and Ron muttered that he was very glad his mother had not come along on the trip.

"Between the sex shops, the coffee shops, and the women in the window, Mum would have conniptions!"  Ron hissed, trying to keep his gaze averted from the half naked women in the windows whistling at him.

"Don't forget the cobble art, Ronald."  Snape pointed out, his finger indicating towards a plaque nestled into the stones beside the church.  During a negotiation that had cost Harry two hours of preparing potion ingredients, Snape had agreed to address his friends as Hermione and Ronald outside of school. He refused to use the shortened ‘Ron', and Harry knew when not to push.

Glancing down at the plaque, Harry's jaw dropped as he saw that it was an impression of a hand groping a woman's breast.  There was no explanation nearby, and it seemed to have been placed there randomly.  Ron, who hadn't stopped neither walking nor taking his bugged eyes off the plaque, let out a gust of air and a groan all of a sudden.  Harry sucked back air in sympathy as his friend doubled over and clutched at his midsection.

All throughout the city were rounded maroon painted poles, with the city's three X insignia on them.  Snape had called them Amsterdammertjes, and explained that they marked the street and the sidewalk.  Harry thought they looked suspiciously like oversized penises, and figured that they weren't all that pleasant to walk into and...well...pole oneself.  He would have laughed, but the feeling of ‘we're going to make you throw up' from one's genitals was something he'd experienced before and it really wasn't funny. Mostly.  Harry bit his lip to avoid the ghost of a snicker appearing.

"The twins would probably find this place hilarious."  Harry finally said, not knowing what else to say as Mr. Weasley discreetly told Ron a healing charm he could perform.

"Undoubtedly."  Snape agreed, looking far too amused to be sympathetic.

August 3rd, 1997.  The picture moves slightly slower than real time as a young man with unruly black hair cycles into the frame, the bike wobbly for reasons unrelated to the cobblestone he's riding over. There is a young woman sitting sideways on the back luggage rack of the bike, holding onto the boy's waist for dear life as they both laugh. A second male on his own bike rides passed, grinning to himself as they pass the café in the background.  In which Elliot discovers that riding a bike with a passenger is nothing like flying a broom.

....

"We've only got two bikes." Ron pointed out.  The sun had mostly decided to join them, and the lazy Sunday after noon was perfect for a small bike ride.

"That doesn't stop the Dutch."  Harry pointed out.  They were standing beside a small statue in a non-touristy square that Snape had led them to earlier.  The adults, Snape, Mr. Weasley, and Mrs. Granger, were seated at a café nearby and no doubt talking about the ‘children' as they had afternoon tea.  Ron had made mentions of renting bikes earlier, after almost being run over by four and wanting to see if they were anything like flying on a broom.  The rental shop only had two left, however, but Hermione didn't seem that put off.

"Oh honestly. Look, we've seen plenty of people do it, and the bike seems sturdy. It should be easy enough."  Hermione interjected, hands on her hips.

"Yeah, but they're watching!" Ron whispered loudly, nodding his head back towards where the parents were seated.

"Ron, they're always watching." Harry deadpanned, rolling his eyes.  "Come on Hermione, you and I can try it."

"Oi!" Ron blurted.

Harry walked his bike over towards the small step in the road that indicated the path beside the statue.  Hermione followed, looking at the small luggage rack over the rear wheel of the bike.

Ron had followed, but was staring ahead at a streetlight that had a bike hanging from it.

"Is that some sort of bizarre sport here?"  He asked, pointing at the bike and wondering if it had been transfigured there.

"Must be." Harry shrugged.  "I don't think wizards are doing it though."

"Why not?" Ron asked, a bit put out that Harry knew exactly what he was thinking.

"There's scratch marks in the paint of the streetlight, Ron. From where they hoisted it up. If it were wizards, they would have just used magic."  Hermione explained, smoothing her hands on her skirt. "Ready?" She asked Harry.

"Yep." Harry replied.  "Although, if they're underage, they couldn't use magic."

Harry pushed off slowly and tried to ride as straight as possible as Hermione did a fast walk beside him and suddenly hopped up onto the rack. She landed with a small thump, her legs hanging out to the left side of the bike and causing Harry to swerve a bit.

"Ride faster, Harry!" Ron told him, cycling beside and making sure Hermione didn't fall.

Hermione had a death grip on his waist from behind, which with unparalleled bad timing was rather ticklish and caused Harry to start laughing.  He steadied them out as they cycled faster and Hermione joined into the giggling, seeming to get the hang of balancing herself on the back.

Ron did a tip of an imaginary hat as they passed the café where their parents were, and they received a short round of applause, Snape's claps rather mocking.

"You think that was fun; I don't know how to stop."  Harry chirped, going faster.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted, half indignant as she swatted the back of his head and laughed.

January 20th, 1997. Stockport.   A fourteen month old boy wearing a dark pair of trousers and a bright red jumper stands next to a display of wooden trains in a toyshop.  He is waving a thin wooden piece of track like a wand and grinning as he jabbers in baby talk. Beside him a woman wearing the store's apron is kneeling down and smiling, and behind him his father stands stoically on guard, the barest hint of a smile on his face.  Elliot's first incident of accidental magic/ Dad almost curses a shop assistant.

...

Harry squirmed to be let down as Snape carried him into the toyshop, his eyes wide and sparkling at the sight of so many brightly coloured toys.  The Dursleys had let him make do with Dudley's casts offs, and although a toddler has no real concept of new or second hand, Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd found Santa's workshop now.  Even though he was sixteen and he knew it was ridiculous to be that excited over a toyshop, Harry decided to let his toddler feelings take over. It had been a long day, after all.

Snape grudgingly put Harry down and held tightly onto his hand to make sure he didn't fall as he explored the toy store.  Snape had mentioned back at Hogwarts that he'd bring Harry to the toy store for some entertainment, as Snape had some paperwork to do later that evening. Muggle paperwork that held absolutely no interest to Harry, but that apparently needed to be done nonetheless.  Harry had giggled at that back at Hogwarts; they'd killed Voldemort that morning and Snape was concerned with muggle bills.

Harry weaved his way like a drunk through the store, marveling at how the toys seemed much more alive and realistic at this level. Harry inspected the stuffed animals and the books before finally headed towards the action part of the store; a rectangular play box catching his attention.  Snape followed closely behind as Harry tottered in an unbalanced half-run towards the toy train set up, the small fingers of one hand still clenched tightly around Snape's larger one.

"Choo! Red choo!"  Harry explained, pointing at the trains. He let go of Snape immediately upon reaching the table and started playing with the lead engine. There was a small spare bit of track that was loose on the table and Snape noted with amusement that Harry held it in his hand like a wand.   Sixteen as he may be, Snape figured that it must be akin to some sort of stress release to be able to act rather childishly.

"He seems to be quite taken by the trains."  A perky voice suddenly announced from above Harry's shoulder.  He gave a quick glance to see that one of the shop assistants had come over to speak with Snape.

"Abbbbbbrt!"  Harry proclaimed, pointing the train track at the assistant.

"Yes, indeed he is."  Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry, but he didn't seem to be annoyed.

"Choo!"  Harry cheered happily and pointed the train track at the front engine, clapping gleefully as it went from a green and black engine to the familiar red and black of the Hogwarts Express, complete with the elegant signage.  There was a gasp heard to his right and a muttered obliviate from his left, but Harry kept playing with the trains, connecting a very long one and placing it against the Hogwarts engine. The passenger trains were different colours though, and Harry thought that they should perhaps match the engine.

"Do not change the car colours," came a low voice.  Snape had kneeled down under the pretense of straightening Harry's shirt, but instead stuck the dummy that was clipped to Harry's sweater into Harry's mouth, preventing him from saying anything else.  Harry spit it out as soon as Snape stood back up.

"Magic!"  Harry grinned, pointing his hand at the Hogwarts train.  He wondered exactly how much ‘accidental magic' Snape would tolerate.

"Trains are magic, aren't they little man?"  The assistant said, crouching down beside him and picking up a piece of track, waving it around like Harry was doing with his.

"Haaabemt."  Harry agreed.  He turned and pointed at Snape, flashing one tooth. "Da."

The tip of Snape's wand wasn't quite hidden in his sleeve.

