The great house stood like the dilapidated ruins of a magnificent palace. Its gigantic walls, which would once stand gleaming snow-white against the sapphire-blue sky, surrounded by beautiful gardens, were now grey and chipped, enveloped in a tangled mass of creepers and undergrowth. Two extremely dusty rubies sat on either side of the creaky gate, which bore traces of recent human touch, and at the centre of this gate was a board with two engraved words just decipherable: POTTER MANOR.

  A light shone in one of the rooms in the lower storey, whereas the upper storey was almost rid of any trace of human existence. A dark figure was seen moving within the lighted room occasionally.

    It was almost two months since Voldemort had been defeated in the final battle by Harry. The newspapers were abuzz with the news of the after-effects of the war, the formation of the new Ministry of Magic and the reopening of Hogwarts. They also kept coming up with wild guesses about Harry’s whereabouts. But the Potter Manor was situated in so well-concealed a place and protected by so many charms that it was near impossible for anyone to know of its existence, let alone the existence of a human being there.

        Harry had shunned contact with everyone since Voldemort’s defeat, which had been partly triggered by Hedwig’s absence and his own refusal to buy another owl.

  Tonight, which was a day from Christmas, he sat in an old armchair beside the fire, contemplating the war and its participants. First he thought of the Weasleys, then – but the memory of Fred’s body was still too painful. It also reminded him of all his other friends who had sacrificed their lives in the war – Remus, Tonks, Dobby, Colin and Sirius – though Sirius had died two years ago – and then all the others like Ted Tonks, Dirk Cresswell and even Scrimgeour. Dumbledore – well, his death was partly his fault, anyway – and his memory brought in the memory of –

  Abruptly Harry sat up straighter in his chair. That sacrifice had been the most heroic, tragic and unexpected one. Love could make people do anything, thought Harry. His parents had given their lives out of love for him; Xenophilius Lovegood had switched loyalties and tried to give Harry, Ron and Hermione to the Death Eaters to get his daughter back, Sirius had broken out of Azkaban to save Harry from Pettigrew’s clutches, and Snape had practically devoted his entire life since his joining Dumbledore to Harry’s protection – all because he loved Lily. His case was, therefore, much unique for he did not love the person he had protected half his life-long; instead he had done it out of love for someone else – whom he had no chance of ever winning, or even seeing, ever again. In fact, considering all the facts, Snape’s sacrifice had not been a momentary one, but a continuous one of sixteen years with no hope of any personal gain on his part.

     Harry recalled Nagini’s bite and shuddered. Forcing himself to Occlude and focus on happier thoughts, Harry ate his dinner and turned his thoughts to Christmas. The room still bore traces of holly eaves and frayed ribbons hung on pegs on the walls. There was even a torn stocking in one of the shelves, complete with a knitting needle and ball of wool. Sirius and James had resided here at some point of time – and so had his grandparents.

   But who remained here to celebrate Christmas with Harry? Who would, even, send him presents, since no one, not even Ron and Hermione, knew where he was? Pulling up his blankets, Harry lay back on his bed and shut his eyes, attempting to relax his over-worked nerves. Just as he was slipping into sleep, he felt a tingling in his veins, which indicated that there was some witch or wizard within a few feet of the wards around the house. Sighing irritably, he glanced outside the window. He stared. Then he got to his feet, pulled on his Cloak and walked downstairs to the gate.

   “This is a tad creepy, Dawlish. Are you sure this place isn’t a graveyard or something?”

“Certainly not, Williamson. It’s simply empty – sort of those meadows you see in the countryside. No one would see him here.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah – count on me. No one’s come here for years.”

  Harry drew closer, still invisible, as was the rest of the house, due to its wards. He tried to catch a glimpse of what they were holding in their arms.

“How did the fellow live, eh, Dawlish? Snake-venom, so strong, at that!”

“He wouldn’t have lived. This barmy fellow Ericson gave him a potion which reduced his age and body-size, reversed the effects of the poison. Then the healers in St. Mungo’s saved him and dumped him in the Ministry!”

“Couldn’t he be got rid of by selling him off to one of those Muggle bars?”

“No, Williamson. He’s a wizard, for heavens’ sake – he might do magic before the Muggles. He’s best here. We’ll say he got blasted in an accident. Or maybe Rita can add her own story.”

“Who’d want him, anyway? Damn Death-Eater. Ugh – that mark’s still there on his skin.”

They left the bundle on the ground and Disapparated together.

   Harry cautiously drew closer to the bundle, owing to the paranoia the war had created in him. Picking it up, he glanced at the contents, and almost dropped it again in his amazement. There lay a raven-haired child with unmistakable obsidian eyes and the greenish skull-mark on the left arm, etched like a white discolouration on the sallow skin. This apparition seemed too sudden and grotesque to his already shattered nerves, and Harry dropped to the ground in a dead faint with the baby on top of him. When he recovered, the sky looked lighter and the first hues of red were appearing in the sky. He looked at himself. The baby had fallen asleep on his chest after this extremely brief introduction, if it could be called so.

Seeing that the baby did not disappear from his arms as he stood up, Harry muttered, “Well! So it was true after all!”

Meanwhile, Severus gazed around himself. He was still very confused, of course, at the rapid turn of events and the tangled state of his own memory. His adult memories still persisted, but his body was straining to behave its age. He had struggled valiantly to free himself when the men had poured the strange liquid down his throat, but it hadn’t been much use due to his injuries. He hadn’t got used to his new state of body yet, when he suddenly found himself in Potter’s arms. Severus experienced mixed feelings. On one side, he hated, and had always hated the boy, as he was the spitting image of James. On the other side, he had confessed his true loyalties, their reason, as well as many instances from his childhood...his association with Lily and partly his own feelings to the boy....now the question was, did the boy hate him? Leave alone hate, had his opinion of him changed at all?

     Severus tilted his head to gaze at the boy’s face. He did not look particularly vengeful; neither did he appear to loathe Severus as he usually did; instead he looked as confused as Severus felt. What was he thinking? Severus chided himself. Trusting himself to the care of this foolhardy boy – a Gryffindor at that, who was not even eighteen, for heavens’ sake! And when he had just fainted at the sight of Severus. Just then the boy spoke.

“I want you to know... I called you a coward last year – but – well, now that I know all that I do, you are the last person to whom I’ll ever use that word. You – well, I’d better say it now, than when you – err....grow up again – to me, you’re even braver than Dumbledore. Yes, you are – and well, considering the situation, it seems mad to say it, but – I’d have been proud to have you as a dad.”

Severus blinked at this utterly unpredictable boy. Long unexplored emotions welled up in his heart, and suddenly he felt a strange urge to cry.

He started at the boy’s voice.

“Err...well, sorry – I forgot to add – Professor.”

Severus stared, not knowing whether to laugh or cry. Then he did something he had never done – not even to his mother, for he had never felt this intimately attached to her – he launched himself at the boy, wrapped his arms around his neck and buried his face in his neck.

“Looks like I’ll have to replace the word “father” with “son” then!” laughed Harry. “I must be the first person to have a two year-old Professor as my son. Wonder what Ron would look like if I told him! But right now I won’t tell anyone. It’ll just be the two of us, leaving in peace for a while. Do you know you’ve made me a virgin father? Nice of the Christmas ghosts to send me you as a Christmas gift!”

Severus cuddled deeper in Harry’s robes.

Harry yawned. “Let’s go in, then, before you catch a chill,” he said, and walked into the house with Severus in his arms. He placed Severus on his bed and surveyed him with a grin.

“Now, tell me – what do you want me to call you, hmm?”

Severus mutely held out his arms.

Harry held him close and murmured, “Well, how about Sev?”

Severus looked at his new guardian. Then he did something he had not done since more than twenty years – he smiled.

The next Christmas, two stockings hung side by side on the handle of one of the windows of the upper storey – one embroidered in green and silver, the other in red and gold.

~Flashback – a month after Voldemort’s defeat~

The hall of the Burrow was looking like a collection of chameleons moving about when viewed from a distance. When closely inspected, they turned out to be wizards and witches wearing an assortment of robes of apparently any colour under the sun. A great babble of voices could be heard issuing from the occupants of the room, who were currently engrossed in a major discussion, from which, unfortunately, some of the members of the house were excluded.

‘But we fought in the war!’ said Ron, indignantly. ‘And we’re of age!’

‘Yes – but this is adult business – you are NOT supposed to be in it.’

Ron gave her an incredulous look. ‘Adult business?’ he said. ‘Voting for the Minister? We’re what – five?’

‘Don’t argue with me, young man!’ snapped Mrs. Weasley, whose nerves were still frayed since the war. She hadn’t recovered from the loss of Fred yet. Neither had George, but he didn’t show it. ‘Go upstairs. AT ONCE. Hermione dear, take this pile of washing with you as you go, will you?’

‘Sure, Mrs. Weasley. Come on, Ron.’ Mrs. Weasley smiled wanly at her. Close by, Hermione noticed how tired she looked, with dark rings round her eyes and her pale face. She led Ron upstairs to the twins’ room. George was sitting there, poking at a chess-piece. He didn’t look up as they entered.

‘There you are, then!’ Ginny appeared at the door and sat down on the bed with the other three. Casting an anxious look at George, she glanced around and saw that the room was in a dreadful mess – books lying open on the floor, a small pot of Floo powder stacked clumsily into the floorboard, a pair of robes belonging to Fred hanging from a hook of the open wardrobe, a box of Canary Creams on the shelf next to the bed and a knapsack strewn across a chair – in short, the room looked exactly as Fred had left it.

Hermione caught her look and giving Ron a meaningful glance, she said, ‘You look nice in that dress, Ginny.’

‘Thanks, Hermione,’ said Ginny. ‘Fleur got it for me – she wouldn’t listen – said she’s gifted one to her sister too, and had bought the pair together.’

‘That’s very generous of her, I’m sure. I’ve heard she and Bill are going to have a baby soon?’

‘Oh yes – she’s started knitting stockings for the baby already.’

‘Wonder what they’re saying downstairs?’ said Ron, with a quick glance across at George. A pair of Extendable Ears lay right in front of the latter, yet he didn’t show the slightest inclination to use them.

‘You three can stay here then, just tell Mum I’m going over to Lee’s for this evening,’ said George, speaking at last, and taking his wand out, he Apparated.

Ginny looked apprehensively at the others and picked one of the Extendable Ears. They did likewise. Slowly tiptoeing across, they suspended the Ears to the room below to catch what the Order members were saying. They did feel the inevitable slight excitement of doing things secretly, but it was somehow lacking in the enthusiasm of the previous times. The conversation slowly became intelligible to them as their ears got accustomed to the low voices below.

    ‘But surely the Unspeakables would not permit us to do that?’

‘Oh they do, trust me, when Kingsley tells them to,’ said the grim voice of Aberforth Dumbledore.

‘Oh yes – you were voted as Minister, right?’

(‘I knew she was putting us off! Voting, fiddlesticks!’)

‘Yes. I first thought of rejecting it, but then I thought that there was no one sensible for the job, and if I didn’t take it, one of those jerks Dawlish and Williamson would take it.’

‘Heavens! Them!’

‘Yeah. So I took the job – wasn’t much of a problem.’

‘But can the dead return to the living with their original – bodies that we can – you know – touch and feel?’

‘I’m not sure yet – some people say they can.’

‘How?’

‘Oh well, there were some rumours about something called the three Hallows – ever heard of them? Don’t believe in them, do you? Neither do I. Anyway, these people seemed to think that they existed, and they believe that if these are united by the right person, who is indeed the sole possessor of these three Hallows, in the presence of a child, and if this person summons the dead people then they can come back to the living in their original state, solid and all.’

‘And who, may I ask, were these – ah...people?’

‘Well, one of them was Xenophilius Lovegood –’

‘That crazy old bugger! You believe him?’

‘Well, he says he has proof –’

‘Proof? He’ll be showing you his own things....honestly, I don’t believe people for falling for his words – his possessions are worth gawking at....normal people don’t own such things like Spectrespecs...’

‘You noticed that badge he wore our wedding?’

‘What badge? Oh, he must have nicked the signs from a book and made it himself.’

‘I mean – he must know something about them, mustn’t he?’

‘It seems interesting, Abe.’

‘To a collector of fairy-tales, maybe.’

‘Oh, come on...it’s worth a try!’

‘Worth a try? What do you propose to do – raid the antique-shops?’

‘What were those three things again?’

‘Oh – one was a stone – the Philosopher’s stone, or something.’

‘There was one in Gringotts a few years back, wasn’t it?’

‘It was nicked from there...and then Harry was linked to the matter somehow.’

‘How? He didn’t –?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then –?’

‘He helped get it back. Don’t ask where it is now – I don’t know. The only thing I do know is that it was quite old – about a few centuries old, I should think.’

‘And talking about Harry – where is the boy?’

‘That’s the glitch – no one knows.’

‘Hey – wasn’t one of those three things a Cloak? Harry has one, doesn’t he?’

‘Yes, but how do you know it’s old?’

‘He got it from his father, didn’t he?’

‘So? That’s just fifty years.’

‘And where did James get it from?’

‘How am I to know?’

‘Hang on a minute. Accio Tapestry!’

‘Wha –?’

‘Potter....oh yes, here you go – look. Tracing upwards...the lik connecting James leads directly to Ignotus Peverell, Abe.’

‘But what does that prove?’

‘The Peverells are the three brothers of the tale, Amos – the other two had the Wand and the Stone.’

‘But McMillan, how’s it possible?’

‘It is not only possible, Fiona. It is the truth. Look – here’s the book says the Cloak was the third brother’s, and Ignotus was the third brother.’

‘But how do you know the Cloak was his?’

‘Because I saw Dumbledore’s researches upon the matter.’

‘Been reading quite a lot, have you?’

‘Oh well, simply to satisfy my curiosity.’

‘All right then. We’ll meet again tomorrow, everyone.’

There came the sound of chairs being scraped across the floor, and several Cracks of Disapparation, and then Ron, Hermione and Ginny removed their Extendable Ears, and sat looking at each other in silence, each of them equally confused.

‘Where is Harry, do you think?’ asked Ron, in a hushed voice.

‘I – I really don’t know, Ron!’ said Hermione, looking suddenly troubled. ‘I don’t even know if he’s alive!’

Ginny blanched. Just then, George entered the room. They all looked around at him, and he looked graver than he had before he left. Flopping down into a chair, he handed them a copy of The Daily Gazette opened at a certain page. They read:

Mysterious fire at St. Mungo’s

Three wards at St. Mungo’s caught fire yesterday due to yet unknown reasons. Due to the large number of patients, quick evacuation was slow, and resulted in the coma of four patients due to severe burns in three adjoining wards. They were mentally unstable and therefore completely helpless, and were victimised due to the late arrival of the respective Healers.

   The most intriguing matter was the nature of the fire – it was not extinguished by water, which gave rise to the belief that it was caused by a sort of Curse. Investigations are now being carried out under the new Minister of Magic – Kingsley Shacklebolt.

‘So this means,’ said Ginny, ‘that Harry is not quite safe yet. Some of the Death Eaters are still living.’

But George said ‘Read on,’ and thrust the paper back at Hermione. She read:

The victims’ names are: Albert Hopkins, Gilderoy Lockart, Frank and Alice Longbottom.

Hermione dropped the paper.  

~ End Flashback ~