“This is where you’ll be sleeping, Potter.”

Harry stood on the threshold to what used to be an additional storage room for potions ingredients. Snape had cleared it out the day before, shrinking the shelves and bottles to store them temporarily in his office. An inconvenience, admittedly, but then, he had no doubt that Hogwarts would soon provide him with an alternative space to store his things. When he had moved in, the small niche that was to house his private lab had grown into a large work space during the first few weeks.

“Cool,” Harry said.

Snape looked around the room. His godson wouldn’t have pronounced it “cool”; but then, Harry hadn’t grown up in a huge manor with a suite of rooms to call his own. There was a large fourposter bed like the one in the boy’s dormitory, complete with one of the locker-desk sets provided for every student. A huge window dominated the far wall, allowing an admittedly impressive view of an underwater landscape. As Harry gazed at it, a school of rainbow trout flitted past the window and disappeared into a field of waterweed.

“Are all cellar rooms in the Black Lake, sir?”

“Most of them,” Snape replied. “As you know, the Slytherin common room and dormitories are, and part of the kitchens, as well. There are some catacombs further underground that are no longer in use.”

Harry slowly crossed the room and put a hand on the window. “I like it,” he said softly.

Snape cleared his throat. “Well, make yourself at home then. I expect you to keep your quarters clean and orderly, and not to leave a mess in the bathroom.” He pointed at a door across the hall. “In there. Down the hall to your right is my living area and kitchen. You may go in there, provided you don’t leave your personal belongings lying around or disturb any of mine. To your left are my bedroom and private office, both of which are strictly off limits.” He gave the boy a pointed look to underline the statement. “I don’t want you to ever set foot in there without my permission, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry’s eyes suddenly shifted to something behind Snape. “Oh!”

Snape turned around. The newcomer had appeared as silently as a ghost, his thick black tail curled neatly around his paws as he sat in the doorway and studied the new arrival. After a tense moment or two, his amber eyes closed, and Snape breathed an inward sigh of relief. This could have gone very wrong, indeed.

“Marlowe,” he said dryly. “Meet Mr. Potter.”

Marlowe stared at him as if to say “you’re walking on thin ice, my friend”, then slowly unfurled his tail, arched his impressive body and sauntered over to inspect the boy whom Snape had so recklessly invited into his territory.

“I didn’t know you had a cat, sir.” Harry looked down at the huge animal, obviously torn between admiration and apprehension; a reaction Marlowe inspired in most people. “I’ve never seen him before.”

“Kneazle, actually,” Snape said. “And yes, well, Marlowe is not the most sociable of animals.”

That was putting it mildly. Even Dumbledore seemed slightly intimidated by the Kneazle’s formidable presence, and always vacated the armchair by the fire if Marlowe indicated that he wished to sit in it. As for Snape, he had learned to read his familiar’s moods and treat him accordingly. In return, Marlowe tolerated the Potions Master’s presence in his domain and kept his quarters free of mice.

“Can I pet him?” Harry asked.

Snape hesitated; Marlowe allowed very few people to touch him, and then only occasionally.

“You may try,” he said eventually, when Marlowe gave no indication that he wished no contact with the boy.

“Hello, Marlowe,” Harry said; Snape noted that he tried none of the “here kitty kitty” nonsense that had earned Trelawney a deep scratch on her hand. The boy leaned down and carefully ran a hand down the Kneazle’s back. Marlowe stilled, his ears twitching. Harry continued stroking. “I’m Harry. You can sleep in my bed if you want to.”

The Kneazle stared at the boy as if to say “certainly not”, but all the same, he remained where he was, allowing the small hand to comb through his thick fur.

“Marlowe sleeps in an armchair by the fireplace or on a shelf in my private office,” Snape said, wondering why he was sharing such information with the boy. “He values his routine.”

As do I, he added silently. Albus had once felt the need to point out the similarities between the Potions Master and his Kneazle familiar, only stopping when both of them had fixed him with their deadliest glares.

“Does he mind Hedwig being here?” Harry asked.

“No. As long as you keep her in your room, there should be no problem. Kneazles and owls were bred to co-exist peacefully.”

Marlowe gave his wizard a pointed stare for the breeding comment, arched his back and stalked to the door, having finished his inspection.

“Sir?”

Snape turned to the boy. “Yes?”

