It was uncommonly cold, this Christmas holiday, at Hogwarts.

No Christmas trees graced the Great Hall this year, although there was one in the staff room and the hospital wing. The staff eschewed the usual merriment this year, opting for more private gatherings.

The Carrows were spending this Christmas Eve carousing with the Dark Lord's inner circle. Severus had been to that meeting and then made his excuses. Fortunately, he was known for his dislike of relevry, so it wasn't taken amiss.

Then too, Amicus had been helpful by informing the Dark Lord of Severus' activities. He had giggled through a description of Severus' supposed molestation of the Weasley girl that the Dark Lord found most entertaining.

The Dark Lord had smirked (the sight was enough to make one's blood run cold), and said, "You see, Severus, it is as I said. Better women, for the taking. Will you keep her, do you think?"

Severus had inclined his head, manufactured thoughts running through his mind of what had supposedly taken place with Miss Weasley that night. The Dark Lord had practically cackled with delight at the thought of the girl's debasement and deflowering.

By the time Severus had gotten away from the Death Eater's celebration he felt like he needed a shower.

More than usual.

Fortunately, Miss Weasley seemed to understand that the only thing keeping Amicus from following up on his own threat was Severus' supposed interest in her. She had never contradicted any of the dark suppositions of her compatriots.

He occasionally caught her staring at him in the Great Hall.

She was gone home now, with the rest of the students. None of the students had stayed. Not one. This was fairly unusual, but these were unusual times.

Severus paced through the front entrance, closing and locking the doors with a flick of his wand.

He wished for a moment that his path would have led him to the dungeons and his old quarters. Instead, he wearily climbed the stairs to the headmaster's office.

Passing the hospital wing, he heard the low voices of Filius and Minerva, conversing furtively with Poppy. In other years, he would have joined them. In other years, Dumbledore would have been there, inviting him in.

Minerva opened the door to the hospital wing, just in time to meet Severus as he came past. She spoke no word of greeting, but her eyes blazed with hatred at the sight of him. She turned quickly, as if she couldn't stand to look at him, hurrying down towards her own office.

Severus' stride never varied. He felt the eyes of both Filius and Poppy on his back. He looked neither right nor left, though his heart broke a little more.

He finally made it back to the safety of his room, where he locked his door behind himself. He threw himself into the chair behind his desk. With relief, he summoned a stiff drink to his hand.

This one night, the Dark Lord would not call him. Not because of the wretched holiday, but because the mad bastard was deep into some scheme to catch the bloody Boy. The Dark Lord was meeting with his spies and informants tonight.

It would not be wise to get as drunk as he'd like to. Severus sat wondering if he cared to be wise anymore.

A faint tapping alerted him to someone at the door before he could really make up his mind.

He flicked his wand to open the door, "Come." he called, not bothering to get up.

It was Poppy. She peered around the room, perhaps checking to see he was alone. She came in through the door, only coming in far enough to close the door behind her.

"To what do I owe this surprise?" asked Severus coldly, "Is there some new crisis you need me to sort out?"

"No, thank you, Severus." She said, softly, "I only came to wish you happy Christmas. "

She had worked at the school since before Severus had become a student, and had always been rather kind to Severus. This year, however, his only interactions with her had been characterized by the hatred and thinly veiled contempt the other teachers held for him.

He felt strangely wrong footed by this well wishing.

"Is that all?" he asked, still coldly.

Curiously, she smiled at him, "I know how well warded your quarters are, Severus." She was holding her hands behind her back, as if she were hiding something.

"If you mean to murder me, I should remind you that I can quite likely best you in a duel. It would be a shame to kill you. The students still need your skills." Severus replied, poisonously. He hoped sincerely it did not come to wands between them, on Christmas Eve, no less.

She drew her hands back around in front of her, revealing that she held a small silver box, "Severus." she said, quietly, "Please. It's Christmas and I thought you..." she faltered, "I wanted to give you this."

Severus blinked as she lay the small silver wrapped box on his desk, only now registering that Poppy had called him 'Severus' rather than 'Headmaster' as she had been doing all term.

He stared at the box, which was no bigger than a deck of cards, "A rather unimaginative way of getting rid of me, don't you think?" he sneered, "Set to blow up the minute I touch it?"

The witch looked Severus directly in the eyes, "I wouldn't want to do that." she said softly, "I can't imagine that anyone would be able to protect the children, with you gone."

Severus felt his pulse quickening, "I have no interest in protecting these brats." He hissed, "I do what the Dark Lord tells me to."

She nodded, her eyes shadowed, "Yes, I see that. I also see other things." She moved away from the desk, "You know, I doubt the Carrows would notice if the Evil Headmaster made it his habit to come by the hospital wing to take inventory and criticize the state of my potions cabinet. My office is as well warded as your own."

Severus stared at the woman.

"The other staff are leaving tomorrow to have Christmas dinner together in Hogsmeade. I told them I would be dining with a friend. He is having a terribly hard time with the War, you see." Poppy moved back towards the door, "If you want to find me, I'll be in my office at five o' clock."

Severus blinked again, "Surely you aren't inviting me to Christmas dinner?" he said slowly.

Poppy stopped with her hand on the door, "Yes, I am." Was all she said, and she opened the door and made her way down the stairs, leaving Severus alone with the silver box.

With a quick wand wave, Severus checked the box for Dark Magic and hexes. The box's magic was only of the healing kind, he discerned.

He ground his teeth together, wondering what Poppy was playing at. Was she trying to get herself killed? Even if she did suspect his double agent status, she had no call to be taking such risks.

He opened the box. A gleaming vial of potion lay inside, with a label tied around the neck.

Heart's Ease.

Severus stared for a long moment at the cloudy silver potion, as it swirled in its bottle.

Heart's Ease was a powerful potion, with a deceptively innocuous name. Its use had been restricted by the Ministry of Magic for its addictive qualities. Muggle fairy stories that spoke of people being spirited off to the Land of the Youth were based on its effects. Severus himself had never made it, and certainly had never taken it.

St. Mungo's used it for cases of intractable depression and magical shock. In the right circumstances, it had been known to work miracles. Severus wondered how Poppy had procured it.

A small dose would render the taker insensible for fourteen or so hours and the taker's dreams would be wondrous; or so it was said. The dreams would be exactly what the taker would need, they would soothe whatever pain the taker needed to soothe.

Severus flicked his wand, locking the office door. He picked up the small bottle, and with a feeling of letting go of something, cracked the seal and tipped it down his throat.

A white explosion threw Severus backwards with enough force to knock him off his feet. Only long experience in duels kept him holding his wand in a death grip.

He felt his head hit the rough stone with a feeling composed of both relief and regret. Relief because his part in this whole sordid mess was finally over. Regret because his tasks were yet unfinished.

He hoped the Death Eaters would never find out that Poppy had killed him. The school needed her more than ever.

The next thing he was aware of was lying in his back, on a bed.

Something warm, damp and soft lay across his eyes. In one hand he still held his wand. Someone was holding the other hand, firmly.

The cloth across his eyes smelled of healing potion; the one used on potion burns. And accident then? Or had he had the bad luck to be found by the Carrows before Poppy's potion could finish him off?

Perhaps Narcissa was holding his hand? She owed him, after all.

"What..?" he began. He stopped, because the voice that emanated from his throat was not his. It was a high, clear, childish voice.

"Shh." said a girl's voice, softly, "Don't talk. You got that whole potion in your face." It must be she, holding his hand.

"L-Lily?" gasped Severus, his throat was burning. Apparently, he'd taken a lungful of whatever had exploded in his face.

"Yes. It's me. I told you, don't talk." She replied firmly.

Severus felt himself start to tremble. Was he dead, then? At Lily's side?

No. This was merely a dream. He had to remember that. No matter what, he had to remember that this was all a potion induced hallucination, most likely drawing from his own subconcious. His own mind taking him to a time before he made his horrible mistakes.

On the other side of him, another girl's voice said, "I'll go get Madam Pomfrey."

Severus took a deep breath, his throat aching in a way that had very little to do with potion's accidents.

"It's a shame this had to happen the last day of term." Lily went on, holding his hand more tightly, "But, Dad's coming to get us this morning. You slept right through from yesterday afternoon."

That didn't make much sense. What did she mean by that?

Severus reminded himself firmly that this was all a dream and bound to be odd.

"All right, Mister Potter." Poppy's voice was saying, soothingly, "How do you feel?"

Severus couldn't get away from the bloody Potters, even in his dreams. He sighed irritably, listening to the woman, waiting to find out if it was Harry or James Potter he had to contend with.

No one answered her.

Lily shook him, "Did you fall back asleep?" she asked, kindly "Madam Pomfrey wants to know how you feel."

"I-I..." stuttered Severus, confused, "I'm all right?" his voice sounded far too young and frightened. He didn't mean to sound as though he was asking a question.

"Do your eyes still hurt?" Poppy asked him.

Severus shook his head, carefully.

"All right, it sounds like this poultice can come off." Poppy said, gently. He felt her gather up the cloth on his eyes, "Open your eyes slowly. I've spelled the lights down."

He blinked his eyes open slowly, letting them adjust to the dim light. He was in one of the hospital wing beds, surrounded by curtains. He looked towards Lily and nearly sobbed with disappointment. The girl sitting next to him on the bed, holding his hand was not Lily Evans.

For her part, she smiled with relief, her brown eyes dancing, "I've been so worried!" she said, happily, giving his hand an extra squeeze. Her voice was Lily's, exactly. The rest of her, though...She had brown eyes and dark auburn hair, quite unlike Lily's copper. He pulled back his hand.

"Lily?" he whispered, feeling broken inside. Even in his dreams, he wasn't to be given his heart's desire.

"Yes, Tim?" the girl asked expectantly.

Severus shook his head, noting that the girl was wearing Hufflepuff robes. Another girl, with dark brown hair, clear blue eyes and Ravenclaw robes settled herself in the chair next to the bed.

They both looked at him in expectation. He hadn't felt so abashed by children since he, himself, had been one one. He glanced down at his hands.

They were not his hands. One hand still clutched his wand, but the fingers of the hand were smaller on the handle than they should have been. The fingers were still long, but they were not nearly as pale as his own hands. Nor were they stained and calloused in the way his hands were. They were the hands of a young boy, not a man.

Poppy came around the curtain. Severus was shocked at how old she looked. She had aged twenty, perhaps thirty, years since he had last seen her, five minutes ago. She handed him a bottle of potion, "For your throat." she said, briskly, then she turned to the Ravenclaw girl, "Go on then, Miss Barton. The train will be leaving soon. I'm sure your cousins will be fine until their father gets here."

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." the girl said. She bent towards Severus and put her arms around him. He flinched back, putting the hand not holding his wand up between them. She didn't seem to take much notice, giving him a quick squeeze around the shoulders and then hugged the Hufflepuff girl, "Daddy and Papa say we're coming to your house Christmas Eve." She said, "I'll see you then." She scampered out of the door.

"All right, Mister Potter." Said Madam Pomfrey, "You can get up and get dressed now, if you like."

Severus stared at the woman, mystified. She was looking directly at him.

"Do you mean me?" He faltered, when it seemed she was waiting for a response.

Madam Pomfrey frowned, "Of course, I mean you, dear." She pulled out her wand and waved it, making a little concerned noise in her throat. When she next spoke, it was very gently, "Can you tell me your name, love?"

Severus thought fast. This was only a dream. Of course it was. However, some deep instinct warned him to keep his identity secret. No telling how long he would be trapped in this dream.

He settled for shaking his head, "I-I'm not sure." he replied, uncertainly.

Madam Pomfrey and the false Lily looked at each other, "Do you know where you are?" asked Madam Pomfrey, her voice taking on a more concerned tone.

"Hogwarts?" hazarded Severus.

Madam Pomfey nodded, then she asked, "What's the last thing you remember?"

The very last thing, "Something blew up?" Severus asked.

Poppy nodded, soberly, "And before that?"

"I think, I drank one of your potions." Severus said. If this was some plot of hers, he wanted her to know he remembered that much.

"No, that was after Professor Bulstrode brought you here." said The-Girl-Who-Was-Not-Lily.

"Lily?" called an older boy's voice. Severus' grip on his wand tightened. The boy's voice sounded very much like the younger Potter, but not quite right, "How's Tim?"

The Hufflepuff girl looked at Severus with concern, "He's awake...but..."

A boy with green eyes stuck his head around the curtain. When he came around the curtain, Severus saw that he also wore Ravenclaw robes and a prefect badge. He also looked like the girl's close kin, for all he was raven haired and green eyed. He smiled broadly at Severus and said, "Dad's talking to the Headmistress and Professor Bulstrode."

The boy seemed to talk like Severus should know who he was talking about, so Severus just nodded.

"I better go and speak to your father." Said Madam Pomfrey, worriedly, "Look after him for a few minutes." she told the boy.

The boy looked at Not-Lily, "What's that about?" he asked, settling down next to her one the bed so he could look at Severus.

"He's having trouble remembering things." said the girl, biting her lip in a Lily-like fashion, "You know me, though, don't you, Tim?" she said, anxiously.

Severus nodded, slowly. Feeling he had to humor her. She was enough like his Lily that he didn't like to hurt her feelings.

Even if this was a dream.

"What about me, then?" asked the boy, his eyebrows knitted together. He looked like he was about sixth year, he could have been Potter's brother by his looks (the younger one, because of the eyes)

Severus couldn't even hazard a guess, so he just shook his head.

Alarm bloomed in those green eyes, "Did Madam Pomfrey say whether it was the potion that messed up his memory?" he asked the girl.

The girl was still looking at Severus, "No, she didn't." she said, sounding upset.

"I expect it is," the boy said bracingly, "Remember when James fell off his broom that time? He was out cold for a week and all confused for a day or two after that." He turned to Severus, "You'll be right as rain by Christmas, you watch."

"I...I better get dressed." Muttered Severus, suddenly conscious of sitting here in his pajamas, with these two children behaving so familiarly. The girl wasn't any older than fourth year, at best.

"Need any help?" the boy asked, solicitously.

"No." Snapped Severus, "Thank you." he said, more civilly.

Both the boy and girl seemed to take his shortness in stride, looking at each other indulgently, it seemed. If anything, his answer seemed reassuring to them for some reason.

"See, Lily." the boy whispered as they walked around the curtain, "He just got his brains a little rattled. He'll be fine."

Severus slid carefully out of the bed. That was a shock (the latest in the series). He was short. The robes sitting folded on the chair were student robes, with the Slytherin crest. He felt that such small garments could possibly fit him, but as he looked down at himself, he realized that his body, as well as his hands, was that of a young boy. Rather than black hair hanging down around his face, yellow hair hung in his eyes.

He shucked his pajamas and pulled on his trousers and pullover, refusing to linger too long on that aspect of this dream. He shrugged into his robes, and then picked his wand up off the bed where he'd lain it. He examined it, closely. The wand was his, indeed. The same wand that had chosen him at Ollivander's all those years ago.

Steeling himself, he turned to look into the small mirror that was on the bedside table. Blue eyes stared back at him, the picture of surprise. Blonde hair framed his face in soft waves. Pink, round cheeks and a soft, almost cherubic, mouth. A more attractive child than he'd ever been when he was a child. The kind of child women oohed and aahed over.

A first year, judging by the lack of height and the softness of the jaw. Severus was not going further than that to ascertain what kind of body this dream had shoved him into.

"Tim?" called a voice. An adult's this time, a man, "Can I come in?"

"Er...Yes." Severus called back, cursing the way his child's voice wavered.

The man who parted the curtain shouldn't have been a surprise. Severus took a step back, nonetheless.

He had many more lines in his face and he was taller than he had been when Severus had last seen him (although that might have been a trick of their relative sizes). He was unmistakable, with his glasses and scruffy hair. Severus could just see the scar was under the wind blown black fringe.

Severus nearly exclaimed aloud, stopping himself at the last moment.

So this had been Poppy's game. A more devious torture than Severus would have credited her with. This dream would turn to nightmares before the potion killed him. Poppy knew very well the charater of Severus' own childhood. So he was doomed to play it out with Potter playing the role of Tobias Snape.

"Mr. Potter." Severus said, stiffly preserving what dignity he could.

Potter's face turned stricken. He walked very slowly to the bed and sat on it. He folded his hands on his lap, as though preventing himself from reaching out to grab Severus.

"Oh, Tim, love." he said, softly, "Are we back to that?"

The hurried conversation with Poppy hadn't really prepared Harry for the sullen faced child that waited for him in the hospital wing. Harry's stomach turned over, when he saw the boy give him a death glare and heard the child call him "Mr Potter". Tim hadn't done that in years. That was what he had done when he'd first come to live with the Potters, fearful of any informality that might signify he believed his placement was permanent.

Tim stared at Harry through narrowed, untrusting eyes, his mouth set into a firm line, "What do I generally call you?" His wand was in his hand, almost as if he expected to have to defend himself.

"You've generally called me 'Dad'," Harry told him, gently, "Since you were seven."

Tim stared at Harry as though he were trying to look through him. He didn't seem reassured, in fact, he even looked more wary.

Harry stayed sitting on the bed, so he wouldn't tower over the child, "Madam Pomfrey says you're having trouble remembering things." Harry told him gently, "She said you hit your head when that potion blew up."

Tim nodded, cautiously.

"But, you remember me? A little?" asked Harry, coaxingly, "And your sister?"

Tim crossed his arms across his chest and raised his chin, but he looked very uncertain, "My...sister?" he finally asked, quietly.

Harry hoped Lily wasn't eavesdropping. He nodded, "Lily." Harry told the confused child.

A flash of something dark and sad reflected in the bright eyes and then was gone.

Harry suppressed a sigh. He recognized this mood of Tim's far too well. This shutting down was Tim being frightened and trying not to show it. If he couldn't remember his adopted family properly, that had to be very frightening, indeed.

Poppy had said that Tim had sustained a concussion. When the potion had exploded in his face, he had been thrown backwards and apparently cracked his head on the stone dungeon floor.

Fortunately, concussions were not serious in wizards, but they could cause temporary memory loss and confusion, or so Poppy had warned Harry. Tim's magic would mend the damage in a few days, a week or two at most, she'd said. In the meantime he was to be kept calm and quiet.

Harry hoped she was right. He couldn't help but feel frightened for his son, though. Tim was still a bit fragile, in many ways. He still woke from nightmares, once in a while and he had outbreaks of accidental magic when he was stressed. There had been a time when they'd feared that Tim would be too delicate to go to Hogwarts, but the admissions book duly generated Tim's letter last summer. Since arriving at school, he had done at least as well as the other Potter children.

The boy looked skeptical, "I don't remember that." He still crossed his arms across his chest, not putting his wand down. Poppy had told Harry that Tim hadn't let go of the wand the whole time he was unconscious. It was likely that Tim's magic was using the wand to organize itself to heal Tim's injuries.

"That's all right." Harry was quick to reassure him, "Madam Pomfrey said there was bound to be gaps. She said you remember Hogwarts?"

Tim nodded.

"Do you think you can manage a floo trip?" asked Harry, "You remember the floo, do you?"

Tim nodded tightly, "Fireplace." he grunted.

Harry relaxed a little. He'd feared that Tim wouldn't remember anything about magic.

Harry stood up, extended his hand to Tim who stared at it a second before he took it.

Minerva had come down to speak with Poppy by now. Tim stopped, when they rounded the curtain. His eyes were huge again.

"Tim?" asked Harry quietly, "All right?" he tugged a little on the boy's hand to get him to move forward.

"Is that...mmm...Professor McGonagall?" asked Tim, quietly, as if he worried that asking would get him into trouble.

"Yes, that's the headmistress." replied Harry, trying to be matter of fact, but he sounded worried to even his own ears. It was a little upsetting that Tim remembered Minerva, but couldn't remember his family.

Perhaps, it was an encouraging sign, though. It might be related to environment. Perhaps, when they got Tim home it would all come back to him.

Minerva heard her name and came over to them, "Tim? How are you feeling?" she asked, kindly.

"I'm all right, Professor." Tim's back was stiff as he answered her.

Minerva glanced at Harry, before saying, "Professor Bulstrode tells me that you very likely prevented a much worse explosion."

Millicent had told Harry this. It seemed that one of Tim's classmates had been intent on seeing what would happen if they threw an unwanted ingredient into someone else's cauldron. Tim had seen it and pushed the other first year out of the way and cast a very good cooling charm on the cauldron. It had still ignited, and Tim had caught the brunt of the explosion.

"Fifty points to Slytherin, I should think." said Minerva, pleased.

Tim blinked and smiled a little; a strangely mature, ironic smile, "I don't remember what happened." he admitted.

Minerva nodded, "Madam Pomfrey tells me that you hit your head. You'll be fine in a few days, she said." Minerva sounded the slightest bit anxious. It had been a long time since there had been a serious potions accident at Hogwarts. Not since Professor Snape had taught, and Millicent ran her classroom with the same iron hand.

"We'll get Ernie to have a look at him over the break." Said Harry, firmly to Minerva.

She smiled at Harry,"A very good idea." she said, "Come along, then, you can use the floo in my office."

Harry smiled at the other two and beckoned them with a jerk of his head, "Come on, Mum will be waiting for us." Harry kept hold of Tim's hand, more to comfort himself than the child. Tim didn't pull away though. Albus and Lily fell into step beside them.

Lily and Albus talked to each other animatedly, as they wended their way up to the headmistress's office, arguing about Quidditch. They both played on their respective house teams, which were currently neck-in-neck in points.

Minerva and Harry shared a worried look over Tim's head, but didn't speak. When they got onto the moving staircase, Harry glanced down at Tim, who was still looking very dazed, but at least walking without stumbling.

Tim stopped short of the door.

"Tim?" asked Harry.

The boy glared at him again, then shook his head, as if shaking off a disturbing thought. He pressed his lips together and took a deep breath, as if gathering himself.

The head's office didn't change much, over the years. Minerva had added some personal touches, but it was still dominated by the portraits of the past headmasters and headmistresses. The whole gallery of them eyed Harry and his children benignly, as they came in.

Except for Professor Snape's portrait, "Potter?" He asked with a bit of a sneer, "Why does that child have my wand?"

Tim stiffened and brought the tip of the wand up defensively, as if he feared that someone would attempt to take it.

It was Minerva who answered, slightly amused, "You left it to the school, Severus. WIth instructions to give it to a promising potions student. The wand chose him."

"And, is he promising?" the portrait asked Minerva.

"Promising enough that he remembered a third year cooling charm in time to prevent the whole potions classroom from exploding." answered Minerva smugly.

"Hmmph." The portrait glared beadily at Tim, "What's the difference between monkshood and aconite?" he snapped at the boy.

Harry was opening his mouth to tell the Portrait to go pick on someone else, when Tim said, coolly, "They're the same thing."

Nothing was wrong with Tim's recall of what he'd read, apparently, because Snape's mouth turned up at the corner, "So, one Potter is not completely hopeless at potions."

Al and Lily looked affronted. Harry just shook his head, amused, "Don't let him worry you." He told the children, "Anything less than an Outstanding was a disappointment to him. But he did manage to get me an Exceeds Expectations on my O.W.L." Harry smiled at the portrait, unable to help himself, "Everyone in Professor Snape's classes always got an O.W.L. in potions, including someone in my year who was the record holder for melted cauldrons." Harry wasn't going to name names on that one.

"Dad?" asked Albus, suddenly, "Is he the 'Severus' I'm named after?"

Harry nodded, "Yes."

"You named your son after him?" Tim sputtered, "But, he..."

The oddest things upset Tim sometimes. At least it had gotten Tim out of that sullen, frightened silence.

"He's a war hero, wasn't he, Dad?" Albus put in. Then he turned to Tim, with no little pride, "I'm named after two former headmasters." he said.

"Was he a friend of yours, then?" asked Tim, observing Harry through puzzled eyes. He probably couldn't imagine anyone being friends with the unpleasant man in the portrait.

Harry laughed, "Hardly. I was too much like your brother. Drove him absolutely mad. But, ask your Auntie Roz about him. He was head of Slytherin, when she was in school. His house members were very fond of him. And, he was my Mum's best friend when they were in school."

Minerva sighed and gave Harry a sad smile, "I still miss him. I was always sorry he couldn't tell me, during that horrid year..." she trailed off, shook herself, "I'm getting maudlin." she said apologetically to Harry, "It's the holiday. One always thinks of absent friends."

Harry nodded understanding. He glanced at Tim who'd gone very pale again, "Come on, you lot." he said briskly, "Tim, I think I better carry you. You look like your feeling a bit woozy again."

The child nodded and let himself be picked up without protest.

Harry threw the floo powder into the fireplace and said, "Grimmauld Place!"

It was very hard to remember that this was a potion-induced vision. Usually Severus was a lucid dreamer. He always knew he was dreaming and he could wake himself, when his dreams turned to nightmares. It was part of his skill at Occlumency. There were usually signs that it was a dream. Gaps, jumps and quick cuts between scenes. People said odd things. If nothing else, he would look for a light source. In his dreams, light never cast shadows.

This was something else entirely. Here, there were no gaps in the fabric of reality, as there would be in a normal dream. All his senses were involved. The scent of the floo, the hard landing at the end. Potter holding the small body that Severus was currently inhabiting. Everything about it told him it was real.

His mother had held him like that, when he was small, but never his father.

Severus willed that thought away, before it really formed.

Potter put him down carefully, as they emerged from the fireplace. It resembled the kitchen in Grimmauld Place only vaguely. The furniture was the same, but it looked as if someone had scrubbed it within an inch of its life. The place was filled with the scent of scones in the oven.

"Ok, now?" Potter asked solicitously, bending his head to look Severus in the face.

Severus gave him a tight nod, although there was nothing about this that was all right. The Dark Lord himself couldn't come up with a vision as dreadful as this.

Potter stared down at him with a worried frown. He put his hand on Severus' shoulder, drawing him further into the room, moving away from the floo so that the other children wouldn't tumble out onto them. Lily appeared first, bounding out of the fireplace, "Oooh! Kreacher's been baking!" she cried, sniffing the air.

"Is that you lot?" called a woman's voice. Severus heard someone running down the steps. He turned to see a woman come into the room. Startled, he realized that it was Ginny Weasley, whom he'd protected from Amicus just last week. SHe, like everyone else he'd recognized, was twenty years older. She had grown into a lovely woman, her face lit up as she took in the sight of them.

Lily threw herself at the woman, "Mum!"

