Twisting a sable curl around his fingers, his burgundy eyes narrowed as thin as the lips with which he smirks, Lord Voldermort gazes down at the small toddler, whose blue-black hair lay smooth and silken around a face almost too finely boned and angular for a child. The boy’s chest rises and falls with the deep, peaceful sleep of childhood. Harry Snape had little to fear, or so he, in his innocence, believes, from his godfather.  

The child knows nothing of the word ‘hostage’ or even of the concept of insurance. 

“And now, little Harry we have come, not to the end but, yes, to a pause in our story.” Voldemort murmurs. “Four years ago tonight, I united your parents; inadvertently, I must admit, and, yes, to achieve my own ends, yet see how karma has repaid me? The one prophesised to be my Vanquisher is dead, the Ministry lies but an inch from my grasp and tonight, as I have sat here, telling you the story of your birth, your dear father has been at Hogwarts, repaying, in part, the debt you all owe your Lord.”  

Voldemort pauses, then catches sight of his now handsome face in the looking-glass. He smiles “Although your mother has contributed in her own small way. For a mudblood, her talent in charms is considerable.” 

The door creaks open, revealing a tall, slender figure, his black robes sodden and shiny with rain.

He steps up to Voldemort, then kneels, proffering an ancient wand, it’s wood stained black by the centuries. 

“The Elder Wand, my Lord” Severus says.  

“You have done well, my boy.” Voldemort replies, snatching up the wand and breaking it between his long, pale fingers. “I will now leave you to your son.” 

The door closes, releasing a draught which caresses the candles, making their flames flicker.

Removing his heavy robe, setting aside the ugly white mask, Severus approaches Harry’s bedside, the strain and care which line his face fading into a smile as he beholds the rosy countenance of his son. 

“Daddy?” bright eyes, one emerald, the other sapphire, surrounded by long sable lashes, flutter open. 

“Yes, Harry, I’m here.” Severus replies softly. 

“You goned.”  The toddler informs him in a serious tone. 

“I came back” the man replies, sitting in the chair his master just vacated. He smoothes Harry’s silken hair. “Would you like a bedtime story?” 

Harry tilts his head to the side. He is sure that he has had his story for tonight (‘just one’ his father always says ‘or else that busy little brain of yours won’t switch off’). However, a story that he can’t remember is scarcely a story at all, in Harry’s opinion. 

“Yes. Ancanihavsomecocoandacake?” the child asks, rounding his bright, harlequin eyes in an attempt to look winsome.  

Severus’ mouth twists into a half-smile “Yes, you may have some cocoa and a cake and I might just stretch to a story as well, but then you will need to go to sleep.” 

At that moment, Lily walks in; her fiery red hair vivid against the dark silk of her gown. “Did I hear some special boys wanted cocoa and cakes?” She smirks.

“You were listening at the door again” Severus replies, without rancour.  

“Indeed” his wife answers pertly. “Otherwise, how would I ever learn anything?” although that green gaze appears older, perhaps wiser, right now there is still something sharp, questioning, within its depths. 

“I suppose we do what we must” he replies, his lapis lazuli eyes reassuring in their warmth. 

“Mummy!” Harry insists, aware only that his treat is not, as yet, within his podgy little paws 

“Here pumpkin” she has been calling him that for years. James never understood the joke but Severus’ eyes crinkle.  

“Mmm” Harry mutters, his mouth full of sweet, spicy cake.  

Severus loops his arm around Lily’s waist and pulls her into his lap “Do you want your story, Harry?” 

“Yeth” the toddler mumbles around his sippy cup of cocoa.  

Severus smiles indulgently. “A thing of beauty is a joy forever, its loveliness increases; it will never pass into nothingness but still will keep a bower quiet for us and a sleep…”