“Is there a Quidditch shop in Hogsmeade? If there is, can we go there?”

Snape pinched the bridge of his nose. Tomorrow was Saturday, so he might as well get the inevitable over with, or the infernal questions would never stop.

“Mr. Potter, you may tell Draco and Miss Granger to come to the Entrance Hall tomorrow after breakfast, and have everything ready. They had better not be late; I won’t waste any time waiting for dawdling children.”

The boy’s eyes widened. “Are we… are we going to Hogsmeade? Tomorrow?”

“No, boy, we’re accompanying the Headmaster to the Wizengamot’s annual bowling day,” Snape snapped, suppressing a sigh when he saw Harry’s face fall. Damn eleven-year-olds and their lacking understanding of sarcasm. “Of course we’re going to Hogsmeade, stupid child. You’ve been pestering me about it for the last three days, haven’t you?”

Had Harry been the golden Gryffindor McGonagall had envisioned, he might have rushed forward to hug his teacher; to Snape’s relief, however, all the boy did was give him a grin that threatened to split his face. “Cool. Thank you, sir.”

“Yes, well.” Snape cleared his throat. “You had better put your things away; I won’t have your room looking like a war zone.”

He left the boy behind to empty his trunk, and went to sit in the living room with Marlowe. The Kneazle gave him a long look, and Snape thought he detected a hint of sympathy in his familiar’s expression.

“Yes, I suppose so,” he muttered. “He’s here to stay, more likely than not.”

Marlowe stretched his front paws and closed his eyes, as if to say, “Oh well”.

Snape sighed.

###

“… according to Hogsmeade: A History, Hengist of Woodcroft founded it around 900, after he was driven from his home by the monks who’d come to his village. He, his wife and his son fled on brooms, which is why the oldest inn is named The Three Broomsticks…”

“Father said I should invite you for a round of butterbeer,” Draco interrupted Hermione Granger’s history lesson, patting the pocket of his robes which bulged impressively. “It’s to honor Malfoy hospitality, he said. Non-alcoholic for the three of us,” he added hastily at Snape’s stern look. “Father said you’d probably want Firewhisky instead, so I should make sure you get the most expensive one they have. I have enough to pay for everything.”

Snape sighed. While Lucius had doubtlessly wanted his son to show off the Malfoy wealth and generosity to his friends, he’d certainly not approve of Draco’s “plebeian” boasts. Fortunately, neither Harry nor Miss Granger seemed to mind their friend’s bragging.

“I read about your family in Wizarding Clans and Class Wars,” the girl said. “The Malfoys are a really old wizarding clan, aren’t they?”

“We can trace our lineage back to Salazar Slytherin,” Draco said proudly. “The Potters are almost as old, although they sometimes married mud-, I mean, Muggleborns and even Muggles.”

“Like my Aunt Miranda. She’s a witch, and her boyfriend’s a maths teacher,” Granger said. “He said he’ll teach me some geometry and algebra in the summer holidays, he thinks it’s a shame that wizarding children never get to learn – oh look, we’re there!”

The first houses of Hogsmeade had appeared behind the hill. At the sight, the three children nearly broke into a run, and Snape had to quicken his pace to keep up. Merlin save him from over-excited first-years; at least the students in Year 3 and above didn’t need a babysitter when they went to waste their money in the village.

At the entrance to the main street, Snape called the three back and waited with crossed arms until they stood in front of him, nearly bouncing with impatience.

“Before we go in, I’m going to set a few rules, and I expect you to obey them to the letter,” he said sternly. “Remember, this is a privilege that’s usually only granted to third-years and above, because they’re considered mature enough to behave responsibly. While we’re in the village, you’re not to wander out of sight, and if I tell you not to go somewhere, that means you’re not to set one foot in that direction. If you wish to purchase anything that costs more than four Sickles, you’re to ask me for permission, and there will be no whining if I say no. You’re not to speak to strangers or accept anything from them when I’m not around-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Draco said, basically hopping from one foot to the other. “We know. Can we go now, please, Uncle Sev?”

“Don’t interrupt Professor Snape,” Granger admonished the boy before Snape could even open his mouth. “It’s important that we know about stranger danger, right, Professor?”

“Stranger what?” Draco asked, looking bewildered.