The floo flared again. Stepping out was the older child, Al. He brushed himself off, turning to hug his mother, when she was done hugging Lily.

Potter's hand was still on Severus' shoulder, when the Weasley woman turned to kiss Potter and then opened her arms to embrace him. Severus flinched and backed up a step, unable to help himself.

Confused, she glanced up at Potter and then back at him, but at least she didn't insist on the embrace, "Tim?" she asked, uncertainly.

"He gave his head a pretty hard thump." said Potter softly, in answer, "He's having some trouble remembering things. He knew Lily and he called me 'Mr. Potter', but he didn't seem to know Al."

The Weasley woman...no, she was Mrs. Potter Severus realized, frowned in concern, "I'll owl Ernie, then. I was afraid when Poppy owled us..." She stopped and gave Severus a worried smile, "Never mind, Tim. I've had bludgers that hit me so hard, I couldn't remember my own name for days. We'll sort it out."

If the child he was currently inhabiting (possessing? That was a disturbing thought) usually called Potter "Dad", then she must be his mum. For some reason, Severus felt moved to comfort her the same way he'd felt about the Lily girl earlier, "I'm sure I'll be all right, Mum." he told her, hoping that didn't come out too differently from how the child spoke normally.

Although, he reminded himself, it hardly mattered, since this was a dream.

She smiled broadly and reached out to clasp his hand, rather than invade his space again. It was then that he noticed that he still held his wand in his hand. No one had said anything, but Severus felt awkward suddenly. He tucked it into the inside pocket of his robe.

"Do you think you could eat something?" the woman asked, "Kreacher's just taking some scones out of the oven and I'll make some tea."

Severus nodded, cautiously. Potter's hand steered him to sit at the bench by the table. The elderly elf that had served Black was there. Severus wondered why. He would have never imagined that Potter would actually keep the thing after it's part in Black's death.

THere were other house elves that Severus knew. Perhaps, Kreacher was here because Severus' imagination failed to imagine a different one serving in this house. One would think that in a dream or vision or whatever-this-was, the house elves would be invisible, as they were at Hogwarts.

Perhaps, Black was going to come haunt Severus, as well.

Kreacher placed a plate with two scones and a jar of rasberry jam in front of Severus, "Thank you." Severus muttered.

The house elf jerked, looked up at Severus, "Master Tim is not himself, today." he said.

Potter, sitting next to him, nodded, "No, he's not, Kreacher. He got a potion in his face and hit his head."

Kreacher's eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he made no more comment. Perhaps no one in this house had ever thanked the house elf before.

Severus kicked himself mentally.

This. Was. A. Dream.

There was no past or future, here. The people around him weren't real. He had to keep that in mind. It may be that he would never escape, if he forgot that. They were Poppy's idea of torment. To show him what he wouldn't and couldn't have. How could he have been so stupid?

The room seemed to tilt dangerously. He shut his eyes against the suddenly too-bright light.

"Tim?" Severus snapped his eyes open. Ginny Potter was sitting across from him, now.

"What?" he demanded, curling his mouth into a sneer. He was glad, suddenly that he hadn't eaten yet. He would have brought it up right then. He lifted his hand to his aching head.

"Love, you're shaking." She said. She reached out to place the back of her hand on his forehead, "You should be in bed." she announced.

He would have snarled at her, but it was much harder to be intimidating when one was four foot tall.

"C'mon, then. You heard what your mum said." Potter scooped him up.

Severus ground his teeth. Of course, it didn't help that the small body he was stuck in actually did seem to be suffering from the after effects of a blow to the head. The trip up the stairs was too much. Halfway up, he contorted in dry heaves.

Potter sat him on the step. Both of the Potters were there, each had a hand on his back. He waved them away, because the contact made him feel more nauseated. Much to his surprise, they actually backed off. Severus sat there with his head on his knees.

"I'll go fire call Ernie." said Ginny, "Will you stay with him?"

Potter must have nodded, because Ginny hurried back down the stairs.

"Hey, Tim?" Potter sounded as if something had just occurred to him, "Where's your wand?"

Severus felt around in his robe, as soon as he grasped the smooth wood of the handle, the nausea began to ebb.

The hand was back, but it didn't make him sick this time, "That help?"

Severus nodded, carefully.

"You really did hurt yourself. I think your magic needs your wand to focus itself." Potter said, "Let's see if I can get you to bed." Potter picked him up again.

They came to one of the bedrooms. Severus was curious how the Potter's looked after their apparently adopted son. So far, they'd been the picture of parental devotion, but that meant nothing. He'd seen plenty of families who were hiding unpleasant secrets.

Again, Severus shook himself. This wasn't real.

And, at last, Severus saw the proof that this was some highly realistic dreamscape. The room was so like what Severus would have wanted at eleven years old, that it had to be drawn from Severus imagination.

The room was very neat, with floor to ceiling bookshelves on one wall. A broom was propped in the corner. Pictures sat on top of the dressing table, waving at him. Some of the people Severus recognized. There were one or two Muggle pictures that didn't move, sitting there.

The bed had a green and silver bedspread. The real Potter would not have had it in the house, Severus was sure. A large stuffed dragon also sat in the corner, as a testament to younger days.

Tacked to the wall, was a young boy's chocolate frog card collection. On the bedside table was a rock that was enchanted to give off light. The ceiling was a light blue with clouds. As Severus watched, the clouds drifted across the painted sky and a small bird darted this way and that.

The headboard of the bed was also a book shelf. Potter put him down onto the bed and turned to pull some pajamas out of the dressing table drawers. He gave them to Severus and asked, "Need any help?"

Severus gave the man a glare.

Potter just sighed, "I'll just go down and see if Mum's got through to Healer Ernie, shall I?" He got up and half closed the door behind him.

The bedspread felt new under his hands. The books on the shelf were a mixture of Muggle and wizarding titles. Severus recognized some from his own childhood, but not others.

There were some books that he wouldn't have thought would hold much interest for an eleven year old boy, however.

Severus pulled off his robes and put on pajamas. He was careful to keep his wand in hand as much as possible.

Instead of climbing into bed though, he went to peruse the bookshelf, curious at what his own mind would conjure for an eleven year old's room.

One of the Muggle photographs was a young blond woman, looking happily at the camera. Next to it was a picture of what had to be Tim, Ginny and Harry Potter. They were cutting a huge cake and laughing together. As he watched, the small boy wrapped his arms around Potter, who lifted him up so they could wave at Severus.

In another picture, the two children Severus had already seen stood with another boy who looked a a few years older than Al. The eldest one was kneeling next to Tim, as though sharing a secret. The portrait people saw him looking and they all stood to wave, as well.

"Looking for something to read?" Severus jumped. It wasn't often that someone could sneak up on him.

But, that was in his old body...or rather his own waking body. This dream body didn't have the benefit of reflexes honed by years of spying. Then too, perhaps that was another tell; Potter could never move so silently.

"Sorry." said Potter, "Didn't mean to startle you." he came into the room and turned down the bed covers, "What do you want to read? I'll get it. Healer Ernie will be here soon, but he wants you in bed."

Severus nodded, climbed cautiously into the bed. Potter drew the covers up, "Hope you like the bedspread." he said smiling a little, "Your Auntie Roz is going to drown you in green and silver."

"Auntie Roz..?" ventured Severus, slowly, wondering who Potter meant. There wasn't a Weasley with that name. An aunt by marriage, perhaps?

The concerned frown again, "She was in Slytherin too, remember?" Potter tucked the blanket down around Severus.

Severus just shook his head, getting a little bewildered. This dream kept going in different directions from where he thought it should, "You don't mind, that I'm in Slytherin?" He knew that many children had trouble at home for being sorted into the wrong house. He would have thought the Weasleys and the Potters would have both thrown almighty fits about a son of theirs (even an adopted one) being sorted into that hated house.

Potter reached out and brushed the hair out of Severus' eyes, he smiled, "We've been over this. I rather like having the set."

Severus shook his head, "But...but everyone thinks Slytherins are all Dark Wizards." he blurted, befuddled.

Potter nodded somberly, looking as if something was making sense, suddenly, "Has someone been giving you a hard time?" he asked.

"I...don't know..." Severus sputtered.

Potter frowned some more, "Listen, if someone gives you a hard time, tell your brother or sister, right?"

"I-I don't..." Severus decided he'd best shut his mouth. This was getting too fraught and confusing.

"If they do, tell Professor Bulstrode, right? Or, like I said, you can tell Al, if you don't feel like you can talk to the prefects in you house." Potter shook his head, "I won't have you worrying about this, all right?" Potter leaned forward again to grasp the hand that wasn't holding a wand, "There's absolutely nothing wrong with Slytherin. Dark wizards have come from every house, it's only that the last one happened to be in Slytherin. One of the greatest heroes of the War also came from Slytherin. And you have his wand. "

Severus nodded, feeling an unaccustomed weight of emotion in his chest. He tried to will it away, reminding himself of his dreaming state. This dream was getting away from him. It was so damnedreal. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was trapped here. Every second he spent here convinced him of the reality and his former life, with the War and the Dark Lord, began to feel like the dream.

The Chinese wizard, Chuang Tzu, had written about taking Heart's Ease, Severus remembered suddenly. Something about dreaming he was a butterfly and being unsure, when he awoke, which was the reality.

Severus could sympathize.

"Really, I do think the problem is the head injury." Ernie McMillon told Ginny and Harry as they stood anxiously outside Tim's room. Normally, they would have seen Ernie at his office in St. Mungo's, but Harry was not above trading shamelessly on personal favors to get his children special treatment, when they were hurt. Ernie was still in his green healer's robes, having come over as soon as he'd finished seeing his last case for the morning.

Ernie's specialty was healing related the brain and the nerves. He had followed Tim's case since he'd first treated him for damage from the Cruciatus curse, four years ago, when Tim had first come to live with the Potters. He had, in fact, built his reputation on Tim's case and others like it. He had also had a good deal of success treating people who'd had their memories wiped out by accidents, injuries, or badly done obliviation spells.

"The damage is fairly extensive, but strictly physical." Ernie went on, "I've looked at Poppy's report and I don't think it's the potion that has affected him. " The healer hesitated.

It was never good news when a healer hesitated like that. Harry's stomach twisted itself into a tight ball and Ginny grasped his hand. Harry squeezed back hard.

"So, I think," said Ernie slowly, "Given that we're dealing with simple mechanical trauma, rather than magical injury, a few days of standard healing potions should put him right."

"But..?" Harry prompted, wishing Ernie would just get to the point, hoping he hadn't sounded as snappish as he felt.

"It's probably nothing." Ernie's brows were knitted in concentration, "I just...I'm just really astounded at how active Tim's magic is. His magical activity levels are what you'd expect in a fairly powerful adult wizard." His brows were knitted in concern and he glanced back at the boy's bedroom door, "That would lead me to look for magical injury, but I can't find any. I worry that, perhaps, I'm missing something."

Ginny nodded, "Yes, but Tim's always been a special case, hasn't he?" she glanced at Harry for support.

"Well, his magic has occasionally overreacted rather spectacularly, " admitted Harry, "The first time I laid eyes on him, he'd transfigured a man into a cockroach. I doubt many seven year old wizards could have done that."

Ernie looked speculative and then relieved, as though solving a puzzle in his head "Hmm. I suppose...yes... A purely physical injury could wake up precociously activated magic that's gone dormant. A sort of learned response to early-on magical injury." Ernie gave Harry a wry look, "That's how it always worked with you, from what I understand."

Harry just shrugged, more concerned with his son, than whatever powers he, Harry, allegedly held as a child, "So, you don't think this memory loss is permanent?" Harry said, bringing the conversation back to the point.

The healer shook his head, "No. This doesn't look any worse than a bad Quidditch injury. I would expect some disorientation for the next week to ten days, given that he cracked the back of his head on the floor. Poppy said there was considerable brain swelling before she got the first potion into him, so it was pretty bad. If he'd been a Muggle, he'd be dead." Ernie shifted uncomfortably on his feet, "To be honest, we should be grateful that Tim's magic is at a strength level that you usually don't see in young wizards. He'd still be comatose, otherwise."

Ginny nodded. As she had told Tim, she had, indeed, had her share of Quidditch injuries, over the years, "So, what should we be doing?" she asked.

"Just the usual thing." Ernie said, pulling a bit of parchment out of his pocket and writing down some instructions, "I'll prescribe a nerve healing potion twice a day. Leave his wand with him. You're right about that-it's helping his magic focus. He can get up tomorrow if he feels up to it. If he feels worse, fire call me or send a Patronus, if I'm not at the office." Ernie handed the parchment to Ginny, "Don't leave him alone for the next couple of days. Have your house elf look after him over night."

Ginny and Harry looked at each other with a bit of a smirk. As good as Kreacher was with the children, they had never let him sit with one of them when they were ill. Unlike many Pure Blood parents, Harry and Ginny were definitely the hands-on type.

Harry took a breath and asked what had been plaguing him since he'd heard Tim refer to him as "Mr. Potter" and seen his closed off, frightened expression, "You don't think...this is going to set him back do you?" he swallowed, "It won't reactivate the damage from the Cruciatus?"

No one had ever sustained as much documented damage from the Cruciatus Curse as Tim had, and come out whole. Many suspected that during the last year of the war, there were others who had been Cruciated just as often, but they had all been treated with the Snape potion, secretly. Tim was really the only test case they had, apart from Alice Longbottom.

"Rattling his brains isn't going to undo what the potion did, Harry." Ginny said firmly. Ginny always had much more faith in the potion than Harry did. Harry hated to think of why, "I've never had any trouble."

The healer nodded, "That's right. I told you, as far as I can tell, it's strictly a physical injury. I'll come back tomorrow and check on him. I think a normal healing draught will do the job. I don't think we need anything specialized." Ernie said, "Only, don't be surprised if he's...well, a bit funny 'till his memory comes back."

"What do you mean?" asked Ginny, concerned. She slipped her arm around Harry's waist and he put his arm around her shoulder. They'd had a lot of experience with Tim's "funny turns" in the past. It wasn't anything they couldn't get through again.

"Well, that's part of the reason I don't want you to leave him alone." Ernie said crossing his arms, and leaning up against the wall, "Head injuries are very inconsistent in their effects. You'll notice, it seems like he remembers most people, but he's fuzzy on his relationship to them."

"He was like that at school." confirmed Harry, "Knew almost everyone, but wasn't sure how he fit in. Went back to calling me Mr. Potter."

"Unfortunately, traumatic memories are the strongest. He might be only remembering you as "Mr. Potter" right now. He's also likely to have some nightmares or even flashbacks before his memory comes back properly. He might also be very moody, irritable, possibly tearful. All very normal, after an injury like this. It'd safe to use Legilimency on him, if you think you can stop him from working himself up into a state. I dislike using a calming draught after a head injury, to be honest. Tends to make one a bit sluggish."

Harry and Ginny were nodding in unison.

"Don't be too concerned if he's disoriented over the next day or so. Might ask odd questions, even find himself unable to remember how to do particular complex tasks. Answer any questions he has, no matter how peculiar they seem. More than likely it'll jog his own memories. If it seems like its getting worse rather than better, contact me right away, all right?"

"Yes." Said Harry, "I'll sit with him first, shall I?" he told Ginny.

"Right." Said Ernie, pushing away from the wall, "I just leave you to it. Let me know if you need me."

Ginny looked at the list of potions, "I'll send Kreacher out for these." She gave Harry's waist a last squeeze before letting go and started down the steps to see Ernie out, "Harry? Do you want me to get Kreacher to bring your lunch up here?" she asked.

"Yeah, go on." Nodded Harry. He gave Ernie a smile and turned back to Tim's room.

"I'll come and take over after Mum gets here." Ginny said over her shoulder, "She just owled that she'll come stay the night."

Harry smiled. Molly was always to be relied upon.

The bedroom door was still half open, the way Harry had left it when he'd walked out. Tim was sitting in his bed where Harry had last seen him, pretending to read.

Harry knew he had to have been listening in on the adult's conversation. It was what he would have done, after all. Harry hadn't cast a silencing charm, because if he had, Tim would have probably assumed he was dying and the adults weren't telling him.

Again, Harry would have assumed the exact same thing.

Tim looked up, as though he'd actually been absorbed in the book. The child was getting to be a damned fine actor. Probably taking lessons from Al.

"What did the healer say?" a calculatedly casual tone, that hid real fear. Tim's eyes had taken on that flat, too-old look that Harry was familiar with. A sort of old-soul, eleven-going-on-forty, world weariness. Waiting for the worst.

Harry sat down in the rocking chair next to the bed and met Tim's eyes before he started speaking, "Come on, Tim," he said, with a wry little smile, "Don't try to tell me you weren't listening."

The boy's mouth thinned, and he seemed to brace himself, as if he expected Harry to give him a smack for being caught eavesdropping, "I heard...some." he replied warily.

"So, Healer Ernie thinks you just have a concussion. Your magic will put it right in a few days." Harry assured him, "Until then, he doesn't want you to be left alone, in case you get dizzy or sick again."

Tim stared at Harry, not speaking.

"You want to play some chess?" asked Harry, tentatively.

Tim shook his head, still staring at Harry.

"Okay." Harry pulled out his wand and summoned one of the parchments he'd been reading from his study. Sometimes, Tim just needed some time by himself to collect his thoughts. Harry thought he'd be a little more at ease if Harry just got involved in something else.

Tim just did not move. He didn't take his eyes off Harry. The intensity of the child's stare was unnerving.

Finally Kreacher came in with a tray, "Mistress Ginny says that Master Harry and Master Tim should eat." The old elf croaked. Surprisingly, Tim didn't even have a smile for Kreacher, although he did mutter his thanks when served a bowl of soup.

Kreacher tilted his head a bit, then leaned up to whisper something in the boy's ear.

Tim drew back looking astonished and Kreacher gave him a conspiratorial smile, "Don't you worry about anything, Little Master." Kreacher patted the boy's hand, "It'll be fine, you'll see." He vanished with a crack.

Harry grinned to himself. He never would have believed, years ago, what a good child minder Kreacher could be. For some reason, he always was knew what to say to the children when they were sad or worried.

Tim seemed to turn his attention more to his food and Harry sat eating his own and reading his report.

"Mmm...Dad?" Tim said, after a while. He used the word as if he was humoring Harry.

He very likely was, Harry knew. Tim hated to upset people.

"Yes?"

Tim had put his bowl of soup aside on the bedside table. He was holding his wand up between his hands, studying it, "Why do I have this wand?"

"You don't remember?" asked Harry.

Tim shook his head.

Harry smiled, "Well, like the portrait told you, that used to be Severus Snape's wand. He was headmaster of Hogwart's, the greatest potion's master of the 20th Century, a hero of the Second War with Voldemort, head of Slytherin House and a good friend of my mum's."

Tim went back to staring at Harry and simply waited.

"Do you remember how ill you were when you first came to live with us?" Harry asked, quietly.

"I think so?" the boy didn't sound too sure.

"Well, I was going through Professor Snape's journals looking for something to help, and I had his wand. It called you. Do you remember that?"

Now the child just shook his head.

"Well, at the time, we were worried that you'd never be able to control your magic, but your Auntie Luna said it proved you'd be able to. That wand is one of the best, you know." Harry said, "And Professor McGonagal once told me that the only wizard she'd ever known who was greater than Severus Snape was Dumbledore himself."

Tim's mouth fell open and his eyes widened. Again, Tim seemed to have no trouble remembering the history he'd read. It was hard to beleive that two wizards in a Century could have as much power as Snape and Dumbledore. And for a young boy to realize he'd inherited that wizard's wand-Harry hoped, belatedly, that he wasn't going to end up overexciting the boy.

Harry reached over and pulled Severus Snape's brooding Chocolate Frog card off the wall, where it was pinned up next to Slytherin (Tim had alphabetized them), "See, you've got his card."

Tim took the card, reading the back with the information and statistics for a while.

"It says that he's got a biography." Tim said, suddenly, urgently, "Do we have it?"

Harry nodded. Summoned the book from his study with a flick of his wand, "You're going to turn into your Aunt Hermione, you are." Harry said good naturedly, grateful that Tim sounded a little more like himself. Alive with curiosity; off and running on a new project. By the end of the holiday, Tim would know everything there was to know about Severus Snape.

 The pain in Severus' head was, quite literally, blinding. Bright, geometric patterns of light obscured his vision, pulsing with his heartbeat. As dim as the light in the room was, it was too much. Severus tried to keep his head very still, closed his eyes again. The patterns were still there, and he knew that the light only added to the agony. Inexplicably, he heard the sound of a child crying.

His head hurt so much, he couldn't think. He would have snapped at the child to hush, if he could have organized himself to do it around the knife stabbing through his occiput.

Fear that wasn't Severus' washed over him. It was the sensation he'd had when he'd gone too far during Legilimency. He was experiencing someone else's feelings and memories. He wasn't sure whose.

The mind was very young. A student, then? He'd helped Poppy with injured students before. That made sense. He was a strong enough Occlumens that he generally didn't get too entangled.

This mind was damaged. Magic pulsed around him, repairing the mind and the physical structures that housed it. The child's magic was disorganized, but rallying. Very strong, too. The raw power of it must have knocked Severus off balance, drawn him into the injured child's mind. A healing sleep would be beneficial. Severus drew his own power around himself, a buffer against the young one's pain. He regained enough awareness of his physical body to recognize that he held his wand. He focused, intending to reach out with one of the gentler sleep spells,.

The child was struggling with traumatic memories, however. That small spell would not be enough. The memories were too strong, stirred up, as they were, by the brain's own healing mechanisms.

Fearful, confused scenes of squalid little rooms. There seemed to be many of them, each as bad as the other. The other mind fixed on a blond woman. She was shouting at a black haired, blue eyed man man. The black haired man raising his wand and blond woman falling to the floor in agony. The man turned his wand towards the owner of the memory.

The pain in Severus' head redoubled and the crying became a wail. Now the pain was quite as bad as any of the Dark Lord's Crucios.

Severus tried to pull away from the child's mind completely. To his alarm, he could not.

It wasn't that he was being held there; there was just nowhere to go.

Severus fought to orient himself to where he was, mentally backtracking through ridiculous ideas, to the last things he could remember that made any sense.

Hogwarts. Poppy. Her potion. Something exploding. And then, this bizarre dream. Trapped in this child's body.

Now, it appeared that the body's rightful owner had awoken. The child was confused, and seemed too overcome with the agony in his head to question the presence of another mind, although Severus was certain the boy sensed him.

The next moment confirmed that he child did, indeed, sense Severus, "Oh, shite, it's bad isn't it?" the child spoke aloud, but Severus knew it was he who was being addressed. He wasn't sure what to make of that comment, nor the way he and the boy's mind seemed separated by only the thinnest of barriers.

"Shh. Shh." A woman's voice said. Soft hands stroked his forehead. He felt her move him around, until he was curled up, resting on her lap. She may have levitated him, he wasn't sure.

"Mum?" The child spoke to her now, "What..?"

"You hit your head. Do you remember?" the woman whispered.

"N-no..." stuttered the child's voice, "Was...Father...? Did he..? Did he hurt you again? Are you...?" Severus felt a fine trembling through his limbs. The child's mind associated the word "Father" with such fear. Severus remembered his own mother comforting him, just like this, after his own father had given him a beating.

"Kreacher?" whispered the woman. Severus recognized the voice as Ginny Potter's, "Go fetch that pain potion Ernie said he could have." Then, to the child, "Tim, it's me. Your Ginny-mum." her voice cracked a little, "You're only dreaming." Ginny reached down to take his hand wrapping her larger one firmly around the one in which he held his wand, "There, do you feel your wand?"

Severus felt the wand pulse, "Yeah," whimpered the child, "My head hurts..." the boy trailed off.

"I know." Ginny stroked the boy's hair, "It's all right." She rocked him back and forth a little, "Were you dreaming about your other mum?"

"M'sorry." the child cuddled closer to the woman, "He was there too. He...he..." the child couldn't continue. Severus was surprised to see the child reaching for control of himself, instinctively emptying his mind of the roiling emotions as a way to master the pain.

"It's all right, lovey." She repeated. She wrapped both arms around him, holding him firmly. Severus was surprised, surely this child was too old for such treatment, even injured as he was.

On the other hand, Severus was no judge of such things.

His (their?) head still felt as though he had been struck with an iron bar. Severus wondered when the hell that elf was going to get back with that pain potion. He took a breath, and control over the magic he and the child apparently shared. With an effort, he used a mental incantation to soothe the younger mind to sleep. There was no point in the both of them suffering. The child didn't fight him, either. Surprisingly, he showed at least as much trust in Severus as one of his Slytherins might have, in better days. The boy's mind relaxed into sleep, allowing Severus to put his own mental efforts into coping with the pain.

A crack announced the elf's return. Ginny moved his unresisting body around. A glass bottle was put to his lips and Severus swallowed.

One never really appreciated the absence of pain, he thought. The potion reduced his to a dull ache.

"Tim, love?" Ginny said, "Can you open your eyes for me?"

Severus opened them carefully. He was far to close to the woman's face, he thought. He flinched back and looked down. She seemed to understand his discomfort. She smiled lopsidedly, "Just look up for a second, Tim." She pushed damp hair out of his face, bringing up her wand. He realized she was checking his pupil reflex.

Her eyebrows drawn together and her mouth pressed into a worried line, Ginny eased him off her lap and back onto the bed, tucking him under the covers, "Expecto patronum" Severus didn't see what her Patronus was, it leapt so quickly from her wand, and out of the curtained window. That done, she used a refreshing charm to clean his sweaty sheets and pajamas.

Clearly, this was a woman long experienced with looking after, and comforting, sick and injured children.

The last thing Severus remembered from last night (was it last night? It felt that way) was falling asleep in this room, with a forty year old Harry Bloody Potter sitting with him. A troubled father keeping watch over a sickly child.

What Severus had expected, was to be waking in his office (if he woke at all), with a hangover from bad hallucinogens.

"I need to look in your eyes, again, lovey." said Ginny, clearly she hadn't liked what she'd seen the first time. She took her wand light and again checked first one eye, then the other. She pursed her lips, "Healer Ernie's coming in a few minutes, sweetie," was all she said, "Do you think you could eat?"

Severus didn't dare shake his head, "No." he said.