"Yes, that's your da.  Can you do some magic for me?"  The lady asked, and Harry pointed at the train.

"Elliot."  Snape's voice cut through the disgustingly cheery children's music that the store was playing, but Harry ignored it.

"Just like this. Abra cadabra!" The woman said, pointing her track wand at the train set.  Harry was able to just see the horrified look flash across Snape's face before he was swept up into Snape's arms, flush against the man's chest and head cradled in Snape's hand.  From the sound of the heartbeat underneath the shirt and the open jacket, Snape was just about to have a coronary.

"What is wrong with you?" Snape snapped before spinning on his heel and walking out of the store, casting one last obliviate at the flustered shop assistant.

They stopped at the department store just before leaving and Snape carried him to the toy section, allowing Harry to choose a puzzle toy before going home.  Harry rested his head on Snape's shoulders, the dummy in his mouth and his finger idly twirling around a lock of Snape's hair as the man grumbled to himself.  "Daft woman. Silly muggle folklore and she comes this close to killing my son."  The arms tightened a little around Harry and there was a very soft flutter as two fingers gently carded through Harry's mussy hair.

"And here I thought students were the only one stupid enough to do that."  Snape continued, storming into the kitchen and dropping the bag of groceries on the table.  He took a quick peek down at Harry and noted the sleepy eyes, before rummaging through the bag and withdrawing a bottle.

"Sanitas." Snape hissed, tapping his wand against the bottle. He filled it with milk and warmed it up a little, testing with his fingers.

"I'll bet that woman could accidentally summon a demon just by reading a dictionary."  Snape poured himself his own glass of non-warmed milk before charming both the glass and the bottle to follow him the few short steps to the library.  Snape made himself comfortable in his favourite yellow armchair, turning Harry so that he was lying on Snape's lap with his head in the crook of Snape's elbow.

"Da?"  Harry asked, barely keeping back a yawn.  This seemed to snap Snape out of his quiet ranting, however, and his hair fell forward as he looked down at Harry.

"I know you're sixteen. But I think this will be easier."  Snape finally said, holding up the warm bottle.  Harry studied Snape's face and saw the guarded look. He also heard the unspoken words.  This may be more comforting.  Harry gave a slight contented sigh and held up his hands towards the bottle.

April 12th, 1997. Sun blasts into the kitchenette from the charmed window and illuminates the rather messy counter, where various mixing bowls and measuring cups have been laid out. There's a sack of flour near the kettle and two separate bags of sugar precariously close to the edge of the sink. A radio sits atop the spice shelf, and it's impossible to discern in a photograph whether it's turned on or not.  The twirling figure of a teenage boy in old jeans, a flour dusted shirt, and a spatula microphone however, suggests that it is playing some sort of tune.  Banana bread's secret ingredient: Off-key singing, scrawled under the photo in Snape's customarily neat writing.

....

Snape's private potion lab was a rather spacious room that ran along the far wall of the kitchenette and living room of his Hogwarts flat.  It was a separate area from where the bedrooms were and usually quiet, but clunks and bangs through the wall could be heard from whoever was moving about in the kitchen sometimes. Especially when that someone was moving around with the grace of an inebriated elephant.  Snape was adding the last bit of rookwort to the cauldron on his table, Harry's latest dose of allergy suppressant when the music started.

Papa, I know you're going to be upset.

Snape counted to thirty before stirring the potion clockwise with precision. He spared one minute glare at the far wall before adding a deciliter of salamander saliva. The lab door was slightly opened, and as it seemed, not quite soundproof.  Harry had gotten a strange urge to bake that morning, of all things, and had popped out to the Hogwarts kitchen for ingredients.  Ever since he'd gotten back, he'd all but taken over the kitchenette in Snape's flat. 

I'm not a baby.

The potion turned a pleasant orange colour, similar to orange juice, and Snape put the flame out.  He'd come down and bottle it later, when it had cooled.  Turning out the overhead lamp above his worktable, Snape headed out the lab door.

The one you warned me all about.

Snape stepped into the living room and winced at the noise.  There was accompanying music, thankfully, as it seemed to mask some of the off-key sound that Harry made as he sang.  The kitchenette looked rather like a disaster zone, with various mixing bowls across the counter, a mug of tea lost between the bags of sugar, and a carton of eggs on the tiny table.
 
We're in an awful mess, and I don't mean maybe - please.

Harry, standing in the centre, was alternately tapping his finger on the recipe book he seemed to be partially ignoring and swaying slightly to the music. The charmed muggle radio was blaring along with him, and Harry was sliding along the floor in thick unmatched socks.  He spun as the chorus started, spatula held up as a microphone as his voice completely missed Madonna's pitch.

Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, ohhhh

"Dad!"  Harry gasped, dropping the spatula. His green eyes were flashing bright and he was staring at Snape, who was standing by the door with his arms crossed and an inquisitive look on his face.

"I dearly hope you have not managed to get...into trouble deep with someone, Elliot." Snape intoned, tapping his foot on the kitchen floor.

"Nnn...no. Of circumstance wrong."  Harry blinked, his cheeks slightly red.

"Hmm. Which means you've either been with a man or not had sex at all." Snape supplied, summoning the spatula.  Harry blushed even further and he shook his head vigorously.

"Not menued."  Harry immediately said.  He turned in frustration back towards the counter and grunted.  "Not offered. No sex."

Snape gave Harry a little nod, which the boy didn't see, and moved towards the fridge to get a drink.

"Good. I'd hate to have missed the opportunity to impose my presence upon whomever you've decided to date."

"Ha. Hah."  Harry replied, grabbing a banana from the counter. It was already rather ripe, and Snape watched with interest as Harry started massaging and squeezing it in his hand.

"Why on earth are you molesting the bananas?"

"They need to be pillowed.  Smashed."  Harry replied, breaking off the end of the banana and squeezing the smashed insides out and into the bowl.

"That is disgusting." Snape commented lightly.  He was drinking a glass of juice and quirked his eyebrow as Harry stared at him.  "Why are you staring, boy?"

"You have frog guts on your collar."  Harry smirked.

"Impudent."  Snape muttered, taking his wand and vanishing the entrails.

"Speaking of scaring any potential dates, when do I need to bring them home to meet you?"  Harry asked, attempting nonchalance as he added the second banana and used his wand to cast a mixing spell.

"Hmm. Does my son have a date?" Snape asked, picking up the recipe book and inspecting it.

"Not yet." Harry muttered, dumping the other ingredients into the banana mash and setting them all to mix together.

"Someone here?"

"A Hufflepuff, yeah."  Harry responded, staring at the bowl as if mesmerized.  There were two mixing sticks in it that were moving in a smooth circle to combine the ingredients.

"As a general rule, Hufflepuffs after five dates, Ravenclaws after three, Gryffindors after one, and you'd better introduce any Slytherin before you leave for the first."  Snape answered, swiping some of the batter before Harry could pour it and slipping out of the kitchenette.

"That's...that's house-ist that is."  Harry sputtered, his jaw dropped.

"It would be," Snape agreed as he sat on the chesterfield with a periodical, "if students weren't sorted into houses based on personality traits and behaviours."

February 18th, 1997.  There are several small boxes of trinkets and keepsakes in the library, along with a small painting leaning up against the bookshelf wall across from the fireplace.  The man and woman in the painting are still, lifeless as muggles as the boy in front of them digs through the boxes and pulls out postcards, letters, and little toys. It is snowing outside, and the older man behind the boy is only half reading his newspaper as he oversees the unpacking. The caption reads:  16 years belated, Elliot brings home some family treasures.

...

Godric's Hollow still made Harry uneasy when they went back to visit, each time exploring further into the house and allowing Harry to seek through his parents' belongings. Snape had his own reservations at visiting the house, but he allowed Harry as much time as he needed there.  He also didn't question Harry's trembling when the situation overwhelmed him and Harry called it quits for the day. This day they'd lasted for an hour, and Harry was quite pleased at that.

Upon returning home to Spinner's End, for Snape had taken the weekend off from Hogwarts and McGonagall could not deny the defeaters of Voldemort that privilege, Harry immediately set his loot down in the library.  They'd found a painting of his parents, a small but tasteful one, and Harry's heart had soared at the possibility that he could speak to his parents finally.  He'd tried not to let the disappointment colour his face too much when he and Snape had discerned that the painting had either been mischarmed or was a muggle one, as the figures inside showed no movement or life whatsoever.