“Miss Granger is right, although I am perfectly capable of administering my own reprimands,” Snape said with a pointed look at the girl, who blushed slightly. “Not all adult witches and wizards have the best of intentions, Draco, and you need to know how to handle yourself in such situations. As long as you stay within sight, however, I do not anticipate any problems.”

Later, he supposed that this sentence fell under the category of “famous last words”, and that it should have been a warning sign. Perhaps it was Albus’ bad influence, but at the time, he really hadn’t expected much in the way of trouble.

The first shop he was dragged into naturally turned out to be Zonko’s Joke Shop, an establishment he usually gave a wide berth. As it was not a visiting day for the older students, the place was mercifully empty, although Snape saw quite a few adult customers browsing the shelves. The rubbish on display had Harry and Draco in raptures of delight, while the Granger girl followed them around, rattling off facts she had picked up from Hogsmeade: A History.

“…in the Middle Ages, it was a place that sold amulets and such things, until Godelieff the Gory invented a bracelet that snapped at people’s hands, and it was such a success that the shop began to sell other novelty items…”

“Oh look, Uncle Sev!” Draco called. “Can I get one of those? Can I?”

Snape went to see what had the boy so excited. On a low table next to the wall, a miniature landscape was on display, not unlike the model railway Snape had seen in a Muggle shop. There was a forest consisting of trees that would have fit into his palm, and in the middle of the forest, a large cave housing…

“Dragons!” shouted Draco. “Look, there’s a Norwegian Ridgeback!”

He pointed at the live model of a green dragon that unfurled its tiny wings and breathed a cloud of emerald flames. There had to be dozens of them, climbing all over the cave and setting the small trees of their habitat on fire. A containment charm kept them on the table, while a flame freezing spell made sure there was no permanent damage from the fire. The three first-years stood mesmerized; Miss Granger even forgot about reciting Hogsmeade: A History.

“Can I have one, huh, Uncle Sev? Please?”

Snape looked down at his godson’s flushed face. Damn the shopkeepers for placing such expensive items on the eye level of their young customers; doubtlessly a strategy to ensure that the brats would pester their parents into buying the infernal things. Annoyingly enough, it seemed to be a strategy that worked.

“Do you think you really need one?” he stalled, although he knew it was no use. Clearly, Draco was convinced he needed a fire-breathing dragon more than anything in the world.

“Oh please, Uncle Sev, please!”

The shopkeeper, an elderly witch with a ridiculous orange hat, winked at him. Snape glared back.

“They cost 3 Galleons apiece,” he said to Draco. “That’s a lot of money.”

He could see that Draco disagreed, but the boy was too much of a Slytherin to say so out loud. “Yes, I know, but… oh please, Uncle Sev, I’ll do all my homework and everything, please!”

“I expect you to do your homework no matter what,” Snape said before turning to the other two, who seemed torn between watching the dragons and eavesdropping on Draco’s begging. “I suppose you too are eager to squander your money on something that serves no discernible purpose save for taking up space?”

A look at their shining eyes told him that it was so. Snape sighed, bowing to the inevitable. “Well, it’s your finances you’re wasting.”

Draco whooped, and Harry’s broad grin was mirrored on Miss Granger’s face. Snape had allowed them to take 5 Galleons each from their savings, and it seemed as if more than half of it would be spent on dragons.

It took another twenty minutes until they finally left the shop – Miss Granger had been unable to decide whether to pick a Chinese Fireball or a Peruvian Vipertooth, finally choosing the Fireball when the Vipertooth nipped her finger rather sharply. Draco was playing happily with his Ridgeback, while Harry had the tiny version of a Hungarian Horntail sitting on his shoulder. From time to time, the dragon spewed clouds of harmless frozen fire into his ear, making the boy scrunch his nose and smile. Unlike Draco and Miss Granger, Harry hadn’t hesitated in his decision, picking a dragon that sat by itself, at a distance to the others.

Their next stop was Honeydukes, and Snape was sorely tempted to let the children go in on their own; the sight and smell of thousands of sugary sweets made him feel nauseated. Only the gleam in Draco’s eyes convinced that he’d better keep an eye on the boy before he bought enough to give the whole of House Slytherin a sugar high. Harry and Miss Granger were rather modest in their purchases, eventually settling for a box of chocolate frogs and a liquorice wand each. After some sulking, Draco gave in and selected his three favorites, Ice Mice, Jelly Slugs and Fizzing Whizzbees. He also bought a huge box of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans for the common room, which Snape approved of – not because he particularly wanted his snakes to stuff themselves on sweets, but because he knew that some of them never had money to buy anything but school supplies.

After a mercifully short time, they left Honeydukes and walked along the main street, where Miss Granger soon spotted a bookshop, her eyes shining as she pointed it out to the others.

“May we go in, please, Professor?”

Snape nodded his permission, ignoring Draco’s long face.

Inside the shop, the girl immediately delved into a huge volume on Transfiguration, while the two boys seemed slightly intimidated by the towering shelves and leatherbound tomes. Snape glanced at the new acquisitions by the window; nothing interesting there, except for an updated version of the Encyclopedia of Toadstools. The next issue of the Practical Potioneer wasn’t due for another months… if the editors for once managed to procure all contributions on time. His own essay had been submitted two weeks before the deadline, as usual.

A tug on his sleeve pulled him from his thoughts. “Uncle Sev, do they have any Quidditch mags?”

“You’re old enough to ask the clerk yourself, Draco,” Snape said. “And don’t you get enough of these pamphlets by owl order?”

“They’re over here, Draco,” Harry called from a stand next to the counter. “Look, there’s a picture of a new broom!”

Draco ran over to him, drawing disapproving looks from the white-haired clerk and Miss Granger. Snape turned away and out of habit began to browse the Potions section. It was rather small compared to the one in Flourish and Blotts, but at least it didn’t feature that ridiculous Muggle-imitating scribble some American wizard had thrown on the market. Really, whoever thought that the world needed Potions for Dummies should be boiled in their own cauldron.

“Looking for new releases on Potions, sir?” The clerk had come over, glancing over his shoulder. “Pompeia Lychwood will be coming out with a publication on Healing Draughts next month. If you wish, I can hold you a copy…”

Snape nodded. “Please.” Lychwood’s publications tended to be worth a read, even if she used rather flowery prose to describe her experiments.

“In the meantime, may I interest you in a very useful device we received this week?” The clerk gestured at a table nearby, where a selection of rather strange items was on display. They looked like snitches without wings, except that they were silver rather than golden. As Snape took a closer look, he saw that each of the walnut-sized objects had a different gemstone set into its silver casing.

“Potion Timers,” the clerk said proudly. “If thrown into the potion at any point during the brewing process, the timer will preserve it at the exact state it is in for up to nine months. Far better than Stasis spells, if our testers are to be believed.”

Snape regarded the things with new interest. Stasis spells did indeed wear off rather quickly, and quite a few of his potions had been ruined because something else had demanded his attention at a critical stage of the brewing process.

“I don’t see a price tag,” he said to the clerk.

“Yes, well, I’m afraid they’re rather… 20 Galleons apiece,” the man answered quickly at Snape’s impatient look.

“I see. Well, in that case I believe Stasis spells will have to do,” Snape stated, turning away from the table. Harry and Draco were standing behind him, their hands full of Quidditch magazines and broomstick catalogues.

“Can we get these, Uncle Sev? Please?”

“You may buy one each,” Snape said, the Potion Timers forgotten. “That means either a Quidditch magazine or a broom catalogue, Draco, not one of each.”

He followed his godson to the counter to make sure the boy didn’t slip in another magazine when he wasn’t looking, paying no attention to Harry who lingered behind.

“Can’t I get this one and the one with the special feature on the Wimbourne Wasps, please, Uncle Sev?”

Ten minutes later, Snape finally ushered the children out of the shop; Miss Granger had spent her last two Galleons on a Transfiguration practice book, while Harry and Draco were comparing pictures of cutting-edge broomsticks and discussing their various merits.

“That’s the Nimbus 2000, Father said he’ll buy me one if I get top marks in more than four subjects. Shouldn’t be a problem, I’m already top of the class in Potions and Flying. Good thing we’ve most classes with the Gryffindorks, it’s easy to do better than them.”

Draco grinned. Snape saw Harry give him a side-glance before leaning closer to the other boy. “I met Ron Weasley on the train. He said Slytherin’s only for… for bad wizards and witches.”