"How about just some tea, then?" She said, a little too brightly. Ginny rearranged the pillows to get him sitting comfortably. When the motion didn't make his head explode, Severus' relaxed a bit. She poured some tea from the tray that sat on a little table and brought it over. Severus took it, sipping cautiously.

The curtains were drawn, with daylight seeping in around the edges. It was a bright day outside, by the looks of it, and would have been painful on his light sensitive eyes. Severus was grateful for that consideration. At any second, it felt as though the headache could come back, full force.

Ginny settled back into the rocking chair, "How did you sleep?"

Severus shrugged. It was rather absurd to be dreaming about sleeping. The whole thing was rather absurd. He kept sipping the tea, hoping it wouldn't come back up. A healing potion lurked underneath the milk and sugar. He could taste dittany, feverfew, peony, and meadowsweet. Silently, Severus began to recite the rest of the ingredients and the steps of the potion to himself. It was an old trick to calm himself, reciting potions in his head.

"What are you thinking about?" asked Ginny, gently.

Severus shrugged again, not trusting himself to speak. All the evidence was leading him to conclude that his first assessment was wrong. He never felt real pain in dreams. Nor was a dream ever this continuous or vivid. Given that it felt real, it seemed that he would be wisest to treat it as if it were real, for now.

If that were the case, there were things he should know.

He finished his tea and handed the cup back to Ginny. He grasped his wand in one hand. Tapping it on the bed, thinking how best to discover what he needed.

"Would you like me to read to you?" asked Ginny, "If your head hurts, it might not be a good idea for you to read yourself. Would you like me to keep reading the book you started last night?."

Severus nodded, cautiously.

Ginny picked it up from the end of the bed, "Where you left the book mark?" she asked.

Severus hadn't gotten very far. Too many healing potions, making him sleep. He'd managed about two pages, before he couldn't focus his eyes. Potter had plucked the book from his grasp and tucked him in, as he recalled. He couldn't remember what he'd read, now.

Before she could start though, they heard the sound of the floo, in the kitchen.

"That'll be Healer Ernie." Said Ginny, anxiously.

Severus didn't remember Ginny Weasley as being a nervous sort of girl. Quite the contrary. And, Molly Weasley was as formidable as a she-bear protecting her young, but she was not given to being overly dramatic about illnesses, either. So, this was not a behavior Ginny might grow into as a mother herself.

"Is everything all right?" he ventured, slowly.

She frowned, as though she thought he was inconveniently quick on the uptake, "I don't like that your headache was so bad." she said simply.

Severus couldn't say he particularly cared for it, either.

McMillan came in, lead by the house elf, who gave Severus an almost accusing stare before leaving the room with a pop.

"Thank you for getting here so quickly, Ernie." Ginny said, with relief

"No problem, Ginny." McMillan said, "Told you to send, if there was a problem. What's happening?"

"He woke up with a really dreadful headache," replied Ginny, nodding towards Severus, "And, look at his eye."

McMillan sat down on the side of the bed, used his wand to look into Severus' eyes, "How bad was the headache?"

"Bad enough, that it had him dreaming about Smith." Ginny said, in a brittle sort of voice, "He woke up thinking I was his other Mum."

The healer went very pale when Ginny said that. He turned to Severus, "I need to do some diagnostic spells, all right?" he said to the child.

"All right." Replied Severus. He knew McMillan. A Hufflepuff, with all that house's characteristic patience, grit and persistence; he'd been one of the students causing the Carrows a great deal of trouble. If one was going to let someone muck about with one's brain, there were worse choices than Ernie McMillan.

McMillan took out what looked like a pair of jeweler's glasses,"Just close your eyes for me." he said.

Severus felt the man lean over him, "Hmf." the man said, after a moment, "The headache? Started all at once?"

"Yes, I think so." Ginny answered, for him, "He was sleeping quietly, and then he cried out."

"Tim?"

"Yes." Severus agreed.

"Worst headache you've every had?" McMillan asked.

"I think so?" with the body's owner asleep, it wasn't as though Severus could ask.

"Is it..." the healer hesitated, "Would you say it was as bad as a Cruciatus?" he asked very quietly. Perhaps, because he didn't want Ginny to hear.

Severus opened his eyes to look at McMillan, a little shocked. How would the child know something like that? But, Severus knew, so,"Yes." he whispered back.

The man nodded, "Ginny?" he said, "I'm afraid he's got a bit of a bleed. I need to do some spell work to stop it." McMillan looked over his shoulder at her, pushing up the jewelers glasses, "Happens with head injuries sometimes." He said, "They seem to be on the mend and then a blood vessel will burst, suddenly."

"Why didn't the healing potions take care of it?" Ginny's voice was louder than Severus would have liked and high pitched with fear. Severus sat on his urge to explain to the woman, in detail, the difference between what could be accomplished with healing potions, as opposed to spell work.

"I'll go in and stop the bleeding and the potions will deal with what his native magic can't." The healer said. He turned back to Severus, flicking his wand to raise the back of the bed up, so it was more convenient. He pushed the jeweler's glasses back down, over his eyes "Tim?" he said, "This may feel odd, but it shouldn't hurt. If the headache starts to come back, let me know right away, all right?"

Severus nodded, thinking it was interesting that the healer seemed very familiar with the boy, and the boy's case.

The healer put his wand right up against Severus' temple, muttering incantations. Severus felt nothing, at first. The other mind began to stir uneasily, before throwing off the sleep spell, with surprising suddenness.

Severus braced himself for the child's magic to move against him, to perhaps even try to expel him, but the child's magic didn't react. In fact, Severus' presence caused the child no discomfort at all, although it was disconcerting for Severus to suddenly become nothing more than a passenger in the child's body, between one breath and the next.

"H-healer Ernie?" the child asked, surprised that the man had, from his perspective, just apparated in front of him.

"Tim?" The man asked absently, still concentrating on his spell casting.

"How long have you been here?" Tim (Severus supposed that was the boy's name) asked the man.

"About ten minutes," McMillan replied, "Don't you remember me getting here?" he didn't seem overly concerned.

"No. I remember my head hurting..."

The healer nodded, "I came to fix it." He seemed satisfied with whatever he'd done, "How's it feel?"

"Better?" the boy said, uncertainly.

"He looks better than he has, since he came home." Ginny affirmed, standing to look over the healer's shoulder.

"How long have I been home?" Tim asked, confused.

"Sweetheart, don't you remember?" began Ginny, worriedly.

The healer cut her off, "It's all right, I told you, these injuries can be odd." he smiled reassuringly, at the boy, "You hit your head and your magic was having some trouble clearing it up."

"Oh." The boy settled back, his eyes on the adults, still confused.

It occurred to Severus that, perhaps, what had happened was that Poppy's potion had backfired. Perhaps, rather than killing him, it had somehow trapped Severus' spirit in his wand? Now, he was accidentally released into the boy's body, when the boy's own magic was weakened?

Severus shivered with revulsion at that thought (of course, he couldn't really shiver, having no body of his own, but a shudder seemed to travel through the boy's body, in sympathy).

Was he a Thing like the Dark Lord now? A Thing that didn't have the decency to properly die? Oh gods, an idea that was even worse than whatever Poppy had done going awry occured to him; perhaps the Carrows had found his dying body and the Dark Lord had stuffed whatever was left of Severus into his wand? A trap, like that bloody diary had been a trap?

If that was the case, perhaps he could get the child to reveal his presence? Given both Potter's experience with possession at the hands of the Dark Lord, they'd have no qualms about finding some way to get rid of Severus.

What if they couldn't, without harming the boy, though?

"Where's Dad?" asked Tim, abruptly. From the wash of feelings attached to the word, Severus realized that "Dad" applied to a very different person than "Father".

Ginny smiled at the child, "He's at work. He'll be home early. Al and Lily are at the Burrow."

"Ginny," the healer had finished his diagnostic spells, "I think he should be fine, now." He brushed off his robe and stood.

"Well, what happened?" Ginny demanded, tensely.

"As I said, one of the blood vessels was weakened," McMillan shrugged, "That's not uncommon to happen, in the first seventy two hours after a concussion."

"Mum?" asked the boy, quietly, "I think I'm hungry." he said it softly, tentatively, "I suppose, I'm in bed for the afternoon? I had a new book I was reading, didn't I?" he stopped, perhaps half remembering what Severus had been reading, the day before, "Where is that?"

Ginny grinned. She sat down on the side of the bed, in the spot that McMillan vacated. She handed him his book, "I'll ask Kreacher to get you something."

"Something easy on the stomach," cautioned the healer. Then, to the child, "Keep your wand with you. Your head's still healing."

Tim looked and then tucked it under his pillow, "I was in potions class?" he asked slowly, "I think I remember...yeah...Someone nearly blew up their cauldron."

Ginny nodded, "You don't remember getting here? You were unconcious, until yesterday morning. Your Dad went and fetched you. You were awake and talking last evening."

The boy shook his head, "I don't remember." he said softly.

"Don't be surprised," McMillan came to the child's rescue, "He might not have been properly awake. He was pretty dazed when I saw him yesterday." He told them reassuringly, "You know how it is after a bludger injury. Sometimes, it takes days to properly come round."

The house elf appeared, obviously having listened to the whole exchange. He had a tray laden with enough easy-on-the-stomach delicacies to feed the whole hospital wing. The creature's eyes sharpened when he looked into the child's eyes, then smiled in relief. The night before, the elf had known that the mind in control of the body had not, in fact, been Tim's. For reasons best known to himself, the elf had decided that he would keep Severus' secret.

Kreacher had whispered to Severus, "Kreacher knows Little Master is not himself. Little Master is needing Other Master, Kreacher is thinking."

The child was unnerving. Severus would have wagered both his wand, and his nonexistent wand hand, that the child could sense him, although the boy betrayed no unease at the foreign presence.

Severus racked his metaphorical brains for what he could remember of possessions and possessing entities. The possessed must give permission somehow, on that the texts were all clear. Insofar as he knew, Severus could not remember himself seeking leave to possess anything but his own, apparently long dead body, so perhaps he was a soul adrift?

Lucius had described the Dark Lord's resurrection to Severus in lurid detail, "Less than spirit, less than the meanest ghost." The Dark Lord had said of his own state, after the failed Killing Curse.

The adults were speaking to each other, rather than Tim at the moment. They stood in the doorway of the boy's room, discussing the further possible effects of the head injury, although Ginny seemed more than competent enough to cope with it.

"Well, she coached enough Quidditch." The thought floated across Severus' mind, idly, as if it were his own. He started. The Ginny Weasley he remembered played Quidditch; either Seeker or Chaser.

"Mum was a Chaser when she was younger." The thought agreed, "Although, she was reserve Seeker." Different associations and impressions flashed through Severus. The feel of a broomstick handle, while Ginny sat behind the child, on rides around an orchard. The smell of warm ocean air and salt water. A crowd of Potters, almost enough to make a Quidditch team themselves, coming in filthy, tired and excited. Three children; the two Severus recognized as Lily and Albus Potter, and an older boy, who was really a young man.

"That's James." another idle thought informed him, "Don't you remember?"

Not only did the child seem aware of Severus' presence, he was completely unperturbed by it. Moreover, he seemed interested in communicating with Severus

Associations branched off from there, the child's mind darting about, as though to check that things were where he had left them. The images were faster and the feelings with them, stronger. Many of them people whom Severus half recognized. Any number of Weasleys, by their hair. Hagrid, unmistakable and virtually unchanged. A boy the same age as Albus Potter, who was sporting hair so blond, he must be a Malfoy, sitting with the child and helping him puzzle out a transfiguration assignment.

The boy must have caught Severus' surprise, and commented, "That's right, Scorpius Malfoy. He's dead clever. His father's hair is blond too." A picture of an adult Draco Malfoy, betraying just the slightest bit of unease, as he stood on Platform 9 and 3/4, while Scorpius, dressed in Ravenclaw robes, bounded to the Potter boy's side, to be flanked by a bushy haired girl that could have been Granger.

"Do you mean Aunt Hermione? She uses that name at work when she has to work with Muggles. Everyone says she looks like Rose."

Because they were conversing in the child's mind, Severus was getting the whole of Tim's impression of each person, the whole of his dislike or affection. Tim's experiences and thoughts of people were more grounded in feelings than words, or even pictures.

For some reason, Aunt Hermione's voice reminded him of dark places that were safe. His Ginny-mum smelled like summer and had the softest, coolest hands. Uncle Ron was a tall, sheltering presence. Potter had the stature of near sainthood, in the child's mind.

That last image was more than Severus could take. He'd had enough of Saint Bloody Potter to last a lifetime. He did hope that, when this child hit that rebellious stage, that he gave Potter holy hell.

"Why are you so angry, today?" The child thought at him.

Severus concentrated, closing his mind to the child, not liking the way their thoughts were leaking and mingling. The child's stream-of-conciousness noise became a distant hum. No feelings broke through, now.

Ginny returned from speaking to the healer. She sat down beside the child, on the bed, "Feeling better?" she asked, softly.

Tim nodded, gave her a little smile, "It's still weird, in my head." he admitted.

It would be, thought Severus, careful to keep it to himself.

"Healer Ernie said it might be." Ginny agreed, "He said not to worry. If you get a headache again, let me know." She looked over at the tray Kreacher had brought, "Soup?" she asked, "That'll probably go down easy."

The child nodded. She flicked her wand and a bowl floated through the air, to settle onto the boy's lap.

Severus was very glad that Ginny didn't seem to want to give Tim more help than was necessary. He was mortified enough by his circumstance, he couldn't bear it if the woman had spent the meal fussing over him (No, not him. The child ), like Molly Weasley might have. Instead, she sat quietly with him and after a minute, said, "So, shall I read some of your book?"

"Could you start at the beginning?" asked Tim, quietly, "I don't remember what I read last night."

Ginny smiled, "Of course, love. You know, your Dad wrote the forward. Would you like to start there?"

Tim nodded, spooning soup into his mouth.

It couldn't be a pleasant read, if Potter had a part in putting it together. Severus remembered the biography of Dumbledore; doubtless it was another pack of speculation in the same vein.

"Severus Snape was very much an enigma to those who knew him." Ginny read, "A brilliant man, with an incredible talent for deception, whose last years of life were devoted to the defeat of Voldemort. He was often described by student and colleagues alike as cold, with a cutting, sometimes cruel wit. It is well known that Professor Snape and I had our differences. However, in that last, most difficult, year of the War he bore burdens that would have destroyed most men."

Severus wasn't entirely sure where the rambling essay was going, but he had no choice except to continue listening. The child was interested in hearing the bloody tale and unless he forcibly took control of the child's body, he could not tell Ginny to stop.

"For all that, Professor Snape's loyalty never wavered. In that last dreadful year of the war, Professor Snape's entire purpose was turned to the protection of the students. His apparent cruelty, a cover for the dangerous work. Countless students were spared serious injury or even death, through his efforts." Ginny stopped reading, looked up at the child, her eyes were deeply shadowed.

Tim looked up to return her gaze, "What?" he asked.

She smiled wanly at the boy, "I just...that's a difficult time for me to remember." she said, "I was at school that year."

Tim tilted his head, "What happened?"

Severus waited for her to put the child off. Perhaps, tell him that wasn't a story she felt appropriate for young boys.

She did no such thing, "He'd been made headmaster, and there were these awful people, a brother and sister called Carrow, who'd been put in charge of the school. They liked to throw around the Cruciatus curse. They even taught it to the students."

"Is that where my father learned it, then?" the child asked, very quietly.

Ginny sighed, reached over to take Tim's now empty bowl, "I imagine so." her voice was just as quiet.

"They used it on you, didn't they?" It was more of a statement than a question.

She nodded, soberly, "Professor Snape gave me that potion he invented, so I didn't get sick from it, though." She shook her head, "He was always pretending to be mean."

Severus snorted to himself. He was a mean bastard, there was no pretense of it.

But, he wasn't mad, nor was he evil.

The witch was going on, "We didn't understand that he was looking after us. He had to pretend to be their man." She shook her head, "I had some idea that there was something weird going on. He stopped the Carrows from hurting me several times. This one time..." she hesitated, "I'd been taken to the headmaster's office by the brother, and I was so scared. I thought that they were going to do something awful."

"Worse than the Cruciatus? Like what?" the boy gasped, caught up in the story.

"I wasn't even sure, myself. I just knew it would be terrible." Ginny hedged.

Severus was glad she hadn't lost all sense of discretion. Telling a child this young that their mother was nearly raped was not appropriate, in Severus' view, no matter how open the family was.

"But, Snape...He told the brother to go find something else to do. Then he made me take that potion..."

The boy jumped in, "The same one you had to give me?"

She nodded, "It knocked me out, because I didn't need as much as you. And then, when I woke up he took me down to Madam Pomfrey, and told her I was hurt. But she could tell I wasn't, really. So, that made her wonder about him. She told me after, that she'd known Snape since he was eleven, and she could never understand how he could have gone so badly wrong. When he started bringing her students, and telling her that they were a lot more hurt than they really were, she worked out that he was still spying for our side."

"But, why didn't anyone else figure it out?" asked the boy.

The woman smiled, but it was sad, "That's a long story. Professor McGonagal helped Professor Longbottom write that chapter."

Severus finally took in what was written on the cover of the book. He'd been so full of potions last night, that he hadn't taken any notice of the author.

Neville Bloody Longbottom.

If Severus had had control of his body, at that moment, he would have hit something.

Longbottom, in charge of writing about his life? That was the only person he could think of who would be worse than Potter.

Severus' anger needed to be vented, apparently. Some of the knick knacks in the room began to shake, ominously.

"Tim? You all right?" asked Ginny, worriedly, pulling her wand to stop the imminent magical storm.

Loudly, and right through his Occludmency shields, the child's thought voice said, "Will you calm down?"

The child took a deep breath, as though to help Severus do that very thing, and seemed to, somehow, wrest control of the magic away from Severus.

"Sorry," he muttered, to Ginny, "My head is still sort of weird."

"That's fine," she smiled, and put her arm around him, "It's to be expected. Healer Ernie said you might have that sort of thing happen, over the next few days. He said not to worry, it's just your brain healing. I think you must be more tired out than you think. Why don't you snuggle down, and have a sleep?"

The boy nodded. Ginny helped him lie down, and tucked him securely in, "I'll stay right here." she said, indicating the rocking chair. She moved back there, picking up the knitting she'd been working on.

Severus redoubled his shields, and brooded on Poppy's revenge.

It would have been quite easy for Severus to take control of the child's body, when the child's mind slept. It appeared that Severus could act independently of Tim's biology. The child's body and magic put up no barriers to the man just taking over completely. Likely, shielded by his Occlumency as Severus was, the child had ceased to be aware of him. Perhaps, dismissing him as a passing imagining related to his head injury.

He discovered this when Tim relaxed into a doze. As Tim's eyes fell shut, Severus was pulled toward sleep, but the pull was not strong. Last night, it was more habit than need that had sent Severus into a sleeping state, when the body succumbed to the healing potion.

That would be why he had control of the boy's body, when Tim had been struck in the head.

Severus was too busy attempting to work out a solution to his predicament to follow Tim's mind into sleep, but to be trapped in a sleeping body was actually a little frightening. The body's senses shut down, leaving Severus feeling as though he were in some sort of solitary confinement. Perhaps in one of the Dark Lord's cells.

It was very tempting to open the body's eyes, stretch and pick up that book Ginny had left him. However, it could be disastrous to give into the temptation to take the body for a walk, as it were. Who knew what it would do to the child? Even to keep the body awake to do something as inocuous as reading would likely cause problems for the boy's healing.

He remembered that the Dark Lord's possessions had been very hard on the possessed.

As the boy's mind took on the slow rhythm of sleep, Severus began to mentally construct for himself a place to be. Otherwise, he'd go mad in very short time.

He had to wonder if the Dark Lord's serial possessions of people and creatures had damaged his mind. Perhaps that contributed to the current madness that permeated his plans, quite as much as his shattered soul.

He created a mental construct of his own body, visualized his wand in his hand. With only a little more effort, he imagined his dungeon quarters at Hogwarts.

With a sigh, Severus threw his imaginary body onto the memory of his favorite chair.

How long he sat there, deep in thought, he didn't know. No matter how he looked at it, he saw that his best chance out of this situation was to somehow alert the Potters to his existence. Surely, someone would be able to free the child from the unwanted passenger, and grant Severus the long overdue peace that he craved.

"Hello." The voice made Severus jump. Without thought, he leveled his wand at the boy standing in the doorway of his sitting room.

A blue eyed, smallish boy in Slytherin robes stood there, with a little smile on his face. "This is nice." Tim observed, looking around the room with interest, unconcerned by Severus wand.

Severus blinked. There should be no way for the boy to find this refuge, as much as Severus was Occluding. Slowly, he dropped his wand.

Tim came into the room, as if he belonged here. Which, Severus supposed, he did. It was his head Severus was inhabiting, after all.

The boy sat on the settee, "I haven't seen this place before." He said, "It looks like somewhere in Hogwarts."

Numbly, the man nodded, "Yes, it's where I used to live." he said, quietly.

"It's near the Slytherin's dormitory, isn't it? In the dungeons...near the Potions classroom." He pulled up his feet, so he was sitting cross legged on the settee with his elbows on his knees, his chin resting on his folded hands. He watched Severus as though he expected him to say something, "Why are you here?" he finally, asked, bluntly.

"I believe you're sleeping, at the moment." Severus evaded, "So, it would stand to reason that I'm a dream."

Tim nodded seriously, "True, but you're not just a dream. You never have been. You usually show up when something bad happens."

"You've seen me before?" Severus asked, befuddled. Had he somehow awoken in the child before, and now couldn't remember?

"Well...yes." The child tilted his head to the side, "Did you come because I hit my head?"

"Perhaps." replied Severus, softly.

Tim's brow wrinkled and his blue eyes looked concerned, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm not sure. There might be." Severus said, "I'm don't believe I belong here."

The boy shrugged, maddeningly, "But, you've always been here."

The Professor looked at the boy sharply, "What do you mean?"

"Healer Phoebe says you're part of me. She said that I needed someone to look after me, so my mind created someone to do that." Tim replied slowly, thinking his words through, "But, I'm not sure I believe her. You know so much more than I do. My Nana said you were an angel."

Severus snorted, "I'm an unlikely angel, I think." The boy's words disturbed him more than he wanted to admit, "Why did you need looking after?"

Tim stared at him, wide eyed, and perhaps a little frightened now, "Don't you remember?"

"Insofar as I know, I have never met you before, and I certainly do not recall sharing your body or mind." snapped Severus.

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

The shouting of male voices interrupted their conversation.

Severus' carefully constructed vision fell to bits as Tim abruptly woke, with a pounding heart. The child jumped out of bed, as though looking for somewhere to flee to.

"MERLIN'S BLOODY WAND! ARE YOU TRYING TO GET YOURSELF KILLED? WE HAVE PROCEDURES FOR A REASON!"

The boy's mind woke more slowly than his body. Tim was stood in the the middle of the floor and was looking wildly about, before he fully made the transition from sleep.

Apparently, raised voices were something to be feared, in Tim's world.

The light in the room looked like late afternoon, almost sunset. Fat flakes of snow fell past the window, where the curtains had been pushed back.

"Tim?" It was Albus Potter's voice. The other boy was standing by the door that was opened an inch.

The child was shaking from head to foot, his hands half raised in defense. Severus realized that Tim didn't quite know where he was.

Albus realized it too. He moved slowly, "It's okay Tim, you're home." he said, approaching the child as if he were a wounded animal.

"Who's shouting?" asked Tim. He wrapped his arms around himself, but he didn't step away when Al came close. Al was much taller than Tim, he had to have attained most of his height already. Al wrapped an arm around Tim and led him back to bed.

"Dad and James are. Well, mostly Dad is going spare at James." Al said, "Mum got an owl from St. Mungo's, a few hours ago. I guess James got hurt at work. She went to St. Mungo's to be with Dad, while James got patched up. The three of them just got back." Al tucked the younger boy in.

The voices downstairs had dropped to a more conversational volume. They couldn't hear what they were saying, but the muttering sounded intense. Al went to stand by the open door, listening.

After a moment, Al shook his head, "Dad's going mad. Mum's trying to calm him down." The way the boy said it made Severus think that was fairly unusual. Remembering Molly Weasley and her infamous tirades, not to mention the Howlers she frequently sent to the Headmaster, Severus could well beleive that Ginny would follow her mother's example.

So, what had this James done to so upset Potter?

The voices rose in volume again, "That was the worst year of my whole bloody life!" Potter roared, "Don't talk about things you don't understand!" Potter went on in a more moderate volume, but it sounded as though he were coming up the stairs, "If it were up to me, you'd be suspended for the next month!"

"Well, it's not up to you, is it?" A sullen voice replied, "There's no talking to you, is there?"

Potter growled, sounding like he was right outside the door, "No, there's bloody not! Not about this!"

Albus glanced back at Tim. Severus thought, by the tightness in the boy's face, he must be chalk white. The child's whole body was shaking, his breathing speeding up to almost hyperventilation.

"Fine." said the other voice, "I'll be at Uncle Ron's, then." stomping footsteps down the stairs, and the sound of the floo.

"Uh, Dad?" Albus said, quietly opening the door a bit more.

"What?" snarled Potter.

"You, er, cancelled the silencing spell up here the other day, and didn't put back up." The boy said, apologetically, "And, erm..."

Severus heard Potter sigh, "Dammit." He was quiet for a minute. Severus assumed he was calming himself.

"Sorry, boys." Potter said, in a much different tone, coming into the room, "Tim..?" The man's green eyes softened as he took in the child's state, "Oh, lovey, I'm sorry."

He sat down on the bed. Severus noted that he moved slowly, as though to avoid startling Tim. He reached out to brush the boy's fringe out of his eyes, "It's okay." he assured, "James and I...you know what we're like. It'll all be fine by the morning." Potter didn't sound entirely certain, "How does the head feel?"

"All right," muttered the boy, his breathing still too fast.

He was, until you frightened him half to death, Severus thought caustically.

"I didn't mean for you to hear us shouting." Potter's voice was very contrite.

"What happened to James?" asked Albus.

Potter ran his hand through his hair, making it stick up more than ever, "Just got clipped with a curse. He'll be all right."

"Why all the shouting, then?" Albus pressed.

"Ask James." Potter replied, darkly, in a voice that said he was quite finished talking about it. He stopped, went on in a gentler tone, "I think Kreacher was going to put dinner on the table. Why don't you go on, and I'll sit with your brother."