Harry had brought it home regardless, and it now sat leaning against the books while he checked out what else he'd brought.  There was a warm fire in the fireplace nearby, and Harry had only a t shirt on with his jeans, his feather tattoo seeming more realistic with the flickering light on it and the blue haze from the snowy window.  Snape was seated in his favourite armchair behind Harry, slowly perusing through the Manchester newspaper.

"Dad? How are magical portraits made?" Harry asked out of the blue, inspecting an old calendar that he'd taken from Godric's Hollow.

"There are a few ways. One of which involves paint and an artist, similar to the muggle version. The other involves a complicated charm."  Snape answered, keeping his gaze on the box in front of Harry. He was well aware that the painted selves of two people who should by all rights still loathe him were less than ten feet away.

"A charm? How could a charm create a painting? And when do you have to cast the charm?"

Snape closed his eyes and put the paper down.

"A location is chosen for the charm focus, either a blank canvas, spot of wall, or other similar surface. The charm is cast on the subject, and when said subject passes on, the charm draws from their passing and creates the painting."

Harry's hand stilled over the baby book that he'd found in a box.

"You mean like Dumbledore. How his painting seemed to take from the elements in his office and create himself."

"Yes. The painting is created just after death."  Snape answered.  The fireplace flickered from the wind that filtered down the chimney and they both sat in silence, remembering.  It had been strangely intriguing and horrifying to watch the headmaster's painting come together, and Harry would never forget the sorrowful expression on Dumbledore's face as he walked into the frame and apologized for being late.

"Do their memories update? Will they know things that have happened after they've died?"  Harry asked.

"Not unless they're told."  Snape immediately responded.

"So, my parents..." Harry trailed off, waving his hand towards the small portrait.

"It is very likely that they will not know you. They will only remember the fifteen month old you once were."

...

Lily Potter watched with a calculating gaze at the two men in front of her.  Stupid men. All it would take was a simple finite incantatem to end the stasis spell on the painting, but no, neither of them had thought to try it.  This did, on the other hand, have a rather fortunate effect of preventing James from immediately sprouting off at Severus Snape.  When Lily looked closely she couldn't believe the amount of worry lines on Severus' face, the hardness in his eyes, or how old he'd gotten.

And who was the boy on the floor who had rescued her painting? She'd heard the name Elliot a few times, Severus using it when he wanted the boy's attention.  But as Lily looked closer, she knew that it was her Harry.  Harry, her son with a tattoo, with vibrant green eyes that had a hint of worldliness that should not have been there.  James' messy black hair, Lily's calmness, this was definitely her son.  He looked so old though, a grown young man at the cusp of adulthood.  Lily felt her heart ache as she thought of how long Harry had been without them.

Lily looked around the little library room, remembering Spinner's End from when she was a small girl and they'd snuck in when Tobias Snape wasn't home.  From the looks of things, Tobias was long gone and the house had started to re-grow some warmth. She'd been surprised to hear that Dumbledore had died, and from the looks on both Harry and Severus' faces she knew it had been Albus to pass on and not Aberforth.  Was it from the war?  That was a possibility, but the mood of the room's occupants was too at ease to be in the middle of war. Her ears focused in as they continued talking.

"That's alright. I wouldn't know what to tell them anyway."  Harry scoffed, placing things back in the box.

"I killed Voldemort is always a good place to start."  Snape deadpanned, skimming through the paper again.

"You're just as guilty as I am for that." Harry snapped. "I think my father might be pissed off to find out you'd adopted me."  Harry added, his voice thoughtful.

"Not nearly as angry as your mother would be to know you were raised by Petunia for fourteen years." Snape countered.

"Hmm. Yeah. It's done though, and as they say, that which does not kill us makes us stronger."   Harry mumbled, rubbing his tattoo absentmindedly.

"That's bullshit." Snape said, folding down the corner of the paper. "Everything that happened to you in that house affected the person who you became, and they were not all positive things. From your sickeningly sweet caring nature to your utter disregard to personal safety, to the nightmares you wake up yelling about."

Harry stood and stretched, giving a small smile.  "But you love me anyway."

"Hmmph."  Snape put the paper back up and turned to the sports section. "I have no idea why I indulge you. Now go and order some monstrosity from the pizza shop before Weasley arrives and eats us out of house and home."

Lily could almost feel James' presence releasing some tension next to her, and while she knew he likely had many rather pointed questions for Severus, he was as relieved as her to know that Harry had a proper guardian. She could only imagine what her darling sister had been like to grow up with, and whatever circumstance had brought Harry under the wing of Severus was likely to have been an unpleasant catalyst.  She was pleased to see that Harry had a home though, and that it seemed Voldemort was no more.  Lily settled her mind back into relaxation in the frame as the fireplace flared and a tall young man with absurdly red hair stumbled out.  He clapped Harry on the back and gave a nervous but polite nod to Severus before taking off with Harry towards the stairs.

Lily allowed herself a mental smile. Her Harry as a toddler had taken everything apart to see how it worked, and if this Harry still had that quest for information, she was certain that the spell on the portrait would be lifted in short order. They need only be patient a little longer, before they could finally sit down and learn about the young man their little boy had become.

March 8th, 1997.  A boy stands at the end of his bed, a tray in his hands that holds two coffee mugs and a plate of what appears to be pastries.  He's in his pajamas and looks like he's been worrying about something for the past fifteen minutes.  Beside him his father stands in a defensive posture, in his nightshirt and socks. Both of them have hair that seems to have a life of its own, and they're both staring towards the camera, where the desk would be.  Foolish wand waving, and a chance to speak to the past reads the heavy handed ink caption.

...

It was a somewhat cloudy morning, but the sun was peeking through in spots and the air was very clear if slightly chilly.   None of this was noticed by the boy sprawled out on his stomach in bed, the duvet covering half his head and one foot hanging over the edge of the mattress. He'd arrived late the night before for another weekend home, and was sleeping peacefully in his own room.  Somewhere downstairs the furnace kicked in and made a small humming noise, which was suddenly accompanied by an irritating symphony of bells.

"Mmhmpf,"  Harry grumbled into his pillow, arm reaching blindly for the wand resting in the headboard inset of his bed.  He gripped it loosely and waved it in the general direction of his desk, where the alarm was going off.

"Finite."  Harry yawned into his pillow.  "Finite incantatem."

The alarm was silenced on the second try and Harry slowly rose up off the bed.  The duvet was still draped over his lap as he sat up, rubbing his eyes and groping for his glasses.  There was no market in Stockport this weekend, so Harry had slept in a little, but Snape had mentioned a possible trip to Manchester and Harry didn't want to waste away the day sleeping just in case they did go.  He shuffled across the floor towards the wardrobe, pulling off his undershirt and plucking out the Aberdeen Potioneer's Conference shirt.  He only usually wore sleep pants and an undershirt to bed, but it was too cold to wander about sleeveless in the house.  Harry gave another big yawn as he looked at himself in the mirror, checking out the scars on his body.  Sirius' scar had faded over the past few months, but it still stood out rather plainly against his pale skin. 

"For Ginny."  Harry whispered, circling the fang marks on his arm.  "For Cedric."  The jagged scar across his belly.  "For Sirius." The mark on his hip.  "For my parents." The clear space on his forehead where the lightning bolt used to be.   Harry's expression was soft as he pulled his shirt over his head and smoothed it out. The babel fish was resting on the top shelf of his wardrobe, safe from dust. He popped it in his ear and gave the mirror a goofy grin.  "For Elliot."

"Oh Harry."

Harry whirled around towards the desk and window, tripping slightly and falling back against the wardrobe.  The voice was female and soft, one that Harry didn't recognize.  His wand drawn, Harry stared unblinkingly at the window next to his deceptively soft looking bed.

"Who's there?"  Harry called out, his voice sounding braver than he felt.

"You're alright."  A disembodied male voice answered, and Harry scrabbled back towards the far wall, staring at the portrait on his desk.

"DAD!" Harry yelped.  Within seconds he heard heavy footsteps in the hall and the door opening.  Snape burst into the room in his nightshirt, wand outstretched and hair in a disorganized mess as he looked around with unfocused eyes.