“That’s not true,” Hermione joined the conversation. “I’ve read about it in Hogwarts: A History. People have been prejudiced against Slytherin House ever since You-Know-Who came to power. He was a Slytherin,” she added unnecessarily. “Before that, Slytherin was famous for turning out most of the successful politicians and military strategists in the wizarding world.”

“Anyway,” Draco added, “who cares what Weasley has to say. His family’s an embarrassment to all purebloods. Running around in second-hand clothes…” He trailed off, having noticed the look on Harry’s face. “Erm, I mean…”

“I thought Ron was nice,” Harry said quietly. “He didn’t want to sit next to me in Astronomy, though. He said he didn’t talk to filthy snakes, and I should go sit with the other nasty gits.”

It was probably the longest speech Snape had heard from Harry so far. The incident must have really bothered the boy.

“Why would you want to sit with Weasley?” Draco asked, sounding bewildered and slightly jealous.

Harry shrugged. “It was fun talking to him on the train.”

Draco continued to look broody after that, and only brightened up when they arrived at the Three Broomsticks. Snape had hoped that the children might be tired enough to skip the planned round of butterbeer, but that hope was dashed when he found himself tugged to the door of the inn. “Come on, Uncle Sev!”

“I am capable of finding my own way, thank you,” Snape snapped at his godson, who paid him no attention whatsoever as he pushed open the door. Harry and Hermione seemed slightly more hesitant, looking in awe at the huge chandelier hanging from the smoky rafters and the vast amount of bottles in all shapes and sizes on the wall shelves.

“I’ll get our butterbeers and your whisky, Uncle Sev!” Draco called, flushed with pride at being the big spender. “I’ll be right back!”

“I doubt they’re going to sell Firewhisky to a first-year,” Snape said dryly, and indicated a table next to the window to Harry and Hermione. “Go sit down; Draco and I will join you in a moment.”

He followed Draco to the bar, his heart sinking when he saw that Madam Rosmerta herself was on duty.

“Severus,” she called when she saw him. “Why, it’s been forever!”

“Madam,” he stiffly inclined his head.

“Oh, don’t “madam” me! You know I’m on a first-name basis with all Hogwarts teachers – the handsome ones, anyway!”

She winked, and he cringed inwardly. “Rosmerta, then. Draco here would like to make an order.”

She smiled at the boy. “Draco Malfoy, eh? You must be Lucius’ boy. Give him my best when you see him, will you?”

Draco nodded, his eyes lingering a little too long on her impressive décolleté. “You know my father?”

“Oh yes, dear, many fond memories there… you definitely take after him, you’ll be quite the heartbreaker in a few years… or do you already have a little girlfriend?” She looked at the table where Harry and Hermione sat, and back at Draco, who blushed furiously.

“Um, no, that’s, that’s just Hermione Granger, she’s…”

“Ah yes, a bit young for that, I guess.” Rosmerta winked at Snape again. “I have to admit, though, my type’s more the tall, dark and mysterious kind of man…”

“I’ll let them know if I happen to meet one,” Snape replied, wishing heartily for the entire exchange to be over.

Rosmerta broke into raucous laughter. “Oh, don’t be so modest, Severus! It’s a mystery to me why some pretty witch hasn’t stolen you away ages ago!”

“A Firewhisky and three children’s butterbeers, Madam, if you don’t mind,” Snape said, giving her his iciest glare. Rosmerta raised her hands in mock surrender and finally turned away to pour their drinks.

Draco seemed to have recovered from the thought of Hermione being his girlfriend, and pulled out his money bag to pay for the order.

“I hope that’s not some cheap Muggle brand,” he said as Rosmerta set the glasses on the bar. “Father said to only get the best for Uncle Sev.”

Rosmerta didn’t seem offended, and merely laughed. “I got our very best goblin-made vintage for your Uncle Sev, don’t worry.”

Snape breathed a sigh of relief as they left the bar and went over to the table. Glancing down, he found Draco grinning at him.

“What?”

“She’s your girlfriend,” Draco grinned. “Isn’t she?”

“That would be a definite no,” Snape replied dryly.

“Then why-”

“That is a conversation we’ll be having in four years at the earliest, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll concentrate on keeping those butterbeers steady without spilling anything on the floor.”

Harry’s and Hermione’s eyes lit up as they took their first, careful sips of the foamy liquid. Snape had never cared for butterbeer, but he knew that most of his snakes loved it and attempted to smuggle crates of it into the common room at every opportunity. Sipping his whisky – a rather fine brand, Rosmerta had not exaggerated – he allowed himself a moment’s relief that their shopping excursion was nearly over without any major incidents or, Merlin forbid, the Dark Lord making an appearance. It had been his worst fear, despite Albus’ assurances that he would know immediately if Harry… changed.

At the moment, Harry seemed more relaxed than he’d ever seen the boy, smiling as he watched his dragon race Draco’s around the table. Hermione had her nose buried in her new book, and Snape pretended to read the menu, ignoring the looks Rosmerta gave him from across the room.

Draco soon clamored for a new round of butterbeer, and Snape had to put his foot down to prevent him from getting more; the children were hyperactive enough from the sweets they’d consumed at Honeydukes. As expected, he was met with a storm of protests as he announced that it was time to go back, most of them coming from his godson. Harry put in a “please, sir” after a nudge from Draco, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. Or maybe he’d never learned how to ask for anything.

Ignoring Draco’s pout, Snape herded them to the door and out onto the street.

“See you soon, Severus!” Rosmerta waved after them from the bar, and Snape hastily closed the door. If he had any say in the matter, he wouldn’t be returning to the establishment any time soon… at least not until Albus made him join the teachers’ Christmas outing, as usual.

Their walk back to the castle seemed to take twice as long as before, if only because the three children chattered constantly, going over the day’s adventures between themselves and unfortunately, with Snape. While Harry mostly listened, Draco and Hermione, used to getting their guardians’ full attention, filled Snape’s ears with excited tales of their day.

“… they had practice books for all our subjects in the bookshop, do you think I can owl-order some, Professor?”

“…wait till I show my Ridgeback to Vince and Greg, they’re going to be so jealous!”

“Did you enjoy yourself, Harry?” Snape asked finally, if only to escape Draco’s and Hermione’s relentless monologue.

“Yes sir, thank you,” Harry said. “I had a great time.”

Snape saw him reach for his pocket with a smile, thinking that the boy must have hidden his dragon in there. He knew from Harry’s memories that the boy had hardly ever owned any toys, and those he had were broken cast-offs his spoiled cousin no longer wanted.

Back at the castle, Snape sent the children to wash up before lunch – “and no more sweets, Draco, or they’ll be gone for good” – and allowed himself a moment’s recuperation at the teacher’s table. Who would have thought that accompanying three first-years to Hogsmeade was more exhausting than an entire day of teaching the dunderheads?

“Had a fun outing, Severus?” Dumbledore’s voice pulled him from his contemplations. Snape turned and glared at the Headmaster, although not with as much vigor as usual. He was simply to worn out to muster his usual menace.

“I did enjoy going to Hogsmeade as a student,” Dumbledore continued, serving himself a large helping of Irish stew. “Why, one time Elphias and I…”

Snape tuned out the Headmaster’s latest anecdote and watched Harry instead. The boy was sitting at his usual spot at the Slytherin table, guarding his plate with one hand as he ate. Harry’s table manners had improved since the Welcoming Feast – at the very least, he no longer wolfed down his food so fast that he ended up wearing half of it – but he still didn’t seem entirely at ease leaving his plate unprotected. As Snape watched, the boy’s hand darted out with the ease of long practice and grabbed a roll from the basket, which disappeared in the pocket of Harry’s robes. No one else at the table had noticed.

After finishing his own meal, Snape returned to his quarters, blessedly child-free for the afternoon. Harry was in the common room with Draco, and wouldn’t return until it was time to go to bed. Snape wasn’t entirely at ease leaving the boy unsupervised, but Dumbledore had assured him that no harm would come to any of his students, and in this at least, he trusted the Headmaster. And he did enjoy the prospect of a solitary afternoon, with only Marlowe and a good book for company. After this morning, he had earned it.

Lighting the fireplace with a flick of his wand, Snape went into the kitchen to put on the kettle, so intent on his task that he almost missed the note on the kitchen table. It was only when Marlowe jumped onto a chair and meowed that he noticed it.

The note was written in a first-year’s chicken scratch, adorned with blotches of ink where the child’s quill had paused too long: Thank you very much for taking us to Hogsmeede. This is for you. – H.P.

Snape stared. On the paper, all polished silver and glinting gemstone, sat one of the Potion Timers.