Albus nodded, closing the door behind him as he left.

The child relaxed. Apparently his urge to trust Potter was stronger than his fear. If it hadn't been, Severus might have been tempted to see if he could make the child's magic work for him. Severus wondered what had happened to Tim to make him so edgy.

As it was, the boy reached out to take Potter's hand.

Potter smiled at him, the expression tight with anxiety, "How are you, really?" he asked.

"I...my head's still aching." Tim admitted.

The man nodded seriously, "I heard you had a rough morning."

"I was...dreaming about Smith again." Tim whispered, "The headache was so bad that I thought..." he stopped, swallowed. A shudder passed through his body, "I mean..." he stopped again, and didn't go on.

Potter put his arm around Tim's shoulders and gave him a one armed hug, "Oh, son." he said, softly.

Another full body shudder went through the child. Severus was very tempted to take a peek into the boy's mind, to see what was so terrible.

Tim leaned against Potter, taking hold of the man's robe with one of his hands, drawing strength from the contact "I dreamt about him hurting me and Mum." he whispered, "It was so real."

So, someone had used the Cruciatus on the boy.

Potter gave the boy a tight squeeze, cleared his throat, "I've been hurt a few times at work, and have been thrown right back into a bad dream like that. Your Mum too."

The child didn't say anything else, just sat soaking up the warmth from his father's embrace.

"You mean Dad." The boy thought at Severus, fiercely, "Father was a right bastard, if you don't remember."

Yet again, Severus was taken aback by the child's eavesdropping on his thoughts.

"Dad?" Tim asked after a long time, so long that Severus thought Potter must have dozed off.

"Yes, Tim?" Potter sounded wide awake.

The child hesitated, "Someone at school said you died once. Is that true?"

The statement hit Severus like a physical blow. He didn't understand why he hadn't remembered before. Of course, Potter had to die- if he was still alive, then the Dark Lord was out there somewhere. But, to all appearances, the Dark Lord was no longer a threat.

Was this just all a dream after all?

Harry sighed; a long drawn out sound of weariness. This was not an unexpected question. As much as he and Ginny tried to shelter the children from the public eye, and their own roles in the War, all the children had asked him, sooner or later.

With James, it had been in the first letter home from Hogwarts. Gryffindor House had a portrait of Harry right in their common room, and the other students were delighted to tell James the story.

Albus had waited until the end of that first year. He'd read about it in the library and had talked it over with Scorpius and Rose before coming to Harry. He knew much more about the about what the history books had to say than Harry did. Albus had wanted (characteristically) to check with the primary source.

Ginny and Harry had been a bit more proactive with Lily, telling her the story in bits and pieces over the years, since the boys would bring it up.

Tim...well, in all things, Tim was different. Harry often thought that it was strange, but the child where he could see the most of himself was the child not his by blood.

People often remarked that James was a risk taker like Harry (that always made Harry wince) and that Albus was his spitting image. Al was much more like Ginny though, champion of the oppressed, and smart as a whip. Harry could only conclude that James was like his grandfather. Well, that's what he got for naming the child after James Potter and Sirius Black. What had they been thinking? Lily was all Weasley, from her red hair to her hot temper, she seemed able to turn into her grandmother at the drop of a hat.

Tim was a quiet child, rather shy in fact. His style was to watch others before he tried anything new. Sensitive, oddly mature and slow to warm up to people, Harry hadn't been at all surprised to see him sorted into Slytherin, although he would have fit into any of the houses. He was, like Al, blindingly intelligent. The circumstances of the child's life had required great courage and fortitude, and he had an unshakable sense of honor and fairness. Perhaps, because he understood that the world was inherently unfair. However, he had a thirst to prove himself that the others didn't have, more than likely because the others had always been safe and comfortable.

Curiously, Harry also found that there were many Halfbloods in Slytherin. He wouldn't have believed it, but after the War, when he finally read Hogwarts: A History, he discovered that Slytherin was the traditional house of Halfbloods, for all of old Salazar's supposed preference for Purebloods.

Tim had never asked before, not about Harry's status in the magical world. He knew Harry was an Auror, but apart from visiting Harry's boss, Roz, whom the boy was very fond of, he didn't appear to take an interest in Harry's work at all.

Harry assumed it was because Tim didn't like to talk about the events surrounding his adoption by the Potters. Tim had absolutely no interest in talking about dark wizards, since he knew personally what they were capable of. He was content to know that his parents would keep him safe.

Other things about Harry's life caught his interest. It had been two years ago that Tim had confronted Harry with the book Dudley had written about he and Harry's childhood, which had ended up on one of Tim's shelves. It had been just after they'd returned to England from their extended stay in the Carribean. Tim had been tanned bronze, with hair bleached to a Malfoyesqe blond. Still small, but agile and strong from two years spent swimming in the warm ocean.

He had pulled the book out the first night they'd been home, "This is you, isn't it?" he'd said to Harry, who had come to tuck him in.

Harry had considered denying it, the story a little too painful to want to relive with one of the children. But, he'd become allergic to secrets and lies after the War.

"Yes." he'd said, simply.

Tim had eyed him for a while, before saying, "Your aunt and uncle sound like bloody bastards." Tim had gotten over his habit of cursing, but he sometimes reverted to it when he felt strongly.

"Yes." Harry had agreed.

"That's why you took me?" Tim had asked, quietly.

"Maybe, at first," Harry had said, carefully, "But, we kept you, because we love you."

The child had just stared at him, rather skeptically.

"Some people are born with their families," Harry had hastened to explain, "But, people like you and I, we have to find our families. I found your Uncle Ron and Aunt Hermione first. And then, my godfather. Then Gran and Grandad Weasley, and your Mum." Harry had smiled at Tim's changing expressions, the skeptical frown slowly replaced by a shy smile,"Now, I have more family than I know what to do with."

Tim had apparently been satisfied, because he'd not brought it up again.

Now, the child wanted to know about the War.

Harry wasn't sure where to start, "I'm not entirely sure what happened." He said, finally, "It was...strange." He wasn't entirely sure what Tim already knew about the War, so he asked, "What did you want to know?"

"They said a dark wizard killed your parents." Tim replied, "And, that he couldn't kill you and that you're immune to the Unforgivable Curses and that the dark wizard killed you and you came back." He said, it in a rush, with hardly any space between words.

Harry shook his head, "I'm not immune to the Unforgivables, it's just that Voldemort had tied us together. His magic wouldn't work properly on me-first, because my mum had taken a Killing Curse meant for me. And then," Harry shivered, involuntarily. Even after all these years, the memory of that cemetery still haunted his nightmares, "He kidnapped me and used my blood in a dark spell to give himself more power." Harry skipped over huge chunks of the story, more for his own sake than for Tim's, "And then, four years later, he threw a Killing Curse at me and it...went wrong somehow."

"Did you fight him?" asked the boy, breathlessly, "Is that how you died?"

How to explain that whole mess? Harry took a deep breath, "Well, he had made it so he couldn't die. He'd put bits of himself into objects, to keep himself alive. He accidentally put a bit of himself into me. When I found out, the only way I could get rid of it was to let him kill me."

Harry shuddered, flashing on how he had discovered that he needed to allow Voldemort to kill him. How Snape had given him his memories, as his life blood spilled across the floor of the Shrieking Shack.

"Take it." Snape had said.

Harry used to have dreams of Snape's death regularly. It had taken him years to stop waking up in a cold sweat, with Snape's last words reverberating through his mind, "Look at me."

He'd thought on those words, picked them apart almost obsessively, in those first years after the War. He could only assume Snape had been looking for his mother's eyes for comfort, in his last moments.

"So, you did die?" Tim's eyes were huge.

Harry shrugged, "I don't know. I've never been able to work out exactly what happened. I..." Harry hesitated. He'd never told one of the children this part before, but he thought Tim needed to know, for some reason, "I had some sort of vision. I spoke with Professor Dumbledore. He'd been dead for a year by then, but he explained what I'd done, and what I needed to do. Then he told me that I could come back."

"What was it like?" Tim asked, his voice barely a whisper.

"It was...safe." Harry replied, "I'd been on the run for a year. We'd been hungry and cold all winter. By that time, I was so tired of everything. I just wanted it to be over."

Still whispering, Tim asked, "Why did you come back?"

"I had to, I suppose." Replied Harry, thoughtfully, "I woke up and Voldemort's magic wouldn't work properly against me anymore. Honestly, I don't remember much about the last battle. I slept for a week after it, I think." Harry smiled a little, although he didn't like to remember that time.

"Who told you, you had to die?" Tim's voice had an intense note to it.

Harry looked down at his face, as he spoke, "Professor Snape. Well, he didn't actually tell me, he gave me his memories." That was always the strangest part of the whole battle, to Harry. That Snape had so clearly anticipated his own death. He'd left the Pensieve where Harry could find it, Harry had been there when the man had died. At the time, he'd still believed Snape was responsible for Dumbledore's death. If Harry had come upon Snape himself, he would not have listened to anything the man said. But, somehow, Harry had been swayed by the potion master's dying wish.

"Why? How?" Tim's voice was unwontedly sharp.

"He was dying. Voldemort had wounded him." Involuntarily, Harry pictured the whole scene. He shivered, trying not to remember the claustrophobic feeling of the tunnel, the sound of Voldemort's voice and the horrible sounds Snape had made when Nagini had bitten thorugh his throat, "It was horrible. Anyway, Professor Snape somehow used a spell to make his memories into something I could put into a Pensieve. They explained everything."

"Did the Dark Lord find out that he was a traitor?" asked the boy, enthralled.

Harry wondered if the Slytherins still called Voldemort "The Dark Lord" among themselves, "No. Voldemort never did. See, he thought that if he stole Dumbledore's wand from his tomb, he'd be invincible. Then, he thought that the Dumbledore's wand wouldn't work for him because Professor Snape had been the one to kill Dumbledore. He thought that, if he killed the professor, he'd get special powers from the wand. It didn't work, because Dumbledore was already dying. He'd asked Professor Snape to help him die, so the wand never changed allegiance. But Voldemort thought Professor Snape was the wand's master."

Harry looked down to see if Tim was following noticed the child's eyes were suddenly suspiciously bright, "You all right?"

Tim shook his head, "I don't know...just, all of a sudden, I feel like...I don't know." The boy cleared his throat, "That's really sad."

Harry nodded. Given Tim's experience, he often empathized deeply with other people's loss, "I don't know if we should keep talking about this, if it upsets you."

"No. How did it end?" Tim asked, anxiously, "How did you not die?"

Harry suppressed a sigh, he knew Tim wouldn't let it go, "I did fight Voldemort. I didn't kill him though, he tried to cast another Killing Curse at me. Dumbledore's wand wouldn't work right for him, and his spell rebounded on him."

"But, you meant to kill him?" Tim asked, in that strangely intense voice.

Harry shook his head slowly, "No. There was only once I've every used a Killing Curse." He said, somberly. Again, it was more than he would have told the other children at eleven, but Tim had witnessed the one time Harry had ever killed anyone. It was something they usually only talked about in Phoebe's office.

Tim nodded, snuggled up more closely to Harry's side. He seemed to have run out of questions, for now. After a few minutes, Tim's body relaxed, his breathing slowed. Three days of healing potions did that.

Harry settled the child down in the bed, spelled the lights to low, took a seat in the rocking chair. He tilted his head back and let himself doze.

It was several hours later that Molly peeked in, "Harry dear?" she said, tapping gently on the door to announce herself, "You haven't eaten anything this evening."

Blearily, Harry opened his eyes, "Hmm?"

She smiled at him, rather indulgently, "I sent Ginny to bed, already. Why don't you go on to bed, as well? I'll sit with him."

Harry shook his head, rubbed one of his eyes with the heel of his hand, "No, that's all right, Molly. I doubt I'd sleep."

Molly came in, transfigured one of the cushions to another rocking chair, "Well, I'll sit with you, then." she said to him, gently.

"How is he?" Molly asked, nodding to the sleeping boy.

"Better. Did Al tell you James and I were shouting right outside the door, and I forgot I hadn't put the silencing spell back up?" Harry felt terrible. He knew the last thing Tim needed, at the moment, was to be woken by the sound of angry male voices.

Molly nodded, summoned her bag of knitting. She didn't say anything for a bit, her needles flashing as she knitted.

"James come back?" Harry asked, heavily.

Molly shook her head, "No, Hermione sent an owl. He's staying over there until you both cool off."

"Probably best." Harry said, wryly. He leaned back, "God, how did you stand it, Molly?" he asked. He felt terrible for all the anxiety he and Ron had put Molly through.

She glanced up with a bit of a grin, "I swear it wasn't me who cursed you, Harry."

"Sorry?" Harry looked up at Molly in confusion.

"The Mother's Curse." She said, placidly.

Harry shook his head, "You lost me." He half smiled.

"May you have one just like you." Molly's eyes twinkled, "I may have wished that on Ginny, poor dear."

Molly's gentle humor relieved some of the weight of guilt from Harry's chest, "So is he just like me?"

"In some ways." Molly tilted her head to the side, "How did he get hurt?"

"He was just supposed to be observing this suspect, you know, waiting until back up came. He got impatient and, when it looked like the suspect was going to apparate, he just confronted him alone." Harry clenched his fists, fighting down the fear that rose up from his gut to strangle him.

"Did he manage to get him?"

"Yes, more's the pity." Growled Harry, "Instead of being disciplined for violating procedure, he's gotten his first arrest within six months of fully qualifying as an Auror. The whole department is just completely impressed and his recklessness is going to get him killed. Naturally, he thinks I'm just overreacting." Harry drew in a ragged breath, "He brought up the War, and some of those stories Ron's been filling his head with. I sort of lost it, I think."

Molly nodded sympathetically.

Harry smiled, lopsidedly, "If anyone cursed me, it was Snape. I seem to remember him going mad at me for being reckless, more than once. And, god, trying to teach me Occlumency. What a disaster. Poor devil."

"Ron has it that you and he were model students." Molly observed with a smirk.

"I have a better memory than Ron." Harry remarked, sourly, "I just remember spending half my life being scared out of my wits. I also remember the close shaves better than he does."

They were silent again. Harry let his eyes drift shut.

It felt very late, when Tim's whimpering woke Harry. Ernie had told them to expect something like this, but it didn't make it easier to see his son sitting bolt upright, his whimpers turning to screams as one of his night terrors took hold.

Harry jumped up from his chair, put his hands on Tim's shoulders, "Shh...love you're dreaming." he said, giving the Tim a gentle shake.

Tim's eyes were wide and unseeing, the screams issuing from his mouth sounded as though the child were being murdered. It had been years since Tim had had one this bad. Harry looked into Tim's eyes, using a bit of gentle Legilimency to pull him away from the fear, as he had done a hundred times before.

Tim's mind flinched away from his. When he was caught up in one of these terrors, he could never tell who Harry was, at first.

"Just me." Harry said, both mentally and out loud, "It's okay, you're home, you're safe." Tim's mind wasn't as open as it used to be. That was normal, as children grew up, they certainly didn't want other people poking about in their minds.

As Tim woke up, and was no longer in the grips of whatever visions were tormenting him, Harry felt him give a mental shove, trying to throw him out. Harry withdrew gently, surprised. That was new, perhaps Tim was a natural Occlumens. It wouldn't be that strange, given Tim's tendency towards reticence.

The child was fully awake now, his eyes sensible. After a moment though, Tim's eyes slid shut again and he lay back down.

Only then did Harry realize Molly must have either gone home or gone to sleep in the guest room, leaving Harry sleeping in the rocking chair with a blanket over him. Wearily, Harry transfigured the rocking chair into a camp bed and lay down on it.

Tim's favorite place in the house was a spot on the stairway that led from the second floor, upstairs to the bedrooms. It was the exact middle stair. His Nana used to tell him a poem about the middle stair, but he only remembered a little bit of it,

I'm not at the bottom,
I'm not at the top;
so this is the stair
where
I always
stop.

He sat there now, listening for Dad to come home. Mum had finally agreed to let him out of bed. Lily and Al were playing a loud game of Exploding Snap in the drawing room. They'd asked him to play, but after a few games, he'd crept out here to his favorite thinking spot.

He wondered if he should mention to Dad that the Dark Man had come back.

The Dark Man hadn't been around at all since Tim had been adopted.

He'd talked to Healer Phoebe about the Dark Man, during some of their weekly session, of course. He'd told her how he'd always heard the man's voice in his head, how he'd tell Tim what to do when things were bad.

She'd told him that the Dark Man was a helper he'd created. Someone to look after him, when there weren't any adults. She'd assured him (after running a few diagnostic spells) that the Dark Man was somehow a part of himself. Like a shadow of his future adult self, perhaps.

He'd asked her why the Dark Man was so very, well...dark. She'd told him how black was a protective color, how it absorbed harmful magics, which made some sense, Tim supposed. The Dark Man was always most present when Smith had come to visit he and his Muggle mother.

Tim hadn't seen Healer Phoebe since the beginning of term, although she'd owled him frequently. Perhaps, he should tell his mum that he should make an appointment. The weird head injury stuff gave him a handy enough excuse.

This term had been pretty stressful, too. Maybe that was why the Dark Man had returned.

There had been dead silence in the Hall, when Tim had been sorted into Slytherin. Tim remembered the shocked stares that had greeted the Sorting Hat's pronouncement, and how he had tried hard not to show his nerves at the uncomfortable scrutiny.

He took two steps towards the Slytherin table, when applause broke out from the Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Griffyndor tables. His siblings and cousins made their approval known. Tim found Lily's eyes and then Al's. They smiled at him, as the rest of the school seemed to get over whatever weirdness had gripped them. They smiled at him reassuringly, and all was mostly all right again.

The rest of the feast had been fun, as the new Slytherins were welcomed by their housemates. That night he'd fallen as deeply asleep as he could, sleeping in a dormitory with eight other boys. He was exhausted, the Sorting should have taken forever, as there were sixty children to be sorted. However, Tim suspected some meddling with time had happened (he thought he'd ask Aunt Hermione about that, next time he saw her).

It wasn't until the next day, that he found just how shocking people thought his Sorting was. On the way to breakfast, one of the prefects had, very seriously, asked him if his parents were going to have problems with it.

Tim had confidently told the prefect not to be concerned.

He could have shaken that off. However, after his first Potions lesson, Professor Bulstrode had quietly taken him aside in the corridor to ask if he wanted her to write his parents and explain, he'd begun to get nervous.

He really hadn't known what to say. If even the professors were worried, perhaps there was something to be worried about?

Fortunately the Headmistress had happened by. She'd just wanted a word with the Potions professor, but Tim had the distinct feeling that she was rescuing him. She'd given him a kind smile and said, "I'm sure you have somewhere to be, Mr. Potter?"

He heard Professor McGonagal whisper, "Millie, I know you don't know Harry and Ginny well, but they'll be fine about it, I promise.

Tim couldn't help but get worried though. He'd waited anxiously for that first letter from home, and Mum and Dad's reassurance that, yes, it was fine. His dad mentioned that Auntie Roz was over the moon.

After that, the term had gone well. Until that idiot decided to chuck a firework into someone's cauldron. That was the last thing Tim remembered, before he'd woken up with a godawful headache, that felt like that bastard Smith was using his wand on him.

Dreadful nightmares had accompanied the pain.

Mum had been there, though, and the Dark Man.

His mum had rocked him and talked him through the pain. The Dark Man had whispered a spell into his mind, and Tim didn't fight it, falling gratefully back into a painless sleep.

The next thing Tim knew, Healer Ernie was standing right in front of him, fixing his head.

His head didn't hurt anymore, but Tim could feel the Dark Man's presence, still in the back of his mind. The Dark Man felt angry and frightened. Tim wasn't sure what could frighten the Dark Man, and that frightened Tim.

The word "possession" drifted through Tim's mind, several times. Tim remembered the Hougan and Mambos in Haiti that his Dad had worked with, talking about possession. He'd asked Dad to explain what it was, one night at dinner. Mum had turned white and left the room. She hated talking about Dark Magic and Dad said that possession especially upset her.

Tim had borrowed a few of Dad's books that talked about the subject, over his Mum's objections. He could always count on his Dad that way. Anytime he asked, his Dad would tell him the truth, no matter how dark or scary.

He didn't think that the Dark Man could be like a Bokor who possessed people, even though the Dark Man had, from time to time, just taken over. That had always been when something horrible had been about to happen.

Tim shivered, remembering that the Dark Man had stood between he and the Cruciatus more than once. After Smith would leave, his Muggle mum would be completely useless. Sometimes, Tim would look after her, getting her up off the floor, guiding her to find her medicine. Once or twice, the Dark Man had just sent Tim to sleep and took care of Mary himself.

So, the Dark Man could be a Hougan? Hougans and Mambos could possess people too, but they usually did it to help people. Why would a strange Hougan send his spirit to help Tim?

It was really too much for Tim to puzzle out, and although he could feel the Dark Man, Tim was sure he wasn't going to get any more answers out of him than he ever did.

Overnight, a storm had swept through London, coating the city with more snow than anyone had seen in a few years. It made a beautiful picture from the window seat, where Tim curled up with his book after breakfast.

Lily and Albus had gone to their grandparents' this morning, well wrapped in warm cloaks. Severus much preferred to view winter scenes from behind glass, next to a roaring fire, so he was quite relieved that there was no mention of Tim going with his older siblings. Rather, the healer had come and taken a quick look at him.

It had been a week that he'd been trapped in this body, two days since the boy was allowed out of bed. Severus was still no closer to discovering how he had come to be here and how to free the boy of his presence. Severus still wasn't at all sure what he was. He was certain now that this was no dream. There were many things he did not yet understand, but of that he was certain.

The Dark Lord had described his own experience as a disembodied entity as painful and frightening. Severus' experience was quite different, if that was the case. While it was a little frightening to have so little control over the body he was inhabiting, Severus didn't find he suffered from any pain that didn't stem from the body itself.

Being trapped in the child's body was truly not as horrible as it could have been. If Tim had been a different sort of child, Severus would have assuredly gone mad in short order. Fortunately, Tim had a temperament that was similar to Severus' own. The Muggle-born child had a rich internal life, fed with books, stories, and music—some of which Severus found familiar. Tim also had a surprisingly extensive book collection, for a child his age. Apparently, Potter was fairly careless with his own library; Tim had a number of books that had to belong to the Auror on shelves in his room.

The boy was also frighteningly at ease with Severus, seeming to believe the older wizard was largely a product of his own imagination, Tim made no attempt to hide his thoughts from the alien presence. Which made it very difficult for Severus not to listen in on the child's internal monologue, a constant low murmur in Severus' mental ear. More worryingly, it appeared that many of Severus' thoughts were leaking and he didn't know how to stop that, either. From time to time, Tim would reply to some idle question or another that crossed Severus' mind.

Severus spent much of his time observing Tim's family. He had anticipated that, being both Weasley and Potter offspring, pranks and teasing from the other children would be the order of the day. The man had frankly assumed he would have to protect the small, sensitive boy from the older ones, purely in the interest of defending himself. Instead, he discovered that both the children who still lived at home had much more in common with the Evans side of their heritage than either the Potter or Weasley (Severus never knew the Pruitts).

The boy, Albus, was a prefect in Ravenclaw. His conversation generally began with, "I read this article..." and, clearly, he spent every waking moment at Hogwarts in the company of his cousin and the Malfoy boy, as much as he spoke about them. Interesting that the Weasleys and the Potters allowed it, to say nothing of what the Malfoys thought.

Lily was so like her namesake that it made Severus' throat hurt. She was as sweet and funny as his Lily had been and so endearingly concerned for her little brother.

Both of them had taken turns sitting with Tim while he was confined to his bed, entertaining him with games of gobstones, chess or exploding snap. There was no teasing of the little one, although that could have been due to his injuries.

Perhaps thanks to this, during the day Tim's mind was filled with fairly commonplace thoughts. Nighttime was a different matter. The child scarcely slept more than an hour or two without a nightmare or a night terror.

Often, the black haired man and blonde woman that Tim had dreamed about when he first awoke figured prominently.

At least with the nightmares, they had a plot and a meaning. Severus found that he could insert himself into them. He found that as soon as the child sensed his presence, the dream would derail into something more benign. Most of the time, the child couldn't even remember having them.

The night terrors were something different. Not dreams at all. They were merely rootless, overwhelming fear that trapped the child in a hypnagogic state between sleeping and waking. They were always accompanied by the sensation that something horrible was in the room with them.

Three times that week, the child had sat up in bed screaming but unable to wake. Severus had been infected with the child's terror, so much so that it felt as if he were in the grips of some spell that did nothing but produce stark, overwhelming panic. If someone were to create such a spell, it would have to be listed as an Unforgivable. Severus didn't understand why the child wasn't mad, if this was a common occurrence.

And it did seem to be common. In each of these episodes, Potter had come to the boy's rescue. The man had used Legillimency each time to pull the child away from the fear. It appeared to be a well practiced skill.

Not well practiced enough, however, for Potter never detected Severus' presence.

It had happened last night—apparently causing enough concern that Healer Ernie had been sent for again. The man had come to look at the child first thing that morning and was currently having a quiet word with the Potters in the kitchen.

What do you think they're talking about? The child was clearly addressing Severus.

Stubbornly, Severus ignored him.

The child's thoughts resumed their quiet murmur. The child stared out the window, watching the snow fall.

Do you know, it's been six years since Nana died? Tim thought at Severus, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. Along with the thought came a wash of old grief.

"Hey, Tim?" Potter was standing in the door of the drawing room. Apparently he wasn't going in to work this morning, as he was dressed in a sweater and jeans rather than the robes he wore to the Ministry, "How're you feeling?"

Tim smiled. "I'm okay." the boy was rather tense, though. "What were you talking with Healer Ernie about?"

Potter crossed the room to come sit next to the child. "You, and your head," he said simply. "He says your nightmares should go away again, soon." Potter slipped his arm around Tim's shoulder. "He's pretty certain that it's just your brain healing." Potter paused. "But he said it's safe to apparate with me... If you still want me to take you?"

Severus wondered what Potter meant; they hadn't discussed going anywhere that he remembered.

Tim drew a sharp breath in. "Is it Saturday?" he asked. "I lost track."

Potter gave the boy a squeeze. "Don't worry, you've been sleeping so much, you're bound to lose track."

"When are we going?" asked the child.

"Soon as you're ready, if you like. We're having people over for dinner tonight, so we should be back early."