"What's wrong? Are you hurt?"  Snape demanded, still looking warily about the room.

"The colours are breathing."  Harry answered, pointing towards the desk.

Snape blinked before lowering his wand and giving a wary glance towards the portrait.

"Hello, Lily."

"Severus."  Her answer was quiet, but it echoed through the room.

"They're real."  Harry whispered, watching the painted version of his father wave at him.

"The painting is real."  Snape corrected in a low tone.

"Yes, we are."  James Potter asserted with a strong undertone. "And we'd like to know why the son we died to protect is now living with a death eater and calling him dad."

Harry took a sharp breath as he processed what his father had said, and realized that he felt oddly insulted for Snape. And annoyed.

 "Elliot, go and make some coffee for us." Snape interrupted, his black eyes hard and no longer showing any trace of sleep in them.

"What? No I want to talk to them!" 

But Harry was still standing near the door, looking unsure about what he would actually say.  There was a level of hostility in the room that was rather uncomfortable.

"They will still be here in fifteen minutes."  Snape pointed out.  Harry looked between him and the portrait.  His father, James, was standing with a rather constipated look on his face, and his mother had a sad smile.

"Elliot, please go make coffee."  Snape asked again, though it was a soft order more than a request. Harry gave a short nod as he swallowed whatever was constricting his throat and fled the room.

"At least he's looking well, Snape."  James said, putting his arm around Lily in the painting.

"Shut up, Potter."  Snape snapped. "I have some ground rules to set out."

"If you think you're going to stop us from talking to our son, you're mad."  James bristled, though Snape noted that he didn't resort to childish insults like he had at school.

"I don't think Severus would do that." Lily cut in tersely. "He's provided a home for Harry, hasn't he?"

"I have."  Snape confirmed, not mentioning how he'd hated this home as a child himself.

"Which is my point, Snape. Why is Harry here? And why on earth has a person like you been allowed to adopt him?"  James pushed.  "He should have gone to his godfather."

"Oh?"  Snape raised his eyebrow.  It was gratifying to realize that the taunts of his childhood tormentor held much less power than they used to. 

"The godfather that neither of you disclosed had not been chosen as your secret keeper? Black spent thirteen years in Azkaban for betraying you and murdering Peter Pettigrew."

Sixteen years had matured Snape's temper slightly, but it had done nothing for his enjoyment in goading people.

 James was silent, but Lily was rubbing her upper arm in a familiar way that Snape remembered from childhood. She felt guilty.

"I have watched over our son since the day he stepped into Hogwarts." Snape said, his low voice quiet but carrying clearly.  "I was a mean, vindictive, and harsh professor who terrorized my students, and Po-Harry in particular, in order to enforce my position as a spy against Voldemort." 

Snape took a small amount of satisfaction at James' dropped jaw at that news, as the last this James Potter remembered of Snape was of him being an active and full death eater.  He ignored Lily's proud and smug expression, and did not disclose that it was her death that had drawn him to being a spy.

"But this is his home."  Snape continued, keeping his voice steady. "And no matter what you remember of me, or what you think of me, you will not make him feel guilty or ashamed for finding family here."

"I thought you said last week that he grew up with Petunia."  Lily asked, sounding discomfited.

"He did. And last year he watched Bellatrix Lestrange murder Black just a few feet from where he stood."

James let out a defeated whistle at this. "Did the Dursleys...did they abuse him?" 

Snape knew the exact kind of abuse James Potter was referring to.  He gave them both a measuring look, and remembered that he had feared the same thing when Harry had first been in his care last summer.  When he realized that he'd started to care about the actual wellbeing of the little bugger, and not just that Harry stayed alive.

"He was neglected. That was enough." 

There was silence in the room as the words settled; Snape stood tall as they regarded him.  He tried to forget the fact that he was standing in Harry's room with only a red nightgown on and his hair in an absolute mess.

"I think that it will not be a problem to leave the animosity behind." Lily smiled, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail. "Thank you for loving him for us, Severus."

Snape could feel his cheeks warming, and thought of next week's lesson plans to keep his emotions under control.

"Yes, well. He has been entertaining to have around."

"Dad? I've got coffee and some toaster thingies that were in the freezer."  Harry came back into the room, carrying a makeshift tray.  He looked a bit more composed than earlier.

"So you do call him...?"  James trailed off, looking uncomfortable.

Harry put the tray down on his bed and scratched the back of his neck.

"Yeah, I do. You're my dad, and you always will be. But Professor Snape is my dad too."  Harry said, sounding apologetic but firm.  Snape saw that as an excellent time to leave, and tapped the back of Harry's hand as he went.

"Stop scratching."

Harry nodded distractedly and waited while Snape grabbed his coffee and left the room.

"You know, you used to call your father Deda."  Lily said, smiling at Harry.

"Did I?" Harry asked with a warm smile.   He climbed on the bed with his coffee and angled the painting to face him.

"You did."  James confirmed, grinning. "Back when you were learning how to speak."

"Deda," Harry tried, nodding to himself.  "Deda it is then. And Mum."  Harry blushed as Lily gave him a fond look.

James sat down in the picture frame and locked his fingers in anticipation. "So, why don't you tell us what you've been up to, Mr. Conqueror of Voldemort?"

Harry pulled the covers up over his lap and sat back, starting the tale of how a small boy talked to a zoo snake about Brazil.

May 2nd, 1997.  The small room is illuminated by large windows and wall sconces.  There are mats all over the floor, and a stern figure leans against the far wall with a proud smile on his face as a young man floats slightly unsteadily five feet off the ground. He scrunches his face in concentration before doing a very slow somersault in the air.  There is a huge grin on his face and he laughs, before dropping like a brick to the mat below.  Almost entirely unlike learning how to walk. Says the caption.

...

"I know you've read the notes, but do you actually understand Newton's Laws of Motion?"  Snape flicked his wand and set the lights in the room. The staff gym was very rarely used, and Snape covered the floor with mattresses for today's lesson.

"As much as I ever will."  Harry shrugged, dropping his bag by the corner and pulling off his robe.  "I never really pictured you as a scientist."

"The tie, too."  Snape said, raising the ceiling a little.   "Potions are science. Where have you been for the last six years?"

"Obviously not in the same classroom as you.  What happened to that ‘potions is an art form' and ‘I can teach you to brew glory and put a stopper in death' rubbish?"

Snape beckoned him to the centre of the room and positioned Harry to stand with his arms out spread. 

"I do believe that I both brewed glory and put a stopper in death when we killed off the Dark Lord and cured you of your horcrux issue."  Snape corrected lightly. "Creating both potions was an act of exact science, not creative artistry."

"An act of genius, you mean. No wonder you figured out how to fly."   Harry said, almost pouting.

"Focus on the window across from us, and ignore the law of gravity."  Snape interrupted, tapping Harry's shoulder.

"I can't just ignore gravity. Especially not when I'm very familiar with how it works on a flying car that's just run out of gas. Gravity is a heartless bitch."

 "Elliot."  Snape warned, and Harry sucked in a breath.  Snape had little patience for jokes while he was teaching.

"Now, the spell for flight is my own modified version of an existing non-verbal spell. It works from the basis of levicorpus, which you may be familiar with."

"Levi- isn't that the one from your potions book?"  Harry asked, dropping his arms.  "The dangly one, right?"

Snape crossed his arms, looking amused.  "And who have you strung up by their ankle?"

"That's...not really relevant."  Harry said, waving his hand.  "Wasn't that the one that James Potter used against you in that memory? Did you invent it?"

"Stop."  Snape said, holding his hand up to halt Harry's questions.  "You should know I did not.  Your book is for sixth and seventh years, and your charming father jinxed me at the end of fifth year."

"Oh."  Harry's shoulders slumped a little.

"I have invented other, less amusing spells, but not levicorpus."  Snape added.  "That one was likely created by some 17th century butcher who was tired of hauling meat up to the racks."

It only took a few seconds before Harry scrunched up his face. "Eugh."

"Precisely."  Snape smirked.  He poked Harry again and drew his wand.

"So. Newton's Third Law of Motion states that any time a force acts from one object to another, there is an equal force acting back on the original object."

"Yeah, I read that but h...woah!"  Harry yelped, flipping upside down and twirling slightly as he hung in the air in the centre of the room. Snape watched with curiosity as twelve sickles and seven knuts fell from Harry's pocket, along with two quill nibs and Kermit the dragon.

"Focus, Elliot. What can you feel?"

"All the damn blood rushing to my head."  Harry responded with no small amount of irritation.

"How fortunate. Perhaps that will aid your brain in deductive reasoning."

"Ha, ha."  Harry was still spinning slightly, and he appeared to be slightly motion sick. "I feel like someone has got a hard grip on my ankle. It almost hurts."

"Good."  Snape sounded pleased.  "And according to the third law, you are exacting as much force on that grip as it is on you."

Snape flicked his wand and lowered Harry to the mat.

"Okay. But what does that have to do with it?  I don't fancy flying upside down by my ankle."  Harry exhaled, his face turning back to its normal colour.

"It'd be one way to get attention." Snape responded wryly.  "You did feel the grip though, which is what you need to fly.  You need to be able to imagine the grip upon yourself, moving along your body as you fly. On your lower back so you can fly on an angle, between your shoulders so you're closer to standing upright, along your lower legs if you have some bizarre desire to float upside down."

Harry pulled himself up and rubbed the side of his head with his wand. That made sense. It was like a balancing act of sorts. Similar to a broom, except this time he was the broom. Kind of.

"I think I get it. What's the spell?"

Snape eyed him critically before nodding.

"Volocorpus.  The wand movement is a small but stretched out m shape."

"Right."  Harry agreed, practicing the wand movement. "This is kind of like those birds we used to draw on blackboards."

"It is purposefully similar to wingspan. On the count of three, imagine the hook and cast the spell non-verbally."

For the next twenty minutes Snape watched with unhidden amusement as Harry shakily floated around the room.  He supposed this was what a parent felt like when their toddler was learning how to walk, as he felt queerly proud of Harry for learning the skill, but had no qualms laughing every time the boy fell.

Friday June 20th, 1997.  Eight hours after the end of the last exam. The shadows around an old statue of a crabby looking witch move as student after student flattens themselves against the wall, all dressed in an odd assortment of clothing.  There is a lot of muggle clothing, and at least two boys have ties around their foreheads like bandannas.  One shorter boy in a kilt is wearing a makeshift crown, and a girl with glitter around her eyes is wearing a tiara.  The next generation: Full of delinquents.

...

"Alright you lot! Last call!"  The voice was gruff and meant business, expecting no arguments.  None came forth from their private room, except for a lot of cheering and applause.  Up on the makeshift stage (Seamus had shoved two tables together), a shy fifth year Slytherin named Toby Barrington was being crowned Mr. Wizarding World 1997.  He was standing next to the Ravenclaw Miss. Witch's World and trying to hide his blush.

"I can't believe you didn't go for that."  Ron grinned, finishing off his butterbeer.

"It's the speech, you see."  Harry answered with a smirk.  "I didn't want to stand anyone up."

Ron laughed, snorting a bit of his drink and eyes watering while Harry smoothed out the parchment in front of him.

"Wassthat?"  Seamus asked, throwing himself into the seat next to Harry.

"That's his trouble chart."  Ron supplied, pointing to it with his butterbeer bottle.

"Trouble chart? You planning something tonight, Potter?"  Seamus grinned.

"Hah, this is enough."  Harry replied, rolling his eyes.

"So what is it, Harry?"  Neville asked, slipping into the booth with a tankard of something.

"It's a comparison chart. What I've done, and what Snape will decide as punishment."  Harry shrugged, but he didn't look too bothered either.

"That's if he finds out."  Seamus cut in.

"It's Snape. He always finds out." Neville immediately countered.

"Well, except about his classroom exploding."  Ron snickered.

"Ah, yeah. I thought he was going to murder me in second year."  Harry laughed.  Madame Rosemerta came into the room and began herding them towards the door.

"What? Wait, was that the time when everyone got sprayed with the swelling solution?" Seamus blurted, his eyes taking on a glint of mischief normally seen on the Weasley twins.  "Next time I owe you a butterbeer."

...

Everything appeared to be quiet as the group stopped at the end of the passage.  Harry's wand was the sole source of light and he did a quick headcount.  The Let's Celebrate Voldy's Death party had been Seamus' idea and implementation, but Harry didn't want any students to have been left behind.  Thirty-two had gone and thirty-two had made it back, an impressive turn out for invitations that had been extended to all the houses behind the teachers' backs.

Harry whispered the password and extinguished his wandlight, motioning for the students to follow.

"Didn't you bring the map?" Ron whispered, creeping behind Harry.

"No, I don't want others to connect. To know." Harry answered, just as quietly. "It's past two am, the learners are comatose now."

Ron pretended to wince when Harry smacked him for snickering. Everyone lined up against the wall and waited for Harry to close the passage before they headed towards the staircases, Seamus in the lead and holding up his dark wand like a strange homing beacon.

"We definitely have to do this again."  Seamus whispered loudly, rounding the corner to the staircase hall and dropping his wand.  "Ah well. Fuck."

Perched on the nearest set of stairs, which were suspiciously stationary, were the four heads of house. Flitwick was standing on one of the upper steps, his short arms resting behind his back in an almost military-like stance.  Sprout was sitting on a step, holding a large ivy-covered sand timer, and McGonagall was standing just below Flitwick, tapping her wand irritably against her arm.  Snape, in all his gloomy glory, was leaning against the railing with his arms crossed and the slightest upturn of his lips.  All four were dressed in an assortment of wizarding clothes that none of the students had ever seen them in before, and Harry got the unpleasant feeling that the students had not been the only ones at The Three Broomsticks that evening.

"Badgers, and Lions, and Ravens, oh my."  McGonagall deadpanned, convincing Harry that she had a twisted sense of humour like the rest of the professors.

"And little Snakes too."  Snape finished, his voice sounding smooth and commanding and like there was about to be a world of trouble.

"You didn't wear your damn watch tonight, did you?"  Ron asked under his breath.  They were both standing as dead still as the rest of the students, and Harry was very glad that for once he was not in the lead spot.  They were standing in the middle of the group, and Harry was studiously ignoring the strong black glare of Snape's eyes. His father's eyes. Oh, there was that hollow feeling again, in the pit of his stomach.

"No, I'm not that stupid."  Harry hissed back.

"As you have all decided to celebrate the end of exams by leaving school property after curfew-" The headmistress started, glaring down at them all.

"Technically it was before curfew," Ron mumbled.

"You have now all volunteered to be the personal assistants of the professors whilst they mark this weekend. You will be paired off in twos, and will be on call the entire weekend."  McGonagall finished tersely.

A collective groan was heard from the group, and the students slumped slightly. 

"Points will be taken by house depending on attendance numbers."  Flitwick spoke up, and his voice sounded oddly deep for his stature.

"Dismissed."  McGonagall finally ordered, waiting for the group to disperse and head towards their dormitories.   Harry dutifully followed Ron and the other Gryffindors, snorting a little at the comments Seamus was making.

"Really, Voldemort's dead and exams are over! What's the big deal?"  Seamus grumbled.  "Besides, that old witch's hump likely hasn't seen that much action since the burning days."

"Ah, unsurprisingly crude, Mr. Finnegan." 

Harry felt a strong hand clamp down on his shoulder as the rest of the Gryffindors jumped.  Seamus' face was bright red, and he seemed to have nothing to say.

"How reassuring to know that it was not the usual suspects to have planned this little party."  Snape said, glaring straight at Harry and Ron.

"Nothing to do with the planning."  Harry immediately claimed, holding up his hands.

Seamus sputtered at this, having worked out that Snape knew exactly whose idea the outing was.

"Well, Harry blew up your classroom in second year!" 

Ron let out a choked groan and the other Gryffindors looked anywhere but at Snape or Harry.

"Did he now?"  Snape asked with a smooth timbre. 

"Seamus, you're a right prat you are."  Harry finally said.  He'd been in enough trouble with Snape before to know there was a certain point that any comments he made couldn't possibly hurt further.

"Severus, that's too long ago to punish him for."  McGonagall butted in as she strode by. 

"I do not believe there is a set statute of limitations, Professor McGonagall."  Snape said.  He steered Harry towards the stairs, where the three Slytherins were waiting to go back to the dungeons. "Say goodnight to your friends, Mr. Snape." 

"Goodnight, friends."  Harry said lightly, holding back his wince when Snape's grip tightened.  Snape would probably have him cleaning cauldrons and caramelized bat guts off the classroom worktables all weekend, but the party had definitely been worth it.

July 1st, 1997.  There is a beige computer set up on a smaller side desk in the office, the lights on the tower blinking as a short and stocky woman sits at the chair before it.  She has a strange expression on her face as she shamelessly lets her eyes wander over everything she can in the room, and seems oblivious to the annoyance of the men behind her.  Which will blow up first, the neighbour or the computer?

...

"Ahhh. I think this is the first summer I have ever looked forward to."  Harry said, melting into the settee in the library.   Snape walked through the room not a moment later and unshrunk their large bags of groceries in the kitchen.

"Get up and help, you lazy sod."

Harry laughed and wandered over, taking out non-perishables and starting to stock them in the pantry.

"I suppose you have grand plans for lazy summer days which include Weasleys and Granger?"  Snape asked, sorting the fridge so all dairy products were on the left side and the meats were on the right.

"No set plans, though I do want to visit them if that's okay."  Harry shrugged, handing Snape a jar from the counter.  The potions were lined up in the centre of the fridge shelf.

"Any day but Thursday and Monday afternoons."  Snape replied, starting to sort the vegetables.

"What's on those days?"  Harry tried to keep the suspicion out of his voice, but somewhat failed.

"You shall be taking computer lessons from Mrs. Price."

Snape's head was in the refrigerator with a bundle of carrots and peas, so Harry wasn't quite sure if he'd heard correctly.

"Pardon? Computer lessons?"

Snape stood up and snatched the jar of honey from Harry's hand.

"Yes. With Mrs. Price."

"Mrs. Price, the middle aged gossip-monger down the road? Isn't she the one who thinks you're a vampire?" Harry asked, shaking his head and beginning to unpack the bags again.

"No. Price thinks I'm involved in some sort of strange role playing game. She's a computer teacher at the local secondary school."  Snape replied, snorting.  He took the empty bags and rolled them up.  "Maverly is the one who thinks I'm a vampire, and you now by extension." Snape added.

"Ah, well it's be-what? She thinks I'm a vampire too?"  Harry couldn't decide whether to laugh or scratch his head in confusion.  He didn't wear large black cloaks at home, and unlike Snape he did wear some colour in his clothes.  "I've no bite marks on my neck."

"You'd better not."  Snape answered, filling the kettle and putting it on the stove.  "She has funny ideas about vampirism and genetics. Stay away from her."

"Not a problem.  Why do you want me to take computer lessons? I can't see you using one...ever."  Harry asked, swiping an apple from the bowl on the table.

"Use your brain, Elliot. How many careers do you know of in the wizarding world?"

"Hmm."  Harry plunked down in his chair at the table. Snape was leaning against the back garden door, and watching expectantly.

"Professor. Minister of Magic, well, anything for the ministry really. Shopkeeper, quidditch player.  Uh, owl trainer I suppose. Mediwizard...does someone make parchment still or is that a spell?"

"Both."

"Okay. A writer, journalist, auror, curse breaker, whatever Charlie does at the dragon reserve, an unspeakable, a potions master....uh. A wandmaker."

"And someone who makes seal stamps." Snape finished when Harry had run out of ideas.  "Not a long list, correct?"

"Not really. There are more jobs, right?"

"For the creative, there are always jobs."  Snape answered, putting a tea bag in the teapot.

"You wouldn't tell me to learn about computers just to be creative."  Harry smirked.

"Hardly."  Snape scoffed.

"But you were a spy for too many years, so...maybe you want me to learn computers so I can function in the muggle world if I want."

"Perhaps."  Snape said, pouring the water. He looked like he was trying not to smile.

"Did you use muggle skills when you were a spy?"

A mug was placed on the table in front of Harry and Snape's eyes had gone slightly clouded in thought.  He was dressed in his regular black slacks with a very old-fashioned dress shirt, every bit the wizard save for his long teaching robes.  In spite of this, Harry clearly remembered how the man had yanked wires out of the cable box against the shared outside wall and stolen cable from the neighbours just last summer.

"Never undervalue the ability to disappear within a group of common place people."

"When we play chess, Ron says it's sometimes more effective to hide in plain sight."  Harry commented, privately wondering if Snape ever found a slice of anonymous comfort when he immersed himself in the muggle world.

"Hmm. Regardless of Mr. Weasley's chess strategies, you will be taking lessons from Mrs. Price.  Muggle technology develops at a rather alarming rate, and no son of mine will be left in the dark ages."

Snape took his tea and made for the library. 

"And do not hex Mrs. Price. If I can stand her for ten years, so can you."

...

Mrs. Price arrived two days later, after Harry had spent an hour muggle-proofing the downstairs.  Snape's house was a mixture of muggle and wizard, and while the books had already been spelled to not show magical titles, there was still the Prince gobstones set to hide away, floo powder to tidy up, and an alarming amount of potion vials in the kitchen to put away. Harry had just finished charming the pictures on the wall to remain stationary when a persistent rapping sounded on the door.

"Give me your wand." Snape said, following Harry to the door.

"I'm not giving you my wand." Harry sputtered.  "What if I say something about magic and I need to cover it up?"

"Memory modification spells are limited to licensed wizards." Snape answered, sounding smug.

Harry's hand fell on the doorknob as he gave Snape an incredulous look.

"You obliviate people all the time!" 

"Of course I do. It's for their own good."  Snape smirked as Harry opened the door.  Mrs. Price stood on the other side, dressed in an alarming amount of denim and topped with a shirt that had a cartoon drawing of the Queen on it.  Her hair was tied into a tight bun, and had been dyed a shade of maroon that was nowhere near any natural hair colour. Snape had told him that she was in her early forties, but Harry thought that was being generous.

"Hmmph. You need a haircut. And so does your father."  Mrs. Price said, tapping her foot as she waited to be let in. 

"Nice to meet you too." Harry mumbled, opening the door and gesturing towards the office. 

"Mrs. Price," Snape greeted, standing behind Harry. "I hear it has been seven months since your last citation for being a public nuisance.  Heartfelt congratulations."

Harry covered his laugh with a cough and lead Mrs. Price to the computer in the office. 

"So kind of you to notice, Mr. Snape. It always amazes me at how well you keep up with things whilst you're away for so many months."

"It is a gift." Snape acknowledged. He ignored Harry's growl in response to his non-verbal disarming spell. "Thank you for agreeing to teach Elliot, and do not touch anything on my desk in the office."

Harry was accustomed to most of Snape's teaching glares, and he was gratified to see that Mrs. Price was not. She seemed to waver slightly, before nodding and sitting down.  Snape left the room, Harry's wand in his pocket, and Harry flipped on the computer. The faster he learned, the faster the lessons would go.

"Now, I know Mr. Snape likes to dress in funny clothes and pretend he's some sort of imaginary creature, but I refuse to entertain those hallucinations. I will teach you how to use the computer and the internet, and whatever you do on your own time I'd prefer not to know."  Mrs. Price took one last disapproving glance at his mismatched socks and then proceeded to click through things on the computer, ignoring Harry.

Harry just stared.

June 19th 1998.  A young man sits in an uncomfortable chair, surrounded by his peers and dressed in a fancy suit.  His hair has been combed into submission, and his glasses switched for wizarding contacts.  He waits impatiently for his name to be called, peering up at the front of the courtyard periodically and smiling as he checks the time on a shiny new watch.  The impossible achieved. Aka, get a job now, lazy sod.

 ......

The courtyard, much like it had been for the headmaster's funeral more than a year earlier, was covered in foldable white chairs littered with family members and friends of students as they chatted and waited for the ceremony to start. At the front of the chairs was a section corded off for the graduates to sit at.  Up at the front stage, most of the professors had gathered to take their seats.

A small gong went off that softly echoed to the grounds, and as the spectators rose, the graduates walked in pairs down the centre aisle to take their seats.  The men were dressed in simple black suits, their ties the only give away to their house affiliations.  They all had crisp white shirts on, and they were a stunning contrast to the guests who were dressed in various colourful wizard robes.   The female students wore dresses of varied cuts in the same deep gold colour of the Hogwarts crest, their house colours shown by thin scarves.

Harry waited silently as his other classmates were called one by one up to the platform to receive their diplomas and shake the hands of their professors one last time. He clapped along with the parents as each student, before leaving the stage, was cloaked in a Hogwarts alumni robe. Reminiscent of their first day seven years ago, arriving on the boats across the lake before they'd ever been sorted. Finally his own name was called, and Harry stood with his head held high, ignoring the applause from people who'd gathered just to see the Boy Who Lived graduate.

Walking up to the platform with his shoulders proud, Harry met the gaze of each teacher and felt accomplished when he saw the flicker of pride in Snape's eyes.  McGonagall gave him his roll, cancelling her voice enhancement before she spoke to him.

"Mr. Elliot Snape, congratulations.  Your hard work has certainly paid off, and you've excelled far beyond what we ever asked of you." She gave him a hug, and Harry heard the clapping raise louder.  "Your Dad is very proud of you."  She had a warm smile on her face, and Harry was thankful that his head of house had treated him mostly like any other student to enter Hogwarts. It made her praise feel all that much more worthy to him.

Harry made his way down the line, smiling and nodding as he accepted congratulations.  He paused when he reached Snape, knowing that most of his peers were waiting to see if he'd pull some sort of joke, and that the journalists were waiting to capture some saccharine family moment.  They'd been mightily disappointed in the lack of publicity either Harry or Snape was willing to provide.   Instead of doing anything out of the ordinary though, Harry stuck his hand out and shook Snape's hand.

"Thanks for everything, sir."

Snape nodded his head and gave Harry's hand a little squeeze.  The night before Snape had invited Harry down to the dungeons for dinner, and gifted him with a brand new watch.  This one had not been charmed to alert Snape of any danger Harry found himself in, though Harry had requested that it perhaps be made into a two-way communication device, just in case there was a real emergency.

Snape had agreed with a roll of his eyes, and Harry had shown off the sleek black watch to his friends that morning.

"Congratulations."  Snape said softly, never breaking eye contact with Harry.

"Thanks Dad."  Harry smiled back, squeezing his hand once before dropping it to go back to his seat, grinning the entire time and ignoring the reporters questioning him.

Once everyone's names were called and the diplomas were given out, Harry walked with his classmates down to the moor that they had arrived at seven years earlier.  Standing on the boats this time in pairs, the students waved and cheered as they left, drifting off towards Hogsmeade and the world.

August 21st, 2000.  A young man lies on a solid wood workbench in the middle of a darkened shop, hand hanging over the side of the counter and book dropped on the floor under his hand.  There is a cloak rolled up under his head, one shoe off and the other just hanging on to the socked foot. A man stands just off to the side, sipping silently from a take-away coffee cup and staring down at his son with fond exasperation.  The Shopkeeper's Initiation.

..........

Snape walked through the front door of the shop, shaded by old copies of the Prophet stuck to the windows.  There was a small set of four steps that led up to the main floor of the shop, which was meticulously swept clean.  Against the walls around the left side were large compartment shelves full of old typesetting blocks from antique printers.  There were over a hundred different font types, and large catalogues resting on waist level shelves under the blocks.  Snape knew the catalogues held reams of icons and family crests in them for customers to peruse.

Snape ignored the young man that was currently sprawled out on the workbench at the back of the store and admired instead the meticulously arranged tools hanging on the far wall.  They seemed to be sorted by size and material type, and were all labeled.  The work area was roped off, protected partially by the antique cash register.  Backwards lettering on the shop window, which Snape could barely read, must have been the late night work of either Harry or Ronald.

The Quill's Impression.

Harry had bought the shop from an old boot maker that had retired, and Snape had helped with the paperwork.  Harry had done most of the work setting it up, taking his time to choose the perfect paint colour for the walls, placing his work area just right, choosing the fonts and icons he could do for the customer book.  He set up a system for orders and pickups, and with Snape worked out a price list and schedule. Snape was quite proud of the shop that Harry had made for himself.  If only the little twit would be conscious for the opening.

Snape stepped across the shop and stood beside the workbench, wand in hand and a bag of hot cinnamon rolls in the other.  Two paper cups of coffee had been placed on the cash counter a moment earlier. It technically wasn't Harry's fault that he'd stayed up so late - Snape knew that the idiot Weasley twins had taken it upon themselves to initiate Harry to the Diagon Alley marketer's association with a rather vigorous round of drinking the night before. Nonetheless, it was seven am and customers would be arriving at nine to check out the new shop.   Even though things had calmed down three years after Voldemort's defeat, and a good chunk of the wizarding population regularly forgot that Elliot Snape was actually Harry Potter, Snape figured that the turn out today would be rather large. 

Putting the bag of rolls down, and noting with amusement that Harry's nose was twitching at the smell, he leaned forwards and put on a scowl.

"Potter! How dare you sleep through my class!"

Snape managed not to smirk at the panicked expression on Harry's face as he bolted upright and nearly fell off the table.

"Uh! Lacewing! One pinch hellebore."  Harry blinked and looked around, seeming to recognize where he was.  "Oh, really funny, Dad."  Harry scowled.

Snape twitched his lips and withdrew a shrunken bundle of clothes.

"Go to the back and wash up, Mr. Shopkeeper." Snape ordered, resizing the clothing. 

Harry hopped off the table and stretched, wincing a little when his back cracked.  He swiped the clothes and his hand got smacked as he tried to sample some of the icing on a cinnamon roll.

"Shower first."

Harry stuck his tongue out at Snape's back and walked to the door of the employee part of the shop, where there was a small washroom.  Harry had spent three months setting up his store, and was almost certain he was ready for his customers. He had some generic alphabet wax insignia stamps already carved for immediate purchase, as well as some of the more popular wizarding symbols.  He wasn't sure if it was enough, but in two hours he'd find out.

"Dad?" Harry paused at the door, distractedly running his hand up the doorframe.

Snape looked up from his perch on the cashier's stool, coffee cup in hand. He'd been perusing the order catalogue Harry had stacked there just the night before.

"You will be a success." Snape answered, seemingly knowing the question without needing to ask.

"Yeah, but... I mean thanks."  Harry said, scratching the side of his head. "But if it doesn't...if I don't..."

"I will not be disappointed, Elliot."

Harry's grin lit up the back of the little shop.

"Neither will I then."

 December 24th 2007.  The wind smacks little flurries of snow against the kitchen window, where a man in black dress trousers and a warm jumper stands and stares out into the cold winter night. It is Christmas Eve, and in his arms he holds a small baby who is drinking from a bottle and staring at him as if there is nothing else in the room. Her little fingers attempt to grasp at the curled end of his long hair, but he avoids the grip neatly, and she's got his undivided attention regardless.  He hums along with the radio, to a song his mother used to sing to him on Christmas. Christmas is here / Bringing good cheer / To young and old / Meek and the bold.

..........

"Poppa! Popp-achoo!"  A blur of energy bounded into the sitting room, wearing a bright red Santa hat with a plastic spider on it. It was flopped over a spattering of messy black hair, and the familiar shade of bright green eyes that Snape had first seen more than thirty-five years earlier. An identical blur burst into the room not a moment later.

"I believe I told you to sneeze into your sleeve, Jack."  Snape said calmly, putting his tumbler down on a side table and out of the way of the four year old. Wizard architects had been hired to extend the bottom floor of Snape's house for the holiday: his office has been doubled in size, couches placed tastefully against the walls and a very large Christmas tree sat in between the front two windows.  It twinkled madly, and since arriving the twins had been attempting to check out the presents underneath.

"Five times." Benjamin replied, standing next to Jack with an impish look on his face. Of all traits to possess, Harry Potter had to have twins with photographic memories. 

"Yes, well. Unlike your father, I don't tell you things just to hear myself speak."  Snape huffed.  Beside him sat an older man in a ridiculous yellow night robe, who Snape was finding very hard to ignore.  He did, however, allow a smug half smile to befall his face at the remembrance that the twins liked him much better than their other grandfather.

"Leave off little Jackie, boys will be boys."  Gabe Wendohlson commented airily with a wave of his hand.  Snape could not understand how his son could end up marrying someone with a father who could be the twin of Sybil Trelawney.  Even his scowls garnered absolutely no response from the man, though his wife had certainly noticed over dinner.

"And dogs will be dogs, what is your point? They're still trainable." Snape answered.

"Is it time for the story yet?"  Benjamin asked, kneeling close to the tree.

"Snape One and Snape Two!"  Harry's voice carried down the small hall as he moved closer, and Snape watched as the twins instantly straightened up.  He had to admit, Harry had done a very good job in not spoiling them, and it was easy to see that they adored their father.

"You must be in pajamas for the story to start."  Snape said gruffly, tapping his wand against a worn leather bound book on the table beside him.

"Jack? Benjamin? Where the dev- Oh hey Dad."  Harry's messy hair was the first thing that appeared in the doorframe, followed by the glasses, a grin, and a bundle in his arms wrapped in pale green.  Snape gave a tiny smile to the last.

"Apparently it is approaching story time."  Snape answered, nodding to the two boys beside him.

"Elliot? Where's the baby? She'll need to be fed soon."  Chase, Harry's wife, called at him from the kitchen.

"I've got her, she's asleep!"  Harry called back.

"Not for long, if you keep carrying on that loudly."  Snape pointed out. A muggle radio played from the stereo shelf next to Snape, and the boys were singing in rather off key tones to the Christmas song.

"You know, you tolerate them more than you ever did any other child."  Harry grinned as he looked down on his four year old sons.

"I never strangled you when you were younger."  Snape countered, holding out his arms.  Harry walked into the room and towards Snape, carefully lowering the sleeping baby in his arms.

"D'you mind watching her?" Harry asked, even though the baby had already been handed over.  Next to Snape Gabe was humming along with the radio, his mind on another planet.

"Daddy says if we're extra good Santa might leave us something for being good big brothers."  Benjamin announced.

"Ah, but have you been good brothers?" Snape asked, one calloused hand of his smoothing out a dark curl on the little girl's forehead. "How will your sister learn the proper Christmas ritual if you're not dressed properly for it?"

"We'll go!" Both boys shouted, flashing a bright smile at Snape. They were staying in Harry's old room, and Snape winced as he heard them clambering up the stairs.

"Harry Potter!"

"Bollocks." Harry muttered, flashing a quick glance towards the kitchen. 

"My, my."  Snape murmured, clearly amused. The baby seemed to be drooling as she hummed in her sleep. "You've really pissed her off if she's using your hero name."

"It's a good night for starlight." Gabe mused.  The windows were obscured by bit of the Christmas tree, the reflections from the twinkling tree lights, and the ugly orange glow from the streetlamp on the corner.  Both Snape and Harry stared at him.

"She's just mad that I bought the boys bicycles for Christmas. Thinks they're too dangerous, or some daft thing like that."  Harry explained.

"Well, they do say that muggle toys are constructed without a care for safety. Far too dangerous."  Gabe cut in, actually paying attention.

"Who are they?"  Snape demanded.  "You've been going on about they all damn night."

In his arms the baby fussed.

"You know, they." Gabe answered vaguely.

"You bought them training brooms when they were two."  Harry said, pointing a finger at his father in law with a smirk. "How is that any safer?"

"Well, it's magic, you see."

From Snape's arms came a surprisingly loud belch from such a small baby.

"Elliot, your daughter is disgusting." Snape said with a small grimace.

"Disgusting? Oh, did she burp again?"  A female voice asked, entering the room.  She had a glass of eggnog in her hand that had a telltale wisp of firewhiskey steam rising from it.  "I wonder if she's got a sensitive stomach like Elliot sometimes does."

Snape glared at his daughter in law and summoned a washcloth from the baby bag in the corner.

"I shall prepare myself for the inevitable vomit."

"Dad!"  Harry huffed, leaning against the couch arm. "I only threw up on you once."

"Daddy threw up on you, Poppa?"  Benjamin slipped back into the room, wearing a long red nightshirt overtop of his pajama pants.  Snape had trained the twins to sleep in nightshirts, and much to Harry's chagrin, they refused to sleep in anything else.

"Seven times."  Snape informed Benjamin gravely.

Chase moved a blanket off the couch and sat down across from Snape and the baby.  Jack climbed into her lap a few seconds later and she played with his hair and smiled.

"Well, I know three of those times was when he got food poisoning, when else did he get you?"

Harry was sat on the other side of Snape and reached over to tickle his daughter's toes.

"You're supposed to be retelling The Night Before Christmas. Not embarrassing things from my childhood."

"We all already know the Christmas story." Snape said, waving his hand.   He shifted the bundle in his lap and held up the baby, making eye contact with the sleepy hazel eyes.

"What say you, Girl Who Should Be Named By Now?"

"She has a name. Chase just doesn't agree with it."  Harry pointed out. Benjamin had settled himself into Harry's lap, and was watching Gabe flick his wand at the Christmas tree.

"Jane is too boring." Chase objected. "She needs something original, something that stands out. You got Jack and Benjamin, I want something big for her."

"Something like Aurelia Anastasia."  Chase's mother Adeline said, joining them at last.  She'd just finished tidying up from dinner and had a steaming mug of something in her hands.

"Pay your grandmother no mind."  Snape told the little one, wiping some drool from her chin.  "She's obviously addled."

"Well, I never!"  Adeline huffed. She took a seat on the couch next to Gabe and looked mildly affronted. "What's wrong with the names I chose?"

"Chase is a verb, not a name."  Snape answered, turning to look at Chase herself. "My only objection regarding you so far."

"Thank you."  Chase replied, rolling her eyes.  The baby started to fuss, but neither Harry nor Chase made any move to take her from Snape.

"So, do you think Santa brought what you asked for this year?"  Harry asked, smiling at his sons.  Both Benjamin and Jack had been on their best behaviours all day, even agreeing to sit still long enough for a family portrait to be taken.  They'd been very excited upon visiting the Hogwarts' headmistress office to see the portrait of Grandpa James and Grandma Lily, and had spent an hour telling the portrait all about what they were doing for Christmas this year.

The baby started to cry in frustration, and Snape stood swiftly.  It was past suppertime, and Chase told him that there was a warm bottle in the kitchen. Just as he was headed out the office door, fireworks sounded in the street and the boys popped up to stare out the window.

Snape carried the fussy little princess through the library and into the kitchen, which still smelled quite good from the dinner leftovers. The baby bottle was sitting next to the stove and Snape found the temperature of the formula satisfactory.  So did his granddaughter, who eagerly started to eat.

"This is why you have gas, you know."  Snape told her, looking down at the tiny thing in his arms.  She was already four months old, but to Snape she was ridiculously small.  The twins had seemed even smaller. He'd only held Harry as a fourteen month old at his youngest, and while Snape had actually enjoyed having such a young toddler around, he still felt a bit cheated that he missed out on more of Harry's childhood. Beggars can't be choosers, Snape thought as he looked out the kitchen window to the garden.  The snow fort Benjamin and Jack had built earlier was still standing strong, though the wind had weathered some of the snow walls.  He had grandchildren now, as odd as that concept still was to him.

A drawn out sigh caught his attention and the baby scowled at him as he shifted her in his arms.

"You look like a real Snape when you do that, Lorelei."  Snape informed her, his lips twitching into a smile. Snape wondered if he could teach a baby how to glare properly.  She had dark hair like Harry's, but it was much straighter and didn't stick up at random. She didn't have Harry's eyes either, instead of a brilliant green like her brothers, she had ended up with a grayish hazel colour.

Snape rocked slowly back and forth on his feet as the baby snuggled close in his arms, still sucking away at dinner.  He held her rapt attention as he stared out the window, her gaze from his face never broken even as he looked down to speak to her.

"Happy Christmas, Lorelei."

Standing in the kitchen doorway under a notice-me-not spell, Harry and Chase watched as Snape hummed along to one of the old Christmas tunes on the radio.   With practiced hand he managed to both feed their daughter and avoid her curious fingers from grabbing his long hair.

"Lorelei Snape." Chase said with approval.  "We just need a middle name."

"Ela."  Harry immediately offered. "There's Eileen, Lily, and Adeline.  She can be Lorelei Ela Snape."

Chase leaned back against Harry, and he draped his arms loosely around her.

"Your dad will never let us live this down, will he?"

"That he named our child when we couldn't? Not a chance."  Harry smiled.