Tim nodded, stood up. "Who's coming over?" he asked, as they headed downstairs.

"The Longbottoms and Professor McGonagal," Potter replied. As they walked, the man kept his arm about the boy's shoulder.

Tim nodded, feeling pleased; apparently these were not unwelcome guests. Severus wondered if Longbottom had a spouse and children and if perhaps Augusta would still be alive.

They wasted no time getting ready to go. Severus was interested that, whatever this outing, Tim was thinking about it with a mix of emotions more complex than childish enthusiasm. Wherever they were going, Tim wanted to go there, but there was a bite of sadness to it. That mix of old grief was stronger now.

Potter transfigured his cloak and the boy's into sturdy Muggle winter jackets. Ginny sent them out of the door with admonishments to be careful and not to be late.

They Apparated to a grey alley behind a grimy building. They left the alley and walked down a quiet street. It reminded Severus of Spinner's End; it had the same tired no-longer-respectable formerly working class feel as the old mill town had. The boy and his dad walked on in a companionable silence. Severus couldn't help but contrast the walk with walking with his own father. If Tobias was ever that silent, it meant he was brooding and one needed to get away from him sharpish. Not that Severus ever took any walks with the old drunk for pleasure.

Turning a corner, they came to a slightly busier street bordering on what looked like a council estate. What business Potter and the boy could have here, Severus didn't know. Few people were about this early in the morning. They walked by a block of flats, many of which had windows covered with cardboard, tinfoil or sheets rather than proper curtains.

Graffitied walls and rubbish lying in the road rounded out the squalid impression. A young Muggle man crouched in a doorway, shaking with more than chill. He eyed Potter and the boy, as if taking the measure of how easy a mark they were. Potter's hand came up around Tim's shoulder protectively while they passed.

What the hell was the man doing bringing a child here?

You really don't remember? Tim thought at Severus, That's so strange. This is near where I used to live with Nana and Mum. A stream of images passed through the child's mind. An elderly woman in a neat little home. The same woman lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines, her breath rattling in her chest. A nurse hustling the boy and the blond woman into the hallway while hospital staff worked futilely to bring the old lady back.

Tim sighed.

Potter looked down at the boy. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, finally.

"Just...thinking," Tim replied; he slipped his hand into Potter's. "I was thinking about when Nana died."

Potter nodded. "You were pretty little. What do you remember?" he asked, gravely.

"The hospital, mostly. Mum was...Mum had one of her bad turns. She left to meet Father, I think. She left me with Nana, but Nana got sick. Mrs. Next Door called an ambulance. I ended up with her until they found Mum. We went to the hospital, then. I think they called and said she should come." Severus was a little alarmed at how impassive the boy sounded.

For a minute, Potter remained quiet, finally saying the most obvious thing, "That must have been scary."

Tim wasn't bothered by Potter's seeming obtuseness. He merely nodded, giving the man's hand a squeeze. "Yeah."

They finally came to a rundown little church with a cemetery in back. They seemed to know where they were going, crunching through the freshly fallen snow, coming to a stop near the back.

Potter took out his wand, and with a muttered spell, brushed the snow from two stones. This seemed to be something of a ritual with the two, as Tim waited expectantly while Potter conjured two bouquets of lilies to and gave them to the boy.

Tim put them in two stone vases, there just for that purpose.

"Mum got so bad after Nana died," the boy said, sadly.

Severus felt himself getting caught up in the boy's pain, the way he'd gotten caught up in the boy's night terror. There was enough here to drown in, and try as he might, he could not wall himself off from it.

"Is it wrong that I miss Nana more than Mum?" Tim asked in a husky voice.

"I don't think so." Potter said softly. "Sometimes things are complicated."

"I used to get so mad that Mum always took me away from Nana." Tim sniffed, and Potter handed him a handkerchief. "I wish..." the boy trailed off. He sniffed again and Potter put his arm around the child. For just a second the boy stiffened, but Potter didn't withdraw his arm and Tim relaxed into his side.

This quiet man was not what Severus would have imagined Harry Potter growing into. When he'd pictured Potter as grown, he'd envisioned a version of Sirius Black, reckless and irresponsible, not this solid father who took his son to visit his grandmother’s grave on a snowy Saturday morning.

Perhaps it was Albus' influence. Certainly, it had not been the influence of his guardians. Severus had become aware in Potter's fifth year that the boy's home life was not as idyllic as Severus had supposed. The scenes he'd witnessed in Potter's mind had been disturbing enough that he'd spoken to Lupin and the Weasleys about it just after Black had gotten himself killed.

He'd only intended to speak with the Weasleys, but Lupin and the Auror Tonks were there. He'd informed them of the Dursleys’ tendency toward abuse and neglect. He'd not wanted to be too dramatic, but he'd found himself telling Lupin in a tight voice that he wouldn't have condemned a dog to Potter's life with those Muggles.

Lupin had paled, catching the reference. It had been common knowledge in Slytherin House that Mr. and Mrs. Black were violent towards the elder brother.

When he'd been teaching the boy Occlumency, he'd considered going to the Headmaster and demanding that the boy be placed in a safer home, but after he'd caught Potter snooping in the Pensieve, he couldn't very well go to Dumbledore. He'd have had to explain that he was no longer teaching the boy.

Surprisingly, Potter had never, to Severus' knowledge, repeated what he'd seen in the Pensieve. That was something that still puzzled him. He would have expected the Weasley twins to repeat it on that bloody Potterwatch program

They stood there in the snow until Tim started to shiver. Immediately, Potter said, "Come on, love. You're cold." He pulled the child closer.

He had to know that the boy wasn't cold at all. The coats they were wearing had warming charms. Tim used the handkerchief to wipe his nose. Potter tactfully didn't remark on the boy's tears.

Severus snorted to himself; old Tobias had given Severus a smack for crying at his own grandmother's funeral.

Tim must have caught half of that thought, You used to tell me that he (an image of Potter clarified who he meant) wasn't like Father, A stream of images followed that thought. The black-haired man who was "Father" or "That Bastard" in the boy's thoughts had a great deal in common with Tobias Snape's parenting methods. And the boy's Muggle mother had a great deal in common with Eileen, it seemed.

Why are we here? Severus asked the child, his curiosity overcoming his caution.

I told you, Nana died six years ago today, the boy replied. Dad always brings me. Since the first Christmas we were back in England.

He sent Severus a string of images. Of Tim curling up in the drawing room on his favorite chair in a miserable heap. In the heat of the Carribean, it had been easy to ignore Christmas, easy to ignore the date. After two years without feeling this overwhelming weight, Tim had assumed it was gone for good.

Lily had come to sit by him, to see why he was so sad, and he'd driven her away with harsh words. Then Ginny and Potter had both come to speak with him, coaxing him to tell them what was causing this upset.

It had been several days before anyone realized. Tim hadn't the words to explain what was happening, really.

And you weren't around to help, the child said accusingly to Severus.

Severus wasn't sure what to make of that.

More images and feelings: apparently, it had been Aunt Hermione and Healer Phoebe who had worked out what was bothering the boy so, discovering the precise date of Nana's death.

Christmas was a hard time of year for Tim.

"You ready?" Potter asked after what seemed like a very long time to Severus. Tim allowed himself to be led back through the churchyard.

"Can we go to Godric's Hollow, too?" Tim asked.

Potter looked down at the boy, with a small frown between his eyebrows, "Where did you hear about Godric's Hollow?"

Merlin, Severus needed to do a better job of Occluding. He had only just thought of Lily's grave and the night she died. The boy had seized on the image and found the name.

"That's where your parents are buried, isn't it?" Tim replied softly, "I...must have read about it."

Potter shook his head, still with that frown. "I'll have to talk to the headmistress about the books she's keeping in the library." The man's eyes darkened with an unreadable expression.

Severus stiffened, wondering if Potter felt that the boy was taking liberties. He braced himself to be told off.

To Severus’ surprise (but not Tim’s) Potter smiled sadly. "All right." The man glanced back and forth, making sure they were alone on the street, before lifting the still-small-enough-to-be-carried boy into his arms. In an eyeblink, they were standing outside a different church.

The snow was deeper here, the church a quaint country chapel made of stone. Godric's Hollow had enough wizards that there were permanent Notice-me-not spells worked into the very stones. No one would see them Apparate or Disapparate

There was fluffy snow falling here, the type that would quickly coat their hair and eyelashes.

Severus had been here twice before. Once on the night Lily died and once to lay flowers at Lily's grave.

Potter put Tim down and they meandered through the gravestones in the snow. This was an older cemetery with upright stones. They came to stand before the one marked for James and Lily Potter.

Severus would have wept, were he in his own body. There was some twaddle on the stone about conquering Death. Reading that had made him feel as though his heart was being skewered through by a sharp stick. No one conquers Death.

Potter used his wand to produce a wreath of Christmas roses that he laid on the grave, "The first time I ever came here was on Christmas Eve, during the War," he told Tim quietly, "Your Aunt Hermione and I."

"Nobody ever took you before that?" Tim asked. This was as much Severus' question as the boy's.

Potter shook his head, but didn't elaborate. Suddenly the man said, "Come on, I'll show you something." Potter held out his hand and led the child out into the snow-covered street.

Phoebe had always advised Harry that when the children were old enough to ask questions, they were old enough for the answers. Dudley concurred on this point, although cautioning Harry to make sure he was answering the questions that the children were actually asking.

Harry always wished fervently that the adults around him had taken this view when he was a child. Petunia's repeated admonishments to not ask questions had left him always feeling adrift, Dumbledore's obsession with secrecy had endangered his life (and other people's) on more than one occasion, and the other adults in his life had been so intent on protecting him that he had taken up eavesdropping and spying as a hobby. Harry really didn't want his children to follow in those footsteps.

It was hard sometimes to trust his instincts with the children, but he had gotten better with practice. Strangely, situations with Tim were easier to deal with than the issues between himself and James. Ginny was fond of saying that Harry and James were alike in all the wrong ways.

The thought of James made Harry's heart twist; James still wasn't talking to him. Yesterday, the young man had stopped at the house to see his mother and his siblings, but left before Harry came home from work. Ginny and Harry had had words in the kitchen last night, Ginny thought that Harry needed to apologize to James, "You're getting more like my mother every year," she'd snapped. "He's twenty years old, not a child."

Ron was even telling Harry he was being unreasonable. Ron had come over last night for a chat about it and to try to make some sort of peace between the two of them, complaining that they were both being pigheaded about the whole thing.

No, James wasn't a child, but Ginny and Ron didn't comprehend how tenuous the safe world that he'd built for himself felt some days. Harry knew in his bones that it could all be snatched away in a second.

He and Molly did indeed have that in common. Molly had lost her two brothers and her parents in the First Death Eater War, and she'd lost her son in the Second.

Gideon and Fabian had been in the original Order of the Phoenix, and were killed during a raid. She'd told him about it, late one night, not long after the War ended, when he'd been living at the Burrow. That year had been a hectic and difficult one. Arthur often worked late at the Ministry and Molly always stayed up, waiting for him. Harry had a lot of difficulty sleeping and often had a quiet cup of tea with her.

One of those nights, Molly had told Harry how she'd been pregnant with Fred and George when her brothers had been killed. There hadn't been enough of them left to bury.

Molly understood waking up in the middle of the night and calming one's fears by checking to make sure the children were still breathing. She had understood when the last time Harry had cleared a boggart out of the closet; it had taken the form of his eldest child lying still and cold on the floor.

James thought he was invulnerable and Harry just didn't know how to cope with the idea of his son putting himself into danger, day in and day out. Harry got chills when he thought about arriving at St Mungo's and the anxious wait to see James. When they had finally been allowed into the treatment room, after Roz had gotten through with him, his robes were still covered with blood. However, rather than the white-faced, shaken young man Harry expected to see (especially after the tongue-lashing they'd heard Roz give him), James was chatting up the very pretty young healer who was feeding him blood replenishers.

The young Auror had been inordinately proud of himself, for someone who had just been disciplined for violating procedure.

Grudgingly, Harry was willing to admit that being suspended for a week was punishment enough. Plus, he'd heard, with some satisfaction, Roz reading her newest Auror the riot act. They probably wouldn't have argued if James hadn't been so cavalier about the whole thing, brushing off his parent's concern like it was mere paranoia.

It was so like Sirius that, for a moment, all Harry could think of was his godfather falling through the Veil. He hadn't intended to argue with James, he truly hadn't.

Harry winced when he remembered how he'd called James reckless and irresponsible. It had devolved into the shouting match at home when James had brought up the War-he said it wasn't as though Harry had any room to talk about procedure, given that he'd hared off after a dark wizard when he was seventeen.

Few things made him lose his temper these days, but James seemed to have a knack for it.

Harry sighed, glancing at his youngest child, who walked beside him. Tim was upset that James and Harry were arguing. James and Tim were very fond of each other.

When Tim had first come to live with them, he'd been rather frightened of James. Harry supposed it was because James was almost sixteen at the time and a grown man in Tim's eyes. Showing a patience Harry would never had credited, James had made it his goal to win Tim over. All that first summer, James had taken it on himself to help out with Tim's physical therapy, under the guise of teaching him to play Quidditch. He went to every one of Tim's visits with the healer as well, claiming that since Harry was laid up that he should go with Ginny and Tim to help his mother out.

All the children were very close, but evidently, James had gotten Harry's "saving people thing" in spades.

Harry shook his head to clear it, took a deep breath bringing himself back to the matter at hand. "You'll probably hear all kinds of odd things about me, if you haven't already," he told the boy quietly.

Tim nodded, "I heard...some things." He was quiet for a moment. "Mostly, just what I told you,"

Harry heard the qualifier mostly; no doubt he knew a bit more than that, but he was uneasy about letting Harry know how much he knew. Tim was cagey that way.

"Well, you know the bare bones of the story, then," Harry told him. "Just remember that there's a lot that people say about me that makes me out more powerful than I am."

Harry led Tim by the hand through Godric's Hollow, until they came to the ruined cottage that still stood there. A gasp announced the exact second when Tim was able to see the monument.

"That's where my parents were killed," Harry told the child softly. The remains of the cottage still stood. The plaque and the graffiti that covered it were carefully preserved as well.

Tim traced the words on the plaque with his fingers. "Why didn't he kill you?"

Harry shrugged, still staring at the house. "My mother took the curse that was supposed to kill me. It made the curse go wrong and it rebounded on him. Honestly, it had very little to do with me. It was all my mum. It meant that he couldn't even touch me. That's why they sent me to live with my aunt and uncle...because my aunt was my mum's last living relative...And my mother's blood protected me."

The two of them stood silently, staring at the house for a few more minutes. Harry wondered if it was too much for Tim to understand. He wasn't even sure what he was hoping to accomplish, other than to put the child straight about whatever mad stories he'd hear at school about "Famous Harry Potter." He hadn't planned this, but since Tim was asking about Harry's parents, it seemed like the right thing to do.

Harry remembered the hurt he'd felt when he'd discovered that Ariana Dumbledore was laid to rest in Godric's Hollow-that Dumbledore had never thought to bring him here to visit his parents’ graves. He remembered thinking how he would have found comfort in knowing that someone understood his loss.

"Dad?" Tim asked hesitantly, although the look he fixed Harry with was sharp. "You always say that my Muggle mum was trying to keep me safe. Do you really believe that?"

Harry met the child's blue eyes steadily. "Yeah, I do." Mary had been many things, including an addict and a petty thief, but Harry truly did believe that in her own way, Mary tried to protect the child. Half mad from the curses that bastard Smith kept throwing around, she had still done her best to shield the boy from the worst of the damage. This was the only reason Harry could think of that Tim was even alive, given the stories that the boy had told in the safety of Phoebe's office. "I think that's why she took you to your nana's in the first place."

After investigating Tim's file, it had become clear that Agnes Dawson was Mary Dawson's grandmother-she had raised the girl after the death of her own mother. Harry wondered if Mary had originally thought that she could leave Tim with the old woman for good, getting him away from Smith. When the child was finally placed with a wizard family, Mary had done what she could to make it difficult for Smith to find the boy.

"Hagrid told me you didn't know you were a wizard until he came to bring you your letter."

Harry smiled; Hagrid had told all his children that story as soon as they got to Hogwarts, "That's right," he replied. "My uncle wouldn't let me have my letter. Went clear across the country to avoid it."

"Why?" asked Tim, still pinning Harry with that sharp look.

"They hated magic," Harry replied simply. "They thought they could beat it out of me, I think."

Tim took a deep breath, as he often did before he divulged one of his closely held secrets. "I always hid my magic from Smith." He turned away from Harry to look at the ruins of the cottage.

When it was clear that the boy wasn't going to go on, Harry said, "That was clever of you." It was bloody difficult for a child that young to contain his magic, and Tim had such damage from his father's curses that it was astonishing that Tim had never spontaneously combusted, but Harry left that bit out. "How did you do that?"

Nervously, Tim shifted from foot to foot. "The Dark Man told me how to do it. He said that if Smith found out I had magic, he'd take me away." Tim's breathing sped up and he hunched his shoulders with his hands in his pockets, unconsciously trying to make himself a smaller target. "It never lasted long, but Smith never stayed that long."

Very gently, Harry put his arm around the child, reflecting that it showed how far the child had come in four years when he leaned trustingly into Harry's side.

Tim had spoken of the Dark Man before this. When he was younger, he'd referred to the Dark Man as an angel.

Ginny had been nervous about the idea when Tim had described how the Dark Man would occasionally just take over.

Phoebe had run a few tests and then assured the Potters that what Tim was describing was merely a defense mechanism: the invention of an imaginative child. The mind healer had explained to Harry and Ginny that the Dark Man was what she called an "internal self helper": a way for the child to cope with experiences that were just plainly too horrifying for the child to handle. If Tim couldn't remember what had happened when the Dark Man took over, it was because Tim had just blocked it out.

Harry had discovered, through his many conversations with Dudley in the last few years, just how many things he himself had blocked out. If he'd been a more imaginative child, he could have seen himself creating a protector. But the Dursleys had not only disliked magic, but any show of imagination. Dudley recounted how he and Harry had never been allowed any pretend play that hinted at the fantastic. How apparently Dudley used to borrow a friend's comic books at school and how that same friend had gotten him a copy of the The Lord of The Rings for Christmas one year and Vernon had ridiculed the gift (and the friend) until Dudley had thrown it away. The man had said that Dudley didn't like reading and a book was a rubbish Christmas gift. The next term, Dudley had a falling out with the friend and they never spoke again.

It was no wonder that Harry had spent his childhood with the assumption that Dudley was a bit thick, given how much effort Vernon and Petunia put into making Dudley believe that he was.

Tim, on the other hand, already lived and breathed the fantastic before he entered the Wizarding world. Almost nothing surprised him about magic, because it seemed he'd read every tale the Muggle world had to offer that held wizards or witches. It was not that strange that he'd create a wizard in his mind to protect himself.

Although every time the child talked about his Dark Man, Harry always got the mental image of Severus Snape, standing there sneering.

Tim spoke again into the silence. "Smith used to...do all sorts of things to get me to show some magic."

Harry swallowed. "Yeah?" The hair on back of his neck went up at that simple statement. Unfortunately, it was all too common for Wizarding families to abuse children in order to get them to show their magic. Harry's mind went back to Neville's stories of being dangled out of windows.

Neville's uncle never used an Unforgivable, however.

A full body shudder passed through the boy. Harry hugged him a little tighter.

"This is where you come on Christmas Eve, isn't it?" Tim asked suddenly.

Harry was surprised that Tim guessed that. It was a solitary thing that he'd done almost every year. Once or twice Ginny had come with him, but mostly he came on his own. No matter how busy he was, he always made time to stop to bring flowers to his parents’ graves on Christmas. "Yeah." Harry paused, thinking it over. "There's one other place I go, too. It's not quite Christmas Eve, but that doesn't matter. Shall we stop there before we go home? We'll get some lunch, too."

The child looked up at him, nodded.

Harry took a quick glance around. They were still alone in the snowy silent street. He bent over and picked the boy up, holding tight while they Apparated.

Potter's Apparition brought them right to the boundary of Hogwarts. The man set Tim back on his feet and they walked through the open front gate. Rather than following the neatly cleared path up to the castle, Potter led them off to the right, towards the frozen lake.

Severus realized with a thrill of dread where they must be headed.

He hadn't been able to go to Albus' funeral, of course. Not that he particularly wanted to; nothing could have eased Severus' grief over the loss (suicide? mercy killing?) of his friend and mentor. When the Ministry had been taken over and the charges for killing Dumbledore had evaporated, he could have gone to the tomb to pay his respects. In all likelihood, no one would have questioned it. Those who believed theProphet's ridiculous propaganda would not have taken it amiss; the Dark Lord himself would have assumed he was there merely to gloat, but Severus had never taken the opportunity.

When he had been made headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus had managed to avoid even looking at Albus' tomb. It wasn't in sight from the headmaster's windows, fortunately; he'd have had to actually go out of his way to see it. This he never did. To be honest, he'd developed something of a horror of the place.

Bad enough that Albus' bloody portrait hung in the office, enchanted to continue to give him Albus' instructions and advice. Severus considered burning it twice a day.

Now, Potter seemed intent on taking them to that cursed spot. If he could have, he would have dug his heels into the ground, refused to go any further, indulged in a childish tantrum. To his consternation, although Tim undeniably felt his fear and loathing of this place, the child had clamped down his own controls of both his body and their magic. He wanted to go where his dad was taking him.

The question of what and where Severus was seemed finally settled—as he had suspected, he was damned and this was Hell.

Naturally his Hell came equipped with a Harry Bloody Potter living out his happily-ever-after right in front of him. How his insides could feel like they were falling to pieces when, in truth, Severus had no insides of his own was beyond him. Even the relief of breaking down and weeping was denied him.

Tim drew a long breath and sniffed.

The man beside him looked at him sharply. "You all right?" he asked softly.

The boy nodded. He reached out and took Potter's hand. The contact calmed the body they shared, although it did nothing for Severus' mental anguish.

They wended an unhurried path through the snow. It had stopped snowing and the morning clouds were giving way to thin midday winter sunshine. It was colder here, too.

Potter pulled out his wand and, with repeated little flicks, cleared the snow in front of them so they didn't need to break a trail down to the lake. He also raised the temperature on the warming charm they were using, just a notch.

Somehow, Severus was surprised again by Potter's quiet competence. The Potter he remembered couldn't manage nonverbal spells and couldn't be bothered to look after other people's comfort. His warming and snow-clearing charms were in Lily's style—they weren't flashy or impressive, but done well, seemingly without effort or fuss. Severus could feel the tight control the man had on the warming charm, raising the heat only a degree or two. The snow was cleared neatly, leaving a comfortably walkable surface. These sorts of spells were actually fairly intricate and difficult to learn if one didn't have the patience. Severus would have thought that, especially as Potter was an Auror, he would have tended to concentrate on big impressive magics, not the little householdy spells that were generally the speciality of housewitches, healers, and potioneers

Potter was humming an odd little song under his breath, a children's lullaby, Severus thought. It seemed to be something he was doing without noticing. Tim apparently knew the song, because he picked up the melody, humming it to himself as well. Another thing Tim and their body found comforting.

Severus was brought up short by the thought. It was not "their body"; it was the boy's body, and he was just a passenger. He mentally shuddered, reminded of the Dark Lord and the thing that had been Quirrel. Would Severus eventually start poking out of the back of the child's head? Another shudder.

The shudder travelled through Tim's body. Potter put a hand around the boy's shoulder again.

"Here we are," said Potter quietly.

In front of them, two massive tombs rose up out of the snow. One was Albus', made of the purest white marble; about twenty feet away was a black marble tomb that matched it. Severus wondered who the fallen hero had been. Shacklebolt perhaps? Back in the War, Shacklebolt was running a fairly large and surprisingly (surprising the Death Eaters, at any rate) competent resistance.

The tall, broad figure of Hagrid was clearing the deep snow away from between the graves, exposing a tall grey obelisk.

"Hey, Hagrid," called Potter cheerfully.

The enormous man turned around, his face wreathed in smiles. "Harry! Didn' think I'd see yeh 'till Christmas Eve." The man's gaze shifted to the boy. "Hullo, Tim." Hagrid was unchanged, as far as Severus could tell. Perhaps his brown hair was touched here and there with silver, perhaps the smile lines were a little deeper.

Potter smiled affably, shrugged. "Just came to pay my respects a little early."

Tim nodded earnestly. "We went to my mum and nana's grave to take flowers."

Hagrid's smile turned sad and sympathetic. "Yeah, the season makes yeh miss people." He reached out and patted Harry on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave yeh alone, like." His voice was soft and kind. "If yer goin' to stop by fer a cuppa, I'll put th' kettle on." The half giant spoke as though it were part of Potter's ritual. In all likelihood it was—Hagrid had always been a bottomless source of support for any who needed it. He tended to treat the emotionally wounded with the same care he gave to his pet monsters: never caring how snarly, bitter or angry they were.

Hagrid was another one who had seemed to watch Severus closely during his tenure as headmaster.

"Thanks, but I think after this we need to go home." Potter glanced down at the boy. "Tim's only been out of bed for a couple days."

Hagrid nodded. "I heard yeh stopped the potions lab explodin'," he said to the child with a proud smile.

Tim shrugged. "I don't remember."

The big man patted Tim much more gently than he had patted Potter's shoulder. "Aye, well, tha's wha' happens when yeh get yer brains rattled." He grinned, a little wickedly. "Get yer dad to tell yeh some o' his stories. He rattled his brains on more than one occasion."

Potter flushed a little and gave Hagrid a slightly reproving look. "Don't give him any ideas; he'll have enough of his own."

Hagrid just laughed, "The other ones I'll grant yeh. They take after the Weasleys. This one here...he favors yeh a lot more." Hagrid paused, contemplatively, "'Cept he hasn't been caught ou' at all hours duelin', or chasin' after trolls." He gave Harry a wink and, giving them both a wave, the half giant turned and made his way in the direction of his house.

Severus couldn't understand how this quiet, studious boy could be in any way compared to Potter.

Apparently the same occurred to the boy. Severus could feel his face contract into a puzzled frown. "How can I be like you?" Tim asked quietly, but then spoke more loudly. "I'm not really..."He trailed off and Severus heard the end of the thought: I'm not really your son.

Potter seemed to have heard the thought as well; perhaps this was merely well-worn territory. He looked down at Tim, and there was a little smile playing at the corner of the man's mouth. He got down on one knee right in front of Tim so that they were eye to eye. "Timothy Rhys Dawson Potter," the man said softly, taking the child's hands, "you are my son and it doesn't matter how you came to be. Who you love and who loves you are far and away more important than whose blood you have."

Potter still wore his heart on his sleeve; the man's eyes were filled with pride and fond regard. Severus' father had certainly never looked at him so. Eileen had loved her son, but she had never lifted hand nor wand to protect him from Tobias' wicked temper. She herself was so downtrodden that Severus had frequently been in the position of caring for her.

The only eyes Severus had seen that warm light in had been Lily's, until he'd ruined everything.

"They said that a real Potter wouldn't have gotten sorted into Slytherin," Tim whispered. This had been preying on his mind quite a bit, worrying him more than having a foreign identity rattling around in the back of his mind.

Potter smiled lopsidedly. "Well, clearly they have no idea what they're talking about. The Sorting Hat really wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"No way," Tim exclaimed, astonished. Severus wondered if the man were making up things to reassure the child.

"Yes, I had to talk it out of it. I told it it could put me anywhere else." Potter's smile was sincere. "See, the only thing I knew about Slytherin was that Voldemort had been in it. That, and I met someone who was sure he'd be sorted into Slytherin on the train and I didn't like him very much. On the other hand, I'd just met your Uncle Ron and all his family was in Gryffindor."

"Oh."

The man smiled again, an oddly regretful smile. "It told me I could be great, and that Slytherin could help me. I didn't listen and it put me in Gryffindor. At the time I was just relieved I wasn't in Snape's house. I often wonder what would have happened. I'm sure it would have been a disaster, but maybe things would have been different." He shrugged, stood up, and looked towards the black tomb. "People are complicated."

Severus agreed.

The boy's attention was drawn by the flat grey stone that was set between the tombs. "What's that?" he asked.

Severus could only assume that students didn't come here very much, since Tim didn't seem to know anything about the place.

The stone was a flattened obelisk about twice Potter's height and was inscribed with a list of names. They seemed to be in no particular order that Severus could see, although he recognized all of them. Many of them were sixth and seventh year students when Severus had been headmaster, others were members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Potter walked up to the stone and brushed his hands across the names Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin."These are the people who died during the Battle of Hogwarts," Potter said quietly.

Tim came to stand by Potter, staring at the names. Severus guess-timated there were fifty or sixty. The next name Potter's hand lingered on was Fred Weasley.

The names gave Severus a shiver that the child's body echoed.

Potter shook himself, as though drawing himself away from uneasy memories. "But this wasn't what I brought you to see." He turned away from the stone towards the black tomb.

Inscribed on a plate on the side of the tomb was:

Severus Tobias Snape

January, 1959 - May, 1998

"All that is gold does not glitter"

"I know that poem!" Tim said, excitedly.

Potter nodded, that sad little smile on his face again. "Yeah, your Aunt Hermione suggested it. It fit." Potter's wand came out again (Severus hadn't realized he'd put it away). A few flicks and Potter had conjured a bouquet of red and yellow daylillies that he set down on a little ledge on the side of the tomb. Their bright color stood in sharp contrast to the black stone and the white snow. "He was about the most complicated person I ever met."

Severus was more than merely astonished; he felt shaken down to his foundations.

Potter was going on, "After the War, we had him buried next to Dumbledore because he'd done so much for all of us. Half the things he did we won't ever know about."

Tim felt in his jacket pocket for his wand. "Mum told me he saved her from something horrible."

Potter nodded, his face going dark. "Saved more than just her, I expect. And he made the healing potion for the Cruciatus Curse. I owe him a lot." The man put his arm around his son again.

"The way people talk about him... it seems like he wasn't very nice."

"Good isn't necessarily nice," Potter replied. "It's like Mary... she did the best she could, but she was..." The man groped for words.

"A junkie," the child supplied flatly. Severus winced, unpleasant scenes from the boy's nightmares coming to mind.

After a pause, Potter sighed. "Yeah. And Snape was... well, he was a lot of things. Most of them unpleasant. But in the end, his whole life was defined by who he loved. Voldemort fell because of Snape. If not for him...well... none of us would be here, I think."

"I wouldn't have got better if it weren't for him, would I?" the boy asked softly.

Potter shook his head, slowly. "I don't think anyone but him could have invented that potion. Ask Neville about how Snape used to steal people's handkerchiefs. We think he was feeding it to half the school, in the end."

Potter was talking about the Tears potion. Severus did indeed steal people's handkerchiefs for their tears of grief. Merlin knew there was enough of it.

"Come on, we should get on. Your mum told us not to be late," Potter finally said.

Potter flicked his wand to conjure flowers to match the ones on the black tomb, which he set on Albus' tomb. He was quiet, although Severus had been certain that Potter was going to regale the child with Tales of Albus Dumbledore; instead, they walked quietly down the path they'd come.

Tim and Potter stopped for lunch at the Three Broomsticks, where Rosemerta still presided cheerfully; afterwards, they Apparated to the Burrow, the abode of Arthur and Molly Weasley, where a mob of children had apparently taken over the place. Severus counted at least six: the bushy-haired girl who was the spitting image of Granger, a boy with brown hair that had Ron Weasley’s long nose, the Malfoy boy, Lily, Albus and the dark-haired girl who had been at Tim’s bedside when Severus had first awoken in this body.

Potter’s Apparition into the Weasleys’ front garden had put them almost into the middle of a snowball fight which both Tim and he joined with gusto. Severus wondered if Potter had completely taken leave of his senses, letting Tim risk re-injury, until he noted that none of the icy missiles came near the child. Apparently, Potter had put a surreptitious repelling charm on the boy.

As the sinking sun infused the sky with red gold, Tim slipped from the snowball fight. Like Severus, he only liked such games in small doses. The day had worn him out and he preferred to have some time to think.

Severus noticed with interest that, even in the middle of a snowball fight, Potter seemed very aware of the children. When Tim left the group, Potter took a moment to meet his eyes. The child smiled at Potter, who smiled back and gave him an encouraging nod, clearly recognizing the boy’s need for space and quiet to process the afternoon.

He headed into the kitchen, brought up short by the crowd that was gathered there: the adults who apparently belonged to the children. A middle-aged Hermione was helping Molly pass around tea. Arthur was in the corner with a big blond-headed man that Severus didn’t know, and to Severus’ complete and utter astonishment, Narcissa Malfoy sat at the kitchen table with the two Weasley women.

Molly Weasley looked up at Tim’s entrance, giving him a smile of greeting. Hermione and Narcissa were immersed in conversation, as were the two men.

Without missing a beat of the conversation, Molly summoned a teacup and set a stack of chocolate biscuits in front of an empty chair.

Tim sat down in the chair and took his tea with a soft word of thanks. From the boy’s mental chatter, Severus got the idea that he was a bit overawed by Narcissa.

For her part, she acknowledged the boy with a smile, but no other greeting was forthcoming. In her world, Severus knew, children were to be seen and not heard. Tim’s manner must actually be quite endearing to her. Draco, with his boisterous ways, had been a trial to her when he was tiny.

Tim’s position gave Severus time to take a long look at his old friend.

Her hair was still blonde[H1]  and she was still thin, but there were lines around her eyes and mouth. Her bearing was no less aristocratic, but she had grown old. Indeed, she looked much older than Molly Weasley, who was at least ten years her senior. Severus was surprised that she let her age show so much.

He took in the cut of her robe. It was much less lavish than she was normally wont to wear. Perhaps she was in reduced circumstances and didn’t have the money for the expensive charms that made one look younger. Simple glamours were never Narcissa’s style; they put a constant low-level drain on her power and she complained that they always gave her a headache.

“How is your husband, Narcissa?” Molly was asking her solicitously, as she handed her a cup of tea. Molly had always been the very soul of a good hostess—her pure-blood manners and carriage being brought out by her guest.

Narcissa sighed, “They’re sending him home tomorrow, they think. The healers say that… ” she stopped, swallowed. “Well, we’d like him to come home for Christmas, obviously… And then… well… ” She trailed off, swallowing as though fending off tears.

The two other witches glanced at each other, but didn’t interrupt as Narcissa took a breath to get hold of herself. She continued in a rough voice, “We’ve decided it’s best that he stay home after that. We can keep him comfortable. He wants to come home so much. The healers say that there’s not much time left. Draco… he and Hannah are arranging things at the house now.”

“I’m so sorry, dear,” Molly said gently.

Narcissa nodded jerkily. “Yes, well… we all pay for our mistakes, eventually.” She sounded bitter. “I told him… ” Her eyes blazed with sudden anger as she went on, “All these years later—all that we went through—serving the Dark… ” She stopped again, putting her hand over her mouth as though preventing herself from speaking further.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Molly stood up quickly, muttering about putting on the kettle. This was obviously a subject they were not going to discuss at her table.

Narcissa dropped her hand from her mouth and picked up her tea. Severus noted that Molly had brought out good china teacups to serve the guests today.

After a moment, Narcissa’s eyes fell onto Tim. She gave him a brittle smile and asked in a voice of patently artificial cheer, “Did you have a nice afternoon with your father?”

“Yes, Mrs. Malfoy.” Tim nodded solemnly.

“Where did you go?” she asked him, clearly wanting to get the conversation away from herself.

“We… er… ” Tim trailed off and looked around for Molly and Hermione

 Hermione jumped in, “Harry took Tim to his grandmother’s grave. They always go today.”

Tim flashed her a grateful smile.

Narcissa nodded approvingly. “You are a good child.” Such customs were important in pure-blood households, where lineage was prized, “Draco always hated to visit the family tomb.” She turned to the other witches. “It’s good to see that some of us keep the old customs. So this would be the Smith side?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, the Dawson side,” she said firmly. At the older woman’s blank look she said, “His Muggle family.” The Muggleborn witch raised an eyebrow as though daring Narcissa to make a comment.

Narcissa took the hint. “I understand you were sorted into Slytherin,” she said to Tim, casting about for something to say.

Hermione seemed to hold her breath, while Tim nodded.

“I was sorted into Slytherin and so were both my husband and my son,” Narcissa told him proudly. “The Black side of the family were all Slytherins.”

“Uncle Ted’s a Gryffindor—Auntie Andromeda was a Black wasn’t she? ” Tim said softly, “And Scorpius is a Ravenclaw.”

Narcissa sighed, “Yes, well… ”

“Oh really, let’s not get into all of that.” Hermione glared at Narcissa.

“Auntie Roz was a Slytherin,” said Tim more brightly. “Oh. And you know who else told me she was a Slytherin?”

“Who, dear?” Molly asked, glaring at both the younger women.

“Madam Pomfrey.”

Severus had never heard that before. Poppy was not as old as Minerva, but she was not far off. About the same age as Hagrid, and she had never mentioned her house affiliation in all the time Severus had known her.

Tim was enjoying surprising all the women with knowing something not even his Aunt Hermione knew. He grinned. “There were a lot of famous healers who came out of Slytherin in the early days, she said, even though now everyone thinks of Hufflepuff when they think of healers. But Madam Pomfrey says that one Slytherin was so famous as a healer that the Muggles use his symbol for their healers. It’s a wand with two snakes. It’s called a cau… caud… ” he stumbled over the unfamiliar word.

“Caduceus,” Hermione supplied automatically, staring at the child.

Tim nodded happily. “Yes. After Hogwarts, this Slytherin went to a Wizard healing college and then a Muggle one and became a physician.” he looked aside at Molly and Narcissa. “—that’s what the Muggles call their healers sometimes—He became the physician for King Edward the—I think—Fourth, and then Queen Mary, and then Queen Elizabeth the First. See, he was a half-blood and he thought the Muggles should have good healers too, and it’s really surprising all the healing that you can do without magic but he taught a lot of treatments that only work really well if you’ve got a wand so there’s a lot of treatments that didn’t work for Muggles well. But a lot of the healing plants work the same on Muggles as they do on us. ” It suddenly caught up to the child that he was talking to Narcissa as well as his aunt and grandmother. Shyness welled up in him and he stopped speaking, diverting his attention to his tea.

“Did Madam Pomfrey tell you that?” Hermione asked, astonished.

“Mm, hm.” Tim replied, “Eleanor asked her dad to look it up on the Web, and he said that the Muggles did have records of him.”

Severus could tell by the look in Hermione’s eyes that she was just aching to go find a library.

At that moment, the rest of the children trooped in, raising the noise level in the room tenfold. A rather chaotic leave-taking ensued. Narcissa and Scorpius left by the front door after Scorpius very formally thanked Molly and Arthur for their hospitality. The dark girl gave everyone a hug and promised to see them Christmas Eve, also leaving by the front door with the blond man, who hugged everyone as well. Hermione gathered her two around her and Flooed from the kitchen. Lily and Albus followed her.

“Can you Floo by yourself, do you think?” asked Potter quietly.

Tim nodded. His adopted grandparents took it in turns to give him hugs before he left, promising to see him for Christmas dinner, if not before.

“You lot go get tidied up,” Ginny said as soon as the family tumbled out of the Floo. “People will be here in a few hours.” She looked critically at Tim. “You need to have a lie-down.”

Tim nodded, although he rolled his eyes and muttered, “Mu-um, I’m too old for naps.”

“Don’t argue,” Ginny said briskly, although she gave him a quick hug as he went past. “Bed.”

 Severus saw, although Tim did not, that Ginny knew the child would not admit to his fatigue.

It was at least an hour later when the house-elf poked the child awake. “Little Master should wake up,” he croaked. “Guests are here and Kreacher is helping Miss Ginny putting dinner on the table soon.”

“Thanks, Kreacher,” Tim said, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. He’d gone to sleep in his pullover and jeans on top of his covers. He’d intended to stay awake and read, but he’d fallen asleep almost the minute he lay down.

Too old for naps? Severus thought, amused, although he had actually fallen asleep with the boy.

Oh, shush, you, Tim thought back.

“Bad enough to have Mum fussing over me,” he remarked to Kreacher, “but I’ve got Him-in-my-head fussing too.”

The house-elf nodded, “I suppose Little Master still needs Other Master?” He sounded nervous.
“Perhaps Little Master should speak to Master Harry?”

Tim nodded, going still, a wash of almost-fear at that prospect moving through his body and mind.

Severus felt himself freeze up as well. It sounded as though Kreacher had known the whole time that he was here, and had decided that he was part of the family.

“You don’t think… ” Tim hesitated, “that there’s something… y’know… wrong with me? Do you?” he asked anxiously. For some reason, the specter of ending up in the locked ward in St. Mungo’s reared its head. “That cracking my head is going to make me sick again?”

The word “sick” was accompanied with images Severus didn’t like to examine too closely. They all contained an unpleasant amount of pain.

The elderly house-elf stared at Tim, looking right though him. Severus wondered what he saw. “Kreacher thinks Little Master should speak to Master Harry.” His bullfrog voice was firm this time.

Tim nodded and asked, “Do you think I should ask them tonight?”

Kreacher nodded his head. “Master Harry and Mistress Ginny will know what to do.”

“I’ll talk to them tonight, then.”

Severus could have cheered. One diagnostic spell from the Auror would show the disembodied spirit in the boy’s aura. After that, there were any number of spells that would rid the boy of his alien presence and, not incidentally, grant Severus the peace that he craved.

That settled, the boy ran a brush through his hair and put on a clean shirt, checking in the mirror to see if his face was clean. He trotted down the stairs to the drawing room where he heard the voices of the adults.

“I hope you don’t mind me tagging along with Minerva and Neville,” someone was saying. Severus was fairly certain he’d heard the voice before, but didn’t place it.

“Oh no, Professor Bulstrode, I’m so glad you did,” Ginny’s voice replied. “I was so pleased when Minerva owled. Always room for one more.” She did sound pleased: yet another surprise for Severus.

Tim smiled. Severus got the feeling he liked his head of house very much (he knew that she was the head of Slytherin from eavesdropping on the boy’s thoughts). Tim paused on the landing, wondering if they were going to talk about him.

“Oh, please, call me Millie,” she said. “Erm… before Tim comes in, I’d like to ask you… well… I know there was a lot of bad blood between our two houses and… I was wondering if there was anything I could do to make it easier for you?”

“Millie,” that was Potter’s voice. He sounded good humored but firm. “We absolutely don’t have a problem with it.”

“Millie was worried because there were some students over the past few years that have contravened the family legacy,” Minerva put in. “You know how people can be about such things. And it was quite the shock, I’ll be honest.”

“The War was almost twenty five years ago,” Potter said with finality. “The same house that produced Voldemort also produced Erica Roslyn, Poppy Pomfrey and Severus Snape. I hope having a Potter in your house hasn’t stirred up old grudges?”

“Well, I did catch him fighting with some Ravenclaws.” Millie’s voice dropped a trifle. “I’m afraid I had to take some points from him. He’s very good at the bat bogey hex.”

Ginny giggled, “Oh dear. That must have been a surprise.”

There were a few other muffled snorts. Lily and Albus’ laughter could be heard.

“Where’d he learn that?” asked a different woman’s voice.

“I… ah… might have showed it to the children once,” Ginny told her sheepishly.

More laughter.

Tim decided that he wasn’t going to hear anything of interest, so he continued into the room.

Minerva and the woman Millicent Bulstrode had grown into sat together on one settee.

The headmistress was smirking to herself, as if at a private joke. Again Severus was struck by how much she’d aged. But she looked comfortable, sitting on Potter’s settee, as though this were something she frequently did.

Millie, in contrast, was still sitting nervously, with her hands folded in her lap as though at an interview or exam. She had grown into a much more attractive woman than she had been as a child. She sat up straight, not attempting to hide her height. Although she was still quite large across the shoulders and hips, her amethyst-colored robes were quite becomingly cut. A matching hat sat on her head, with her hair caught up in a snood at the back. When she smiled, it reached her eyes, which was something Severus had never seen before.

Severus remembered well her struggles with depression, her difficulties fitting in. She’d spent all her Hogwarts years moping around with a perpetual frown. Her parents were an old pure-blood line, fallen on hard times, and their expectations of her didn’t lie with the child’s own natural inclinations. She had joined Umbridge’s Inquisitorial Squad when the odious woman had been running the place because she’d been promised a job in Umbridge’s office, as some sort of assistant to an assistant.

That would have been a great waste in Severus’ opinion, because Bulstrode had been one of those rare students who truly understood potions. It did appear that, after the War, Bulstrode had taken his advice and found a potions apprenticeship.

“Hello, Tim,” Neville Longbottom’s voice said from the chair beside the door

Showing no reticence whatsoever, Tim turned and smiled. “Hi, Neville,” he said softly.

Longbottom had changed a great deal as well, although his face was still round and boyish. His robes were a little severe, navy blue with no ornamentation at all. Perhaps it was to lend some gravitas to his demeanor. He smiled back at the boy. “How’s the head?”

“Better,” replied Tim. He didn’t elaborate when all the adults turned their eyes to him. They smiled in greeting while Tim nervously crossed to stand by Potter, who gave him a hug.

Neville didn’t press him. “I think Miss Alice could do with a partner,” he said, jerking his head towards the table in the corner.

Lily and Albus were there, playing a game of cards with none other than Alice Longbottom.

The woman looked up; her eyes were a little vague, but she clearly was aware of where she was. She smiled at the child.  “Come help me. Lily and Al were going to teach me a new game, but we need four.”

Alice was dressed in a bright blue robe that matched her eyes. Her sleeves and neckline were trimmed with white fur. Her white hair was braided and arranged on her head like a crown. She picked up the cards as Albus dealt them out.

Alice had been tortured into insanity by Bellatrix LeStrange at the end of the First War. The last time Severus had seen her had been in the long-term ward at St. Mungo’s. She had worn her dressing gown, with her hair cut short by the hospital staff to keep it from getting matted when she wouldn’t allow anyone to brush it for months at a time. She’d not had enough awareness of anything outside of herself to interact with anyone, let alone play a game, and she was only just able to pick up a spoon and feed herself.

“You look like the Snow Queen,” Tim said to Alice. Severus could feel how fond the child was of the woman. Tim sat down and picked up his own cards to look at them.

“Snow Queen?” asked Lily, interested.

“It’s a fairy story Nana used to read me,” Tim told them, his voice quiet.

Lily and Albus looked at each other uneasily.

Alice on the other hand, looked at the child sympathetically. She reached over to pat his hand. “I don’t know that one. Would you read it to me sometime?”

Tim shook his head. “I don’t have a copy. I’d forgotten about it till just now.” He shrugged, lowering his eyes to his cards. “What’re we playing?” he asked, diverting everyone, sorry now that he’d said it and made everyone uncomfortable.

Albus jumped in, explaining the rules of the game to Alice. Severus was astonished at how easily she followed, although when it came to keeping count of points, Tim needed to do that.

“I can’t keep it in my head,” she laughed.

If Severus had been in his own body, he would have fallen off his chair at that sound. For sixteen years, Alice Longbottom had never laughed.

The hospital staff had told him that she had night terrors when she would jump up out of her bed and scream until they spelled a Dreamless Sleep potion into her. If they didn’t, she would scream until her voice failed. Mostly, the hospital staff spent their time preventing her from hurting herself, or comforting her after nightmares, but sometimes her magic would burst out in her defense. The long-term ward was specifically enchanted to dampen that.

Of course, since she couldn’t speak, there had been no way to know how much of this she was aware of.

Now Albus had to keep patiently explaining the rules to her, but it was plain that she was a favorite with the children. If someone had asked, Severus would have had to say she had the demeanor of an older teenager, although her face was lined and her hair stark white. This was very like the popular girl at Hogwarts Alice had been

Severus mentally shook his head, wondering what could have caused this amazing recovery.

They played several hands before Kreacher called them to the dinner table.

Tim sat down between Alice and Ginny. For some reason, there appeared to be one more place setting than there were people.

“Oh, sorry, Kreacher,” Ginny said suddenly. “I forgot to tell you that James owled.” She exchanged an unreadable glance with Potter, who frowned. “He can’t make it.”

“Oh, that’s a shame,” Neville said, apparently missing the subtext between Ginny and Potter. “I hoped to see him.”

Nervously watching Potter as though awaiting an explosion, Kreacher came in and whisked the extra place setting off the table.

The Potters always had at least one dinner with Minerva and whatever other Hogwarts staff cared to come over the Christmas holidays. Harry had started it the first year he was out of school, inviting her, Hagrid and Poppy when he wanted to show off the new renovations to Grimmauld Place. Generally the children enjoyed the company of the headmistress, who turned into a kindly, if strict, aunt when they were out of school.

This would be the first such dinner that James had ever missed. Ginny had sent him an owl earlier asking him to come home for the evening, at least.  She never mentioned getting James’ reply, so Harry could only conclude that James had said something that she thought would upset him. Ginny often played Beater between Harry and James.

Harry just couldn’t understand what was going on between the two of them.  Last night Ron had been telling him it was just a phase. “You remember what it was like,” he’d said. “I think he feels like he has to live up to his dad’s reputation. He’ll settle down.”

This was one of those times when Ron’s advice was just not that helpful. If James had decided to go into professional Quidditch, then perhaps Harry could have trusted that James would settle down, but the boy was chasing dark wizards, for Merlin’s sake. James had always been a little too wild for Harry’s taste.  Since he was tiny, the boy had loved risk for risk’s sake.

As a matter of fact, Harry could not remember what it was like, and he told Ron so. What Harry remembered was his relief when he finally comprehended (with Phoebe’s help) that, as an Auror, he wasn’t expected to personally take care of every single dark wizard out there.

A little morosely, he picked at his food.  As always, Kreacher’s cooking was excellent, but Harry’s appetite failed him.  

Tim was playing with his food more than eating it, as well. Harry knew that the day had taken a lot out of him. The child had gone to sleep for two hours when they arrived home. Harry didn’t like how peaky his son still looked. Ernie had been reassuring, but that didn’t stop Harry and Ginny from worrying.

Alice was chattering happily to the children as if she were a teenager herself. She was very popular with the students at Hogwarts since Neville had brought her there to live two years ago.  The Tears potion had wrought a miracle in her case. Her mind was still damaged, but in the last four years she had improved beyond anyone’s hopes. “Miss Alice,” as the students called her, was quite capable of tutoring the first, second and third years in most of their classes, and she also helped Poppy in the hospital wing. She loved being surrounded by children. There were still times when she could be haunted and fey, but those times were fewer and farther between every year.

Harry was always sorry that they hadn’t found the formula years ago, but at least Augusta had lived long enough to see Alice speak again. It had been a comfort to the old lady in the last years of her life.

For the millionth time, Harry said a little private prayer to whoever might be listening to keep Severus Snape’s soul safe, wherever he was.

 Ginny tapped his foot under the table.

“Hm?”  Harry asked absently.

“Minerva asked you a question,” Ginny said pointedly.

“Oh. Sorry.” He felt his cheeks grow a little warm. “I was miles away.”

Minerva smiled indulgently—she always managed to make him feel about fifteen years old. “I was asking, Harry, if you thought you might come and speak at the memorial in May? It will be twenty-five years, next year.”

“Er.” He barely restrained himself from flatly turning her down. “Ah…have you asked Ron?” He tried to divert her.

“Yes, I have. And he has promised to say a few words, as has Hermione, but it would be splendid if you could be there.” She held up her hand, stopping him from responding before she finished. “You don’t have to give a long speech, just a few words will do.” She smiled rather wickedly. “You could use the speech you wrote for the first anniversary. It’s been so long since you spoke in public, no one would remember. Neville and Luna are also scheduled to speak.”

Albus spoke up. “Why don’t you ever speak at the memorials, Dad?”

Lily, Tim and Alice all turned their attention to him. Millie looked as though her ears were perked up by the question too.

Harry shrugged uncomfortably. “I just don’t like to. I don’t like public speaking, you know that.”

Tim tilted his head curiously, his eyes reflecting that eerie maturity he sometimes had. “They said at school that you’re really famous. They wouldn’t believe me when I said you didn’t like all sorts of Prophet stories and pictures of yourself with famous people on the wall. I mean,” Tim nodded at Ginny, “Mum’s got that picture of herself with her team accepting the World Cup. The Minister was there and everything.”

Harry glanced at Ginny, who gave him an understanding smile. “Oh, your mum’s a lot more famous than me,” he said wryly. “Quidditch is a lot more interesting than old wars, if you ask me.”

“Yeah, but Dad,” Albus said, “you’re in the history books. They said you’re immune to the Unforgivables and all sorts of things.”

Lily nodded. “They say you could be Minister of Magic.”

This was the sort of talk that had turned James’ head, Harry was sure.

“I’m not immune to the Unforgivables, Al,” Harry told the boy quietly. “We’ve talked about this. And I can’t think of anything I want to do less than be Minister.” He shuddered at the very thought.

“Well, why could you kill Voldemort and no one else could?” Albus was not going to let this go.

Alice cried out inarticulately. She had flinched at the name, knocking her water goblet over. “Oh, my. S-sorry.” She seemed at a loss as to what to do about the unexpected mess.

“It’s all right Mum,” Neville said gently. He produced his wand and muttered a charm to pick the water up. Millie righted Alice’s goblet, patting her hand across the table in a maternal way.

“Sorry, Miss Alice,” Al said, looking mortified. “I forgot.”

Alice laughed, a brittle high pitched sound. “Don’t worry Al,” she said. “I just can’t get used to it. That it’s all right to say…” she visibly steeled herself, “V-vold-em-mort…,” she stuttered through the word, “out loud.”

The adults around the table looked at each other, slow smiles blooming on their faces. It was the first time she’d ever been able to utter the word. It was a major triumph, as much as the first word she’d spoken after she’d been treated with the Tears potion.

Neville wrapped one arm around his mother. “Well done, Mum,” he whispered. Alice covered her mouth with her hand, as though waiting for something terrible to happen. When a full minute ticked by with no disaster and everyone looking at her with approving grins, she took her hand away, her expression so pleased and happy that Harry wished he had a Muggle camera available that would capture just that single smile.

Minerva was looking decidedly misty-eyed, and cleared her throat before speaking. “This is why you should come to the memorial, Harry. So many were hurt in the War. We shouldn’t let people forget what you did.”

“No, people shouldn’t forget that there were lots of other people involved,” Harry said vehemently. “Dumbledore’s Army, Shacklebolt’s resistance fighters, the Order. It was their victory. I was just unlucky enough to be tied up magically with the bastard.”

Lily and Al were paying rapt attention, Harry noticed.

“Then you should say that,” Neville said positively. He picked his knife and fork up again to resume his meal. “I’m going to be speaking about Snape and what he did for the War.” He glanced at his mother. “I don’t want that forgotten.”

“Snape?” Alice asked curiously.

“Yes, Alice,” Minerva replied. “You remember: Severus Snape.  He was in the year behind yours. He became the Potions master.”

“Oh, yes, of course I remember,” Alice agreed. “He used to come visit us in the hospital every week.”

Neville choked. Cleared his throat. “What?”

The white haired woman nodded, a little smile on her face. “He used to like to come and read to me. He had a lovely speaking voice. You know, I never understood what Lily saw in him when we were in school.” Her expression dimmed to a pensive frown. “She was heartbroken when he finished with her.  Cried for days.”

“He finished with her?” Harry asked surprised. It had never occurred to him before to ask Alice about anything that happened prior to her injuries; he wasn’t sure how she’d react.

“Well, she never talked much about what happened.” Alice sighed. “But she spent the rest of that term just moping around. He tried to get back with her, but she wouldn’t have that. I always thought he must have been seeing someone else, maybe one of the Slytherin girls. She never said.”

So, his mother had never told people what had happened between her and Snape.

Alice was going on, “But, that’s the only thing we could think of that would upset her so much that she wouldn’t take him back.”

“So, they were serious, then?” Harry asked, fascinated.

“Oh, yes. We all thought they’d end up together. Most of the Gryffindor girls didn’t like him, but I think a lot of that was being a half-blood.” Alice looked apologetically at Harry. “We all knew that your father wanted her to see him. One of the girls even asked her why she’d want to waste her time with Snape when the son of a pure-blood house wanted to see her and didn’t care that she was Muggle-born. Lily was so angry with her. They had a terrible fight. Well, we all wondered the same, but thought it would be rude to say. I suppose being Muggle-born she didn’t really understand, so it really was a good thing that Snape finished with her. I mean, she only went with James first to make Snape jealous.”

Alice’s speech had gotten faster, as it sometimes did when she felt excited about something, as though she were afraid that the words would go away if she slowed down. “It was very strange, actually, to all of us that she’d want a half-blood when a pure-blood boy wanted to see her.” She also tended to repeat things. “I mean, who would? And being Muggle-born, of course, it put her at such a disadvantage, already. If she had children, they’d always be seen as the child of a Muggle-born. In those days, they were always afraid that people with Muggle-born parents would have Squibs for children.”

Neville touched Alice’s arm. It was important to remember that Alice had no internal censor and tended to say whatever crossed her mind. “Oh. I beg your pardon, Harry.” She realized that she was running on a bit.

Harry smiled at her gently. “It’s all right, Alice. I’ve spent the last twenty five years trying to get people over that one,” he sighed, resigned to his fate. “Minerva, if you like, I’ll come talk for you.”

Minerva acknowledged him with a grin.

“So, Mum? What did you mean about Snape coming to visit you?” Neville asked, curiously.

“Oh, he came, perhaps, once a week. He was always very kind.”

“Snape? Kind?” Neville stared at his mother. “Are you sure it was him?”

“Professor Snape was always very kind to me,” Millie said softly. “Neville, I know you and he had… differences… but you never knew what he could be like. He was always very good to us.”

“I know that, Millie,” replied Neville. “You and every other Slytherin who’d talk to me has told me. I just can’t reconcile the two images. That’s why I had Roz write that chapter for the book.”

Alice nodded in agreement and fixed Neville with an intent stare, “He used to tell me how you were doing in school. He told me you melted cauldrons all over his classroom.” She turned away from Neville. Her eyes found Minerva’s. “He told me…” Her eyebrows knitted together as she tried to recall the details of those long-ago conversations. “He told me lots of things I don’t remember. Mostly just how Neville was doing. There was this time though… I remember because he was so frightened and sad. He said something terrible had happened. I don’t remember what, just that he was so upset. Something dreadful had happened. He said it was dangerous for him to be there, with Frank and me.” She stopped, considering. “He said someone had died and they were making him headmaster. He wasn’t happy at all and he said you were ever so angry at him, Minerva. He said that you said terrible things to him.”

The woman’s attention focused inward. “You know, I think he might have visited us just once or twice after that. I seem to remember him coming and telling me that I’d be able to leave the hospital one day. He told me that he was making a potion to make it stop hurting and make everything not so…” Alice shuddered as she seemed to grope for a word, “hard. He said it would take a very long time and that in the meantime I should just know that I was safe and no one would hurt us again. He said he’d make sure of it.”

Awkward silence followed her words. No one knew what to say. Alice looked on the verge of tears.

Harry remembered after the War that Neville had been surprised that his parents had been left alone by the Death Eaters. He and Augusta had both feared that Bellatrix would have tormented them for sheer entertainment.

Apparently this was yet another of Snape’s secret acts of protection.

Tim stood up and turned to the woman. “Miss Alice?” he said softly, plucking at her robe.

She turned a watery smile onto the boy, who stepped forward into her open arms. Harry couldn’t hear what they said to each other in whispers.

Ginny sniffed beside him. Harry felt the distinct need to blow his own nose.

“You’re a good child,” Alice said softly as Tim let go of her and retook his seat.

After dinner, they all sat in the drawing room, the adults chatting about inconsequentials and the children and Alice playing more card games. Harry was quiet, watching the children and pondering his agreement to speak at the next memorial. He hadn’t done that in twenty years.

It was almost ten o’clock when Minerva, Neville and Alice took their leave. The children all went up to bed, worn out by the day.

“Funny about Snape visiting Alice,” Ginny said, as she sat with her feet up on the coffee table. “Did Augusta know, do you think?”

“She must have,” replied Harry. “Although maybe she thought it was only occasionally, to help him with his researches.”

Ginny nodded, looking thoughtful. Harry poured her some tea from the pot Kreacher had brought up and took both their cups over. He sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulders.

“Hey, Dad? Mum?” Tim stood at the doorway in his pajamas. He leaned up against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, “Do you have a minute?” His tone was tentative.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Ginny scooted over to make room for the boy between them.

“What’s up?” asked Harry as Tim sat.

“Erm.” Tim bit his lip, hesitating. Harry and Ginny exchanged concerned looks over the boy’s head. “Do you remember me saying about the Dark Man?”

“Yes,” replied Harry.

Tim took a deep breath. “So, he’s back. In my head. He’s been back since I hit my head.”

Ginny’s face drained of color. She picked her wand up from where she’d set it on the side table and laid it across her lap.

“What do you mean back?” asked Harry slowly, feeling for his own wand.

“Well, I mean…back. Like talking to me and…” Tim shrugged. “He’s angry about something, but that’s not new. He’s afraid too. I don’t know why.”

Ginny closed her eyes and took a couple deep, steadying breaths. Harry remembered suddenly Dudley talking about “triggers.” Like Dementors, triggers could suddenly throw one back to terrible things that happened years ago. 

“So, what’s he been saying?” Harry asked the boy softly. Ginny opened her eyes, her mouth pressed into a determined line.

“Not much, really. He’s just there.”

Ginny put her arm around Tim’s shoulder, while keeping her hand on her wand. “Sweetheart?” she said, gently squeezing his shoulder. “Have you had any times where you couldn’t remember what you were doing? Like gaps in your memory?”

Harry felt his stomach drop when the boy nodded.

“Like when?” Ginny’s voice was only a little higher pitched than usual.

“Well, I can’t remember anything between the morning before that potion blew up and Healer Ernie fixing the bleed in my head. Well, except the headache I had.”

Both the adults relaxed minutely. That sounded more related to the head injury.

“He’s used my magic a couple times, like he used to, but he hasn’t just taken over since then. It seems like he’s afraid he’ll hurt me.”

“Why would he think that?” Harry asked, carefully.

Tim knitted his brows in thought. “I’m not sure. He just doesn’t think it would be good for me. He’s pretty certain he doesn’t belong here anymore.”

“Here?”

The child tapped his temple with his finger. “In my head.”

“Right.” Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve, “Hold still for a minute, love,” he said. “I just want to do a couple diagnostic spells—make sure there isn’t anything odd going on.” Well, odder than one’s son telling one that someone was in his head.

A complicated spell that Roz had brought back from Haiti just after the War was standard for Aurors now.  Harry muttered the incantation, waving his wand in the pattern of revealing. “Koute m 'non! Mwen sorselri limyè a nan majik sa a pitit ou a. Moutre m 'kè sa a timoun nan ak nanm. Revele fè m 'relasyon l' yo. Moutre m 'fanmi l'. Moutre m 'zanmi l' ak rayisab l 'yo. Moutre m 'ki te kite mak yo sou nanm li. Moutre m 'fwontyè ki separe peyi kè l'.”

Tim’s magical aura glowed around him in shifting light.  Blue predominated, layered with silver and gold. The gold was Ginny, whose aura extended around the child as a mother’s should, and the silver was Harry himself.

Other colors shot through the blue, as well. The marks that the people who loved Tim and who Tim loved in return left on his soul. As always, Harry thought this was a particularly beautiful spell. Lily’s soothing lavender and Al’s deep green surfaced and sank into the background of blue, looking like reflections of sunlight on water. The fiery red that was James figured prominently, almost as strong as Harry’s silver or Ginny’s gold. Other colors moved around the blue, some Harry was able to recognize by their feel.

There was no taint of darkness, nor any presence that should not be there. No sense that anyone or anything was “riding” the child. The edges were solid and the colors, though they shimmered like brightly colored fishes through the blue of the boy’s soul, didn’t mix, meaning the boy’s mental boundaries were intact. No trace of prolonged Legilimency or anything like Imperius had been used. The silver and gold of the child’s parents were as separate as they ought to be in an eleven-year-old, and gratifyingly, Smith’s rusty orange color had almost disappeared entirely.

A gold that wasn’t Ginny flashed through as Harry invoked the spell more deeply. That would be Tim’s Nana, then. He always said Ginny was like her. Mary Dawson’s traces appeared as a purple not dissimilar to Lily’s.

Ginny could see the light show as well, and searched for herself, looking for places where the colors might bleed together or shadows gather. She shook her head, looking only slightly reassured—it was always possible that an alien presence could hide or flee from this type of magic.

“Why don’t I send an owl to Healer Phoebe tonight?” Ginny asked as Harry let the spell fall.  One of the reasons Phoebe had been able to take Tim on was that she was a mind healer who specialized in helping people deal with trauma involving Dark Magic. She had many more diagnostic spells at her disposal and would know what to do next.

Tim nodded, chewing his lip nervously. “I’d like that.”

Harry put his arm around the child and his hand on Ginny’s shoulder.

For a long time the three of them sat on the settee together, not speaking. Ginny put her feet back up, but her posture was much tenser.

The next time Harry glanced down at his son, the boy was asleep against his side. “I’ll take him up,” he told Ginny softly. “I’ll put the monitoring charm on his room.”

She nodded, summoned a quill and parchment. “I’ll be up, as soon as I owl Phoebe,” she said.

The spell Potter had used was unfamiliar to Severus, as was the language of the incantation, but there was no doubt in his mind to its purpose; he had felt the thing cause the boy's soul to fluoresce. Felt the flares in his (their?) magic. He didn't understand why his own soul wasn't shown as well. Surely his own tainted and torn soul should show up in black relief against the boy's blue purity? Perhaps it had. It was quite possible that the Potters were waiting for this Phoebe to arrive to exorcise him. Given the child's age, it was unlikely they would just tell him he was possessed or haunted or whatever.

Curiously, the spell had acted upon the boy's parents—it had shown Severus the quality of Ginny's and Potter's souls. Probably because their souls were so firmly entwined with the boy's.

She was Gryffindor gold through and through. Her heart was all fire, quick and hot, with no subtlety or guile. Other colors shone through her flames- her family and friends, Severus guessed.

Potter's soul gave truth to the idea of opposites attracting. His soul gleamed the same moon silver as a Patronus: still as a forest pond. Whereas Ginny's spirit crackled and flared, Potter's gently rippled and shimmered. There were depths and shadows that the Potions master would never have credited the boy he knew being capable of. The traces Potter's loved ones left were deeply submerged, swimming and darting beneath the surface.

Severus wondered vaguely what Lily's soul would have been like.

It was obvious that, after so many years, Ginny and Potter had a strong, stable bond. Their souls yearned towards each other, their colors mixing like oil and water where they touched, but never blending. Instinctively, Severus read that as two people with healthy identities, neither strong personality overpowering the other.

Potter had studied the child's soul for a very long time before dropping the spell, giving Severus an equal amount of time to study his.

Afterwards, the boy's exhausted body demanded more sleep. Potter scooped the child up with practiced ease. Severus withdrew to the illusion of his dungeon quarters that he'd created in the back of the boy's mind to await the morning.

Both parents came in at different times in the night to check on the boy, as did the house-elf. In life, Severus had been a light sleeper (this had saved his life on at least one occasion) and it seemed Tim shared this trait. When Ginny came and sat in the rocking chair wrapped in a shawl, Tim's eyes opened to slits to watch her at her knitting, until he dozed off again.

Sometime later, Potter came in and tucked the child in more snugly. The child's sleeping mind acknowledged the man's presence by drifting more deeply asleep.

Severus marveled at the child's easy assurance that a problem, once handed off to his parents, would be taken care of.

"Well, yeah," Tim stood at the door of the imaginary dungeon again, startling Severus from his reverie. The child leaned against the doorframe, this time dressed in his Muggle clothes.

Severus felt his mouth twist into a sneer. "Never failed you, have they?" he snarled.

Somberly the small boy shook his head. "Never."

The man wanted to growl at the boy as he would have at one of his brainless students, as he had at bloody Longbottom after he'd blown up another cauldron, as he had so many times at Potter. This child stared at him as Potter used to, no fear in his eyes, merely wariness.

It used to irritate the hell out of Severus that Potter seldom evinced any fear of him. Not until their Occlumency lessons had the teacher discovered why—compared to the boy's uncle, a teacher who was not allowed to lay hands on him couldn't seem like much of a threat. Only when threatened with suspension or expulsion did Potter show any true fear. That made a great deal of sense after Severus witnessed Potter's memories.

The worst part of it was that there had been memories locked up in the back of the boy's mind that he had blocked out completely. If the Dark Lord had found them, Potter would have been a sniveling shell inside of thirty seconds. On reflection, Severus had wondered how much the Dumbledore knew about Potter's life. Occlumency would also teach Potter to close his mind against his own burden of trauma long enough to get the job done.

Potter had assumed that Severus was being an absolute sadist during those lessons, but that wasn't at all true. If Severus had truly been a sadist, he would have brought forward one of the memories of the truly depraved things Potter had witnessed. Things that his mind, in an act of self-protection, had buried so deeply that not even Dementors could bring them forth. Things that made his parents' deaths and that terrible scene in the graveyard pale. After all, the Killing Curse was over so quickly.

Clearly, Dumbledore had been right about Potter in one way, at least. Even in his forties, Potter's soul was still pure and unblemished. Only those tricks of his mind could keep him so, Severus thought. It was the only explanation that he could see for the man not becoming the new Dark Lord.

Severus would not have entertained this thought a year ago, but now he wondered if Dumbledore had known what Potter was going back to every summer. Perhaps, in his Victorian way, Dumbledore thought that the Boy Savior could do with the toughening. Certainly, the Old Man had given Potter unprecedented freedoms in school, but that was part of the plan to allow Potter to develop his strengths precociously.

In truth, Dumbledore was more to blame for Potter's ridiculous antics than Potter himself had been. The fiasco with Quirrel had been aided and abetted by the headmaster. After the Order was reactivated, they all heard (because Black delighted in telling the story) how Granger and Potter had enabled Black to escape the Ministry. In both instances, the headmaster had given children powerful magical objects to play with.

Then there was the following year; Potter could have been told that the rules allowed him to forfeit each task at the beginning. But the Ministry was too enamored of the Boy Who Lived and events of the Tri-Wizard Tournament had been allowed to play out to capture the spy that Dumbledore was convinced was at Hogwarts.

It occurred to Severus then that the reason the Dark Lord should have feared Dumbledore was not the man's power, but his ruthlessness. Dumbledore had loved Potter. The old wizard had loved many people, in a way that Riddle never could, but that made it all the more terrible when he sacrificed those he loved for the greater good.

Severus couldn't sit still any longer under the child's gaze. He stood and walked back and forth across the room. Tim sat down on the settee and watched him pace.

"I wish you'd tell me what the matter is," Tim finally said quietly. "You're scaring me." The boy still did not look frightened, though. Rather, he looked blank, impassive.

"I apologize," Severus replied, surprising himself. There was something about Tim that made the caustic man not just hold his tongue, but gentle it. "That was not my intent."

"I know." Tim folded his legs onto the couch so he could prop his elbows on his knees. "But you're still not going to tell me what's upset you?"

"No." Severus turned his back on the boy to stare into the flames of his imaginary hearth. "It's not for you to concern yourself with and I don't believe this is a subject I really wish to discuss with someone of your age."

"You always say things like that." Tim's voice was petulant. "You mightn't want to talk about it, but given that you're in my head, and I'm not little anymore, I reckon it does concern me.

Severus turned around. "How long have I been here?" he asked curiously.

The child shrugged. "Always. I mean, you've been gone for the last few years. You said I didn't need you so much since Mum and Dad found me. You disappeared not long after Dad killed That Bastard."

"Mr. Potter killed your father?" Severus asked astonished, knowing exactly who Tim referred to.

The child's blue eyes became flat, his face dropping into blankness again. "You should know. You were there." His voice had a cold, wooden sound.

Like Severus, it seemed that Tim lapsed into emotionlessness when he was close to being overwhelmed.

"I'm afraid I don't remember," the man admitted.

"That is so strange." Tim's voice was tinged with worry. He tilted his head, staring at Severus with narrowed eyes. "I don't understand how you could forget."

"I'm not sure what to say to that. I do not remember what you're referring to and as far as I'm concerned, we have never met." Severus didn't quite sneer.

"Then why are you in my head?" the boy challenged.

"I don't know." the Potions master sat down on his chair with a sigh.

Tim and Severus stared at each other for a long time.

It was late the next morning when Tim woke up. He had an uneasy recollection of the conversation he and the Dark Man had had in his dream.

Severus was a little entertained by the way Tim referred to him.

The boy dressed and headed down to the kitchen, where he heard the voice of his mother and a man Severus didn't know.

It's James, Tim thought, excitedly.

"It was only that you brought up the War," Ginny was saying as Tim came in.

James was seated at the table with his mother, eating breakfast that Kreacher was putting on the table. He had Ginny's eyes and the Weasley height, but Potter's black hair. He turned when he heard Tim come down the stairs.

"Hello, kiddo!" called the young man.

Tim threw himself at his brother. "Where have you been?" he demanded after giving him a hug. "You haven't been here since I got home."

James shifted uncomfortably as Ginny gave him a pointed look. "I was here, but you were sleeping. I've been really busy at work, too," he said.

The younger boy looked hard into his brother's face. "You're not upset with me, are you?" he asked softly, searching the young man's eyes. Severus could feel the ache in Tim's heart, the fear that this James, whom the child clearly worshipped, would reject him.

"For…?" Clearly this James was as obtuse as his grandfather.

Tim crossed his arms against his chest and stepped back. "That I was sorted into Slytherin," he mumbled. "A few people said you'd be sort of p…"

Language! warned Severus sternly, as he would have one of his students.

Tim hesitated, glancing at Ginny. He changed what he was going to say. "They said you wouldn't like it."

James reached out and took both of the boy's hands in his own, looking stricken. "Oh, no, Tim. Not at all. I'm sorry. Look, it doesn't matter to me, all right?"

A thick lump formed in the boy's throat. "But, I haven't seen you all break. You promised." He stopped, swallowed hard, not wanting his older brother to see the threatened tears.

Ginny gave her eldest son an "I told you so" sort of look.

The young man's cheeks colored. "I'm sorry. Work has been really busy."

"Except for being suspended last week," put in his mother disapprovingly.

"Well, I thought it was better if I cleared off for a bit," admitted James quietly. "But, I'm not upset with you or anything," he said to his adopted brother. "And I did stop by on Wednesday. You didn't wake up all afternoon."

"You've been arguing with Dad, again," Tim said flatly.

James shrugged. "Yeah, well…" He looked at his mother, as if for support. "You know Dad… He got all hacked off over nothing."

Ginny tutted, "Not nothing, James. He was worried. And what I was saying before, it's not a good idea to bring up the War with him."

"What was he so upset about?" James asked petulantly. "I was just pointing out that I didn't do anything that different to what he did. From what I hear, he spent a lot of time 'violating procedure'. "

Looking dead serious, she leaned forward over her teacup. "You've been spending too much time with your Uncle Ron," she said in a soft voice. "You might want to ask your Aunt Hermione about the year they spent on the run. She'll give you a different story." Ginny glanced at Tim. "Your father… he doesn't like to talk about it. You know that. If you want to know more about the War, you can read the manuscript Minerva and I are working on. I don't even know if I can explain it," she said. "We were at war. It was a strange time."

James looked like he was going to say something else, when the front door opened. Severus heard Potter's voice speaking and a woman's voice replying.

"Right, I'm off." James abruptly stood. He gave Tim a hug, "I'll be back Christmas Eve, but I'll be late, all right?"

"So, you're going to keep avoiding your father?" asked Ginny impatiently. She stood too, to give her eldest a hug before he left.

"Just 'till he cools off," replied James, already throwing Floo powder into the fireplace. "Anyway, I have to go into work."

"I swear, next time I will stick him to his chair," Ginny growled at no one in particular as James disappeared into the green flames.

"Gin? Phoebe's here," Potter called down the stairs. "I've got to go into work for a few hours. Roz just owled." Apparently Potter hadn't realized that James had been here.

Ginny smirked, in an oddly satisfied way. Severus wondered what she found amusing. "All right," she called up as the woman came down the stairs. "Hello, Phoebe." Ginny smiled broadly at the woman.

Phoebe was a short, plump witch with a round face and very dark skin. At first, Severus thought her hair was braided in many tiny braids that were pulled back into a thick pony tail. On second look he realized that they weren't braids but small, neat round ropes of hair that had the texture of felted wool. Her robes were an almost Slytherin green paired with gold trim—a mixture that few had had the audacity to wear since the First War, even if they hadn't gone to Hogwarts.

"Hey, Ginny," the woman said, in a soft, high pitched voice. "Hey, Tim. How you feeling?" her accent was American, although Severus had never heard one quite like it. It wasn't quite as harsh and fast as the ones he'd heard before. Not that he'd ever known many Americans, and he'd never visited.

Tim was weak with relief that the healer was here at last. "I'm all right," he replied softly, sitting down.

"Thank you so much for coming, Phoebe. I hope we didn't interrupt any plans?" Ginny said, pouring the woman some coffee from the pot on the sideboard and pushing the milk and sugar towards her.

"Oh no," she smiled as she sat. "Roz is headed into work. They got a case that sounds kinda urgent."

"They're all urgent." Ginny rolled her eyes; she handed the coffee to the other woman.

"Should we talk in here, Ginny? Or should we go up to Tim's room?" Phoebe asked, sugaring her coffee. She added milk and sipped at it.

Kreacher put some sausage and eggs in front of Tim, who started to pick his way through his meal.

You should eat more, Severus thought at the child.

Tim rolled his eyes, echoing Ginny's gesture.

"Actually," Ginny said, "we…ah…thought it might be best if you used Harry's study."

"Oh, yeah?" Phoebe's eyebrows went up. She glanced at Tim. "You been having trouble with your magic again?" she asked kindly.

Tim shook his head. "No, not exactly."

Severus saw the woman's quick brown eyes glance at the child's plate, clearly noting how the child was playing with his food rather than eating it.

"It's complicated," sighed Ginny. "He… well…"

"The Dark Man came back," Tim said, interrupting. "And he's worried and angry. He doesn't want to be here."

"What's he worried about, honey?" the healer asked.

"I don't know." The child gave up on his attempt to eat and contented himself with drinking his tea. "But he really thinks he doesn't belong here."

The woman nodded. "All right," she said patiently.

"Harry did a kè revele spell," Ginny supplied, frowning. "But it didn't show anything foreign."

Phoebe stared into her coffee cup. "Do you think he missed something?"

Severus growled to himself. Of course Potter bloody missed something. Severus was making no effort to hide his presence.

"The Dark Man thinks he did," Tim put in timidly.

"He does? What else does he say?" the healer asked, interested. She glanced at Ginny. "Let's go on up to your dad's study and talk about it, okay?

The house-elf had already brought a coffee pot up to the study on a tray.

"Thanks, Kreacher," Phoebe said, pouring more into her cup.

Severus began taking a surreptitious look around the room as Tim ensconced himself on the settee. The children didn't generally come into Potter's study. They crossed strong wards when they came in; Severus could feel that they were the type to keep things in rather than keep things out. That made sense—there were grimoires on the shelves that could be dangerous in the wrong hands, and magical bric-a-brac that Potter probably used in his work.

It would also be the best room in the house to contain any Dark Magics the child might be carrying around with him.

Phoebe settled herself down in the wing chair as though she had sat there hundreds of times before. "So, sweetheart, wanna tell me what's been going on?" she asked in her slow sweet voice. She propped her chin on one hand, rested the hand that held her coffee on the other arm of the chair: ready to sit there for however long it took for the child to speak.

Tim took a deep breath. He bit his lip. "The Dark Man came back," he said.

"You said that," Phoebe replied patiently. "How come?"

Tim shook his head. "I dunno. He doesn't either. Maybe because my head hurt so bad?"

The healer nodded but didn't speak.

"He keeps worrying about hurting me. He thinks he's supposed to be dead. Well, it's like he really wants to be dead. He's tired of living." Severus didn't realize the boy had picked that up from him. "I think," the child continued, "he sort of expects you to make him go away."

"Why would I do that?" It was difficult to tell, because the healer was so dark, but Severus thought that her face had paled a bit when the child talked of Severus' desire to simply be dead. Certainly her voice was cautious now.

Tim shrugged, looked away.

"You want him to go away? He scaring you?" Phoebe abandoned her casual posture and grasped her cup in both hands, leaning forward in her chair to fix him with an intense stare. The slightest push of Legillimancy drifted over the surface of Tim's mind.

Instinctively, Severus shut his mind to her, distracting himself with minor details. Her nails were painted the same green as her robes, with little gold designs on them. The same designs were repeated on her robes—they weren't European designs of any sort, nor were they Asian. Something South American, perhaps?

Phoebe's mental push met and slid off the images. Her eyebrows contracted in a frown. She set her coffee down on the little side table. Not taking her eyes off the boy, she drew her wand from its pocket in her robe. She pointed it at her cup and muttered a warming spell. When she was done, she laid her wand across her lap, rather than putting it away.

Tim shook his head. "Well, he's scaring me a little, but I really don't want him to go away, and I really don't want him to… you know… die." The child looked down rather than at the healer, plucking at a loose thread in the side seam of his jeans.

The woman took a long breath, seeming to make up her mind. "You think I could talk with him?"

Well? Tim thought at Severus.

Severus thought for a moment. His instinct for hiding was strong, but was there really any other way to sort this mess out? This Phoebe seemed competent enough, at least. She also had a strong magical signature, at least as strong as Minerva's. She should be powerful enough to rid the boy of Severus' presence, especially since he didn't plan to resist her in any way.

There was the child to consider, however.

"He doesn't want to talk to you in front of me," Tim said irritably. "He's going all 'Don't upset the boy' on me." Tim's sneer was worthy of Severus himself. "He does this. He thinks there's things I can't cope with knowing."

"Sounds frustrating," Phoebe agreed. "Well, I'm here and I can help you deal with whatever we find."

If only it could be so easy.

"He's being stubborn about it." Tim sighed, sounding defeated.

Phoebe picked up her wand. "What if you went to sleep for a bit?" she asked. "Would that work for him?"

Severus pondered this. Perhaps she could have him removed before the child woke again.

Tim was not pleased with this idea. "Promise you won't do anything without telling me?" he asked the healer suspiciously.

She nodded soberly. "I won't. Well, not unless something bad's gonna happen."

The child seemed to trust the woman absolutely. "All right," he said reluctantly.

"Why don't you lie down there, honey?" she said kindly.

Tim pulled one of the throw pillows over to lay under his head.

She pointed her wand at him and used a muttered incantation. Tim's eyes slid closed and his mind took on the slow rhythm of a deep sleep.

It was Severus who opened the child's eyes in the next instant. He sat up to look at the woman again.

"Hello?" Phoebe looked at him interestedly.

He inclined his head politely. "Hello." He wondered if she thought this was an elaborate bit of playacting by the child. If that was the case, she was going to be shocked. Unfortunately, he wasn't sure how to start this conversation.

"So, wanna tell me what's going on?" Phoebe asked, going back to her listening pose, with her chin propped on one hand.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite sure," he began. Phoebe's eyes widened as she caught the change in the cadence and pitch of his voice. The child's physicality limited his speaking voice, and Severus felt the lack. His voice was always his best feature, a potent defense and a powerful weapon, one that he'd cultivated assiduously. However, just as he'd learned to project so that his merest whisper carried to the back of his classroom, he could make the child's voice work for him.

"I awoke in this body and I have no idea how to leave it or how I came here. I don't belong here, obviously. I'm fairly certain my own body is buried in a crypt."

"Uh-huh." The healer fingered her wand, nodding slowly. "So, you have a name?" Her relaxed attitude abandoned. She was tensed to stand, ready to defend herself. Her eyes were narrowed and watchful. Severus felt her power draw in on itself, coiling like a spring. With some satisfaction, he saw that she was one of those witches who hid her power behind a sweet demeanor and a soft manner. Here was a woman who had dealt with dark forces before.

"I rather think it would be unwise to share that," Severus replied darkly.

"Why? I'm bound by healing oaths. One of them stops me from speaking anything we say outside of this room."

Nervously, Severus stood, pacing back and forth across the floor as Phoebe watched. "Yes, but what about the child?" he asked.

"If I think it's gonna will hurt him, I won't repeat it," she said. "But I happen to think that most secrets are pretty toxic. I mean, he's kinda involved here, don't you think?"

Severus raised one eyebrow at her. He wondered how the expression looked on the face of the blue-eyed, blond-haired child. "I highly doubt that he needs to know that a dark wizard is inhabiting his body," he sneered.

"A dark wizard? So, that's what you are?" She picked up her cooling coffee with her left hand and took another drink. "We gonna play twenty questions here, or you gonna tell me what you want up front?" Her right hand held her wand firmly.

Severus stopped pacing to face her. "What I want, madam, is to be sent beyond the Veil in short order."

"You want to die?" she asked, carefully sipping from her cup. Her voice was perfectly neutral, as though he had announced his intention to Apparate to Hogsmeade. "Why?" her eyes followed him, back and forth, as he resumed his pacing.

"I do not want to die. I am dead. I am a spirit that has lost its way so completely that I haven't even worked out how to find a decent place to haunt. So, your task is to exorcise me as quickly as possible," he snapped.

"Huh." She leveled her wand at him and muttered a long string of syllables that sounded like what Potter had used the night before.

The same light show appeared. Apparently this spell worked on the castor as well as the subject because Phoebe's aura appeared as verdant, shifting green. Severus ceased his pacing to stare at it. "Am I supposed to be able to see this spell too?" His academic interest in spells was piqued.

"What can you see?" she asked.

"Your spirit is green. And…" Severus tried to put his impression into words, "it feels… like a hot summer day somewhere. Like a…" he trailed off, not sure how to describe it.

Phoebe nodded. "Like a swamp," she said wryly. "Lotta 'gators under that green." Her smile was a little wicked, before she sobered. "You can see it because our hearts are connected. I been working with Tim for almost four years now," the healer said, staring at and through him. "This spell shows hearts and relationships. The quality of your soul. It also shows haints." Abruptly she dropped her wand and the spell fell.

"Haints?" Severus asked, not familiar with the word.

"Haints. Lost souls. Possessing entities." She nodded. "Can you see Tim's soul when I do that?" she asked.

Severus was interested enough that he didn't mind the digression. "I can feel it fluoresce and see it in my mind. It's blue—like ocean water somewhere hot."

Phoebe nodded. "So, you can feel it as well as see it. You're good—takes a lot of people a lot of practice to do that. What about you? Can you see yourself?"

He shook his head. "I suppose one can't unless one holds up a mirror."

"Huh," the healer looked thoughtful. "If you did, what d'you think it'd look like?"

What indeed? "A shadow. Darkness and cold."

"That's a little melodramatic, don't you think?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Severus huffed irritably. "Since you saw it."

"I don't know if you'll believe me," Phoebe said softly.

Severus growled to himself. Then, "This is ridiculous. Get on with it, woman."

The witch raised her eyebrows at him. "'S'cuse me? I don't think you're in a position to be making demands." Her voice had gone steely.

He dropped onto the settee with a sigh. "Fine," he said slowly, resentfully, "I respectfully request that you consign the remains of my shattered soul to eternal darkness or damnation or whatever. Otherwise turn me over to someone who can."

"Now, why would you be damned, sir?" She seemed to have finished her coffee and poured more into her cup.

"I have no desire to answer that," he replied coldly.

She sighed deeply. "See, trouble is, that I can't see that there's any souls other than Tim's in there. Maybe if you gave your name, or something else to go on, I'd have something to work with."

Severus looked at her through narrowed eyes. Names conferred great power, which is why the Dark Lord strove to make his name unmentionable. "Severus Tobias Snape," he ground out.

"Sorry?" She looked a trifle confused.

"That is my name," he informed her stiffly. "And as far as I can tell, I have been dead for nearly twenty five years."

She blinked. "The Severus Snape?" she asked.

"If you mean the Severus Snape who was formerly Potions Master and later Headmaster of Hogwarts, then yes," he admitted reluctantly.

"Huh." She sipped at her coffee some more. She used her cup as a prop to buy her time. She looked him square in the eye and when her spell brushed his mental barriers, he allowed her in this time. He could feel her start to rummage around, images from his life tumbling through his mind. With practiced ease she seized on the most thorny, painful memory. His upraised wand, a shaft of green light, a falling body. If she wanted to know why he was damned, he may as well let her know.

"Hoo," she gasped, pulling away from the image. "What was that?" Her eyes were wide and she looked frightened. He could see her hand was tight on the wand in her lap.

The wizard jumped up again, his agitation demanding motion. It was disconcerting to be so short, to take such small steps, to be dressed in Muggle clothes that did not flow and billow, did not hide him.

"That was…" he shut his mouth against the words because this body he wore was much more easily moved to tears than his own, and he would not weep in front of this stranger. He paced, measuring the floor with his repeated steps.

"Too hard to talk about right now?" supplied the healer gently, her serene façade restored. Here was a woman well accustomed to controlling her emotions in the face of other's trauma.

Severus had had little use for mind healers in his life. Most of them were insipid little snots who wanted to spend far too much time talking about one's troubles with their family. He always imagined that most of them would faint dead way if he told them about his days enslaved to the Dark Lord. Clearly, this witch was made of sterner stuff.

"Yes," he grunted. "Getting back to the matter at hand: now that you have my name, can you separate myself and the child?"

"I'm not sure I can," Phoebe said quietly after a minute.

"Well, surely there's someone at the Auror's office, then?" Severus snarled.

"Maybe…" she sounded hesitant, "But let me ask you: What's the last thing you remember before waking up here?"

Severus stopped moving and closed his eyes. "Poppy…she gave me a potion." He paused, then continued in a pained whisper, "I suppose that's what killed me."

"When was this?"

"Christmas Eve. Nineteen ninety seven."

"You know, I know there's a copy of the biography Neville wrote knocking around here somewhere. Have you read it?"

He shook his head. It was sitting in Tim's room, but after his first attempt to read it, his courage had failed.

"Let me ask you another question: Tim's talked about you since I first saw him. Where've you been all this time?"

"He is mistaken," Severus ground out. "I woke up in this body when the child hit his head. In all likelihood I was bound to that wretched wand."

"Who'd'a done that?"

His eyes still closed, Severus replied, "The Dark Lord, obviously."

"No. I don't think so," the woman said flatly. "See, I know that Severus Snape died in May 1998. And Voldemort wasn't in any shape to be binding anyone to anything."

Severus snapped his eyes open. "Then how do you explain my presence here?" he growled.

"Well…I'm kinda thinking that you're a part of him." Phoebe was watching his face intently to see how he'd react.

"Don't be stupid," he told her in a low voice, "I am clearly not an eleven-year-old child."

"No," she conceded serenely, "but you're not any kind of lost soul either. There is only one soul in that body."

"Perhaps someone more skilled should perform a diagnostic spell, in that case," Severus told her frostily.

"Sorry, honey, Mamaw's been gone for a few years now, and she was the best conjure woman I ever met. If Harry and me aren't good enough, she's the only one I could think of who'd be any better. The only soul in there is the same one that's always been there."

Wonderful, they were all incompetent.

Phoebe read the clear disbelief on his face. "I'm thinking we're about to get into some philosophy here." Her smile was a trifle rueful, although her hand still white knuckled her wand. "Is someone's mind the same as their soul?"

Severus remembered the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore before the old man had died. "Minds?" he'd asked. "We were talking of souls."

Numbly, Severus shook his head.

She nodded. "So, maybe your soul is wherever it's supposed to be?"

"Then why would the rest of me be here?" he demanded.

For a millisecond, Severus saw the woman's true expression under her unruffled exterior; fear. She was truly afraid for the child and feeling out of her depth. "I'm really not sure," she said softly.

They stared at one another.

Finally Phoebe said, "I gotta ask." She swallowed as if her mouth had gone dry, "Seems like it'll take a little time to untangle this mess. Are you safe to leave alone?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I mean, are you gonna hurt Tim?" She seemed to consider this a real possibility.

"Madam, rest assured," Severus replied somberly, "I have no intention of harming the child."

She leaned forward in her chair to meet his eyes. "But you understand that if you hurt that body, you'll hurt him, right?" Another brush of Legillimancy to verify his next words.

"I do understand that," he said quietly. He wanted to snap that he wasn't so stupid, but he was unable to put the Dark Lord's victims from his mind. The wrecked shells they would become when he was finished with them.

She nodded. "I…uh…I think I better talk to Tim for a bit."

Severus nodded and quickly retreated to the back of the child's mind to contemplate their conversation. He didn't listen at all to what the woman spoke to the child about. It was enough that the child felt reassured that the adults in his life were taking action on his part.

Severus considered that the adults in Tim's life were far more useful than the adults in his own childhood had been.

Sometime later, the healer and the child finshed their talk. Phoebe insisted that the child attempt to eat something afterwards.

Phoebe's parting words to a troubled Ginny were, "I'll be back tomorrow."

"Oh, no. Oh, no. He's come back. Please, I don't want him to come back."

The sound of a child whimpering roused Severus from his ruminations, sitting as he was in his mental projection of his dungeon chambers at Hogwarts.

Tim was having one of his nightmares. And no wonder, after the long stressful conversation with the mind healer.

Taking a fortifying breath, Severus opened his illusionary front door onto Tim's dreamscape. It was a bit like walking into a memory held in a Pensieve.

The door led to the sitting room of a nondescript little flat. The carpet might have been beige once and curtains of the same indistinct color were hung from the windows.

A poster of a woman in a medieval gown, drifting across a black lake in a punt, dominated the living room. The still picture marked it as a Muggle dwelling rather than a Wizarding home. Bits of rubbish were piled up here and there. Off the living room was a galley-style kitchenette that was about four square feet. Its sink overflowed with dishes and there were pizza and take away boxes strewn across the floor, some of them looking as though they'd almost made it into the bin. Empty bottles of beer or fizzy drink overflowed with cigarette butts and ashes on the table.

In the center of the room, next to the settee, was a cot with a golden-haired, blue-eyed toddler of perhaps eighteen months, fretfully picking at his blanket while he held a small stuffed toy close to his chest. An empty bottle lay beside him and from the odor Severus could detect, it seemed that the child needed tending to.

There was talking and then raised voices was coming from behind a closed door. The child stared at the door and after a moment began to squall for his mummy.

"No! Shut it! Oh please, be quiet," whispered a voice. Severus spotted eleven-year-old Tim kneeling next to the cot, his back to him, trying to get the baby's attention. "Shh. He'll hear you… Please, be quiet." Tim stood, reached down, and with great effort pulled the toddler into his arms. Clumsily he sat down with the child in his lap. "You have to be quiet, Baby," he whispered.

The child's wails quieted to hiccupping sobs and then soft coos. Apparently the baby was happy enough in Tim's arms.

"I'm sorry." Tim was still whispering to the baby. " I don't know what to do."

Hesitantly, Severus went forward and put his hand on the child's shoulder.

Tim jerked at the contact. He looked up into Severus' face, relaxing at the sight of the imposing man. "You have to help us," he whispered. "Father's here. He's going to… to…"

Whatever it was, the boy couldn't articulate it. His voice was choked off as he shut his mouth against it. The baby burrowed into the older child's shoulder, shaking with fear and making whimpering noises.

"Shut up, you little bastard!" a man's voice called from the other room.

Without a doubt, something terrible would happen if that man came out of the bedroom.

"You're dreaming, child." Severus knelt down in front of Tim to look him in the eyes. "It's not real." This had worked before when Severus had been caught in one of the child's nightmares.

Tim shook his head vigorously. "No!" He put one hand out and grabbed Severus by the collar of his robe. "You don't understand. Please. He's going to hurt the baby. Please, don't let him hurt the baby." Clearly he was trapped in the reality of the dream.

"I won't." Severus soothed the boy, knowing nothing he was going to say was going to make a difference if Tim wouldn't recognize the dream for what it was.

"That Bastard's got a wand. He can cast spells. Real spells." Tim sounded as though he thought he'd have to convince Severus.

Severus smiled darkly. "So can I." He showed the child his own wand as evidence.

The door behind Severus slammed open, the door bouncing off the wall.

The man who came out of the doorway was handsome, with dark hair and eyes the same color as Tim's. He looked furious about something. He was dressed in a Muggle tee shirt and boxer shorts, but he brandished a wand.

Severus stepped between the other man and the children, only to find that this dream monster didn't acknowledge him in the slightest.

The baby began to howl in fear and the man stepped through Severus to advance on the children.

Tim was hyperventilating, but he left the baby on the floor and stood up to the man, his wand out and at the ready. Without hesitation, the child pointed his wand and cried in a strangled sob, "Avada Kedavra."

Severus felt the magic tingle across his skin, a hot burning wind. The jet of light was bright enough that, in the waking world, he would have expected it to have worked.

The green light flashed straight through the man's heart but, though he glowed with the energy of it, it didn't prevent him from walking through Tim and grabbing the baby. The man shook the infant, who screamed even more loudly. The man growled and shook harder, making the infant's head rock on his shoulders.

The woman came up behind the man with a wail, trying to get around him to get to her child. She was dressed in a pink silk dressing gown. Apparently the child's cries had interrupted a moment of passion. She snatched the child away and hurriedly put him in his cot.

The man smacked her with the back of his hand. She was knocked off balance, but kept her feet. She spoke to the man in a whining, placating tone. Severus didn't understand what she said but whatever it was, it made the man turn to her with a leer and move closer to paw at her.

The child was no longer hyperventilating, nor indeed was he showing the slightest scrap of fear. Tim's eyes had turned alarmingly cold as he watched the man and the woman. The hairs on the back of Severus' neck raised—the child's eyes held no more expression than the Dark Lord's pet snake's.

The baby had ceased to wail and merely lay whimpering. Severus wondered how badly the baby had been injured to fall so suddenly silent. The woman made no more move to try to get to the toddler, instead her tone had turned coy and would-be seductive. She brushed the back of her hand against the man's cheek, smiling through her tears. She pulled him towards the bedroom

The man and the woman moved out of the room again.

The child stared at the baby. "He's going to die," Tim said woodenly. The baby started to shake, going into some kind of seizure.

This might only be Tim's dream, but Severus had a dreadful feeling that if the baby died in this dream, something of Tim would be lost.

"No, he's not. I won't allow it." Severus moved quickly to pick up the baby. He passed his wand over it, as though it were a real flesh and blood infant and not a dream phantasm.

Fortunately, in the dream, the baby was a wizard. His native magic was struggling to repair the damage, but there were tears in the fine network of blood vessels and his brain had started to swell. If Severus had access to a potions lab, he could at least cure some of that. Because this was a dream, he supposed he could cure all of it, if he so willed.

Severus looked again at Tim. Something was happening that the potions master didn't understand at all, but he decided that he would just go with the reality as it appeared.

He hefted the infant into one hand. "Come here." He held out the hand that still held his wand. "Take hold of my arm. We'll need to Apparate."

If this had really been Hogwarts, Severus could never have Apparated directly into the hospital wing. However, if he was to convince Tim's sleeping mind that this treatment would work, his own mind needed to be at ease with it.

The hospital wing Severus created looked more like the one in 1998, with very little hint of Christmas cheer. The boy gasped and staggered as they landed.

"I'm afraid Madam Pomfrey isn't available at the moment," Severus said. He put the injured child on a bed and cast a spell to help the child breathe. "Can you look after the baby while I get what I need?"

Tim sat down next to the baby and nodded, wide-eyed.

Severus willed there to be a nerve tonic, a bleeding control and a bruise potion in the potions cupboard. For good measure, he decided there would be a calming draught as well.

These potions were all formulas that merely encouraged natural magical processes. The baby's magic could do all of this alone, but these would make it happen faster, as though being enhanced with another wizard's magic. Severus feared to tell Tim's mind and magic in this dream state that it needed to do something it wouldn't do by itself. Who knows what that might do to the child?

"Sir?" called Tim. "The baby!"

Severus raced back to find the child seizing again. The potions master wasted no time in spelling the different potions into the infant.

The baby's face took on an alarming dusky hue. The small boy beside Severus sighed, turned away. "That's too bad," he said tonelessly.

Severus growled deep in his throat and then, taking a deep breath, trying not to think of the risk he was taking with the child's body and mind, he willed the leaking arteries to close over and he willed the damaged nerve tissue to heal.

This would never have worked in the real world, but in his own dreamscape, he had discovered how to change his own dreams. The principle was the same here.

The small body relaxed, his breathing eased, his face went from dusky blue and purple to pink. After another few minutes, he started restlessly moving about until his eyes opened. Eyes that were exactly like Tim's.

The infant version of Tim began to squall. The eleven-year-old looked alarmed.

Severus smiled, feeling better than he had in a long time. "Crying is a good sign in babies." He thought any emotion was a good sign in the child. It was curious to be standing here with two versions of the same child—even in a dream. Severus picked the baby up and rested him against his shoulder. "Come along."

Tim took Severus' arm. They Apparated into Tim's bedroom at Grimmauld place. Severus couldn't think of a place that would make Tim feel safer than that.

Severus sat in the rocking chair with the crying baby. He checked to see if the baby's nappy was in need of a change, which it was not. If anything confirmed for him this little scene's unreality, it was that.

Severus began to sing a monotonous little lullaby to calm the child. It was one he'd heard Narcissa sing to Draco on many an occasion.

The boy sat on his bed, staring at Severus and the baby with that chilling expression. Eventually the squalling infant calmed.

"He's fine," whispered Severus to the child.

Tim nodded.

The next instant, the baby vanished.

"You are dreaming," asserted Severus.

The child shook his head. "Maybe I am, but the baby wasn't. The baby nearly died. I don't remember the first time you came to help me." He wrapped his arms around his knees in a defensive posture. "Maybe that was it."

Severus stared at the child. The hairs on the back of his neck were going back up. "What we just witnessed? Did that really happen?"

Tim nodded. "Yes. I don't remember it, but the baby does."

"Child… Tim… you realize that the baby is you—don't you?"

The boy shook his head. "No, that's not me. I'm a wizard."

"But all Wizarding[H2] children start out as babies, just the same way others do," Severus told the boy softly.

"No." The child shook his head sharply.

Severus abandoned the chair to kneel in front of the child. Those eyes were still chips of blue ice and the soft curve of the child's jaw was clenched and hard.

"It does no good to pretend that these things are not part of you, Tim." Severus searched the child's face for some hint that he was getting through.

"Fuck off," the child hissed. "You can all stop pretending like you care."

This angry Tim was new to Severus. Ominously, everything in the room started to shake.

"Go away," growled the child.

"Why are you so angry?" Severus asked, grasping at straws to defuse the boy before the magic erupted into violence.

Rather than answering, the boy howled.

The room exploded into darkness, but the howling wail continued.

"Tim?" That was Potter's voice. "Sh-sh-sh, you're safe, love. You're home. It's all right."

Tim's body was picked up and set on Potter's lap. The child was fighting the man, but this appeared to be something the man was prepared for. He wrapped the blankets from the bed tightly around the boy, so that those flailing limbs were trapped like a swaddled baby's.

"Shhhh." Potter started singing the same soft lullaby that Severus had just sung to the infant.

Sometime after the boy quieted, he muttered, "Dad? Mmgonnabesick."

A plastic pail was produced and the child emptied the contents of his stomach into it.

"Better?" Potter asked softly. "Do you want to talk about it?" He helped the sweaty child disentangle himself from the bedc . A quick wave of his wand dried the cold sweat from the boy's nightclothes.

Tim shook his head sharply. He was shaking as though with intense cold, his teeth chattering. Potter waved his wand again and all but one blanket sailed back to the bed. The one left was warmed and wrapped around the child.

"Does your head hurt?" asked Potter.

"N-no." Tim could not stop his teeth clacking together.

Potter backed off from the child enough to look him in the face. "What's wrong?" He stared intently into the boy's eyes and Severus felt the gentle brush of the man's Legilimancy.

Images from the child's dream came tumbling out, although Severus himself was only remembered as an unidentifiable black figure. What was unambiguous was the infant being shaken, abandoned and seizing.

Potter paled and held the child more securely. "Kreacher?" he called. "Will you bring us a calming draught, please?"

"I'm glad That Bastard's dead," Tim said in that flat, emotionless voice.

"I am too," Potter replied softly.

For a long time Harry sat with Tim on his lap, letting his son’s warm boneless weight soothe him. Finally he tucked the limp child back into his bed, brushing the blond strands of hair from the closed eyes. Relaxed in sleep, Tim looked as innocent and sweet as any painted cherub, belying the broad streak of darkness that lay under the shy smile and blue eyes.

“Dad?” whispered Tim, startling Harry, who thought he was asleep.

“Yeah?”

The child reached out to take Harry’s hand and give it a squeeze. “Love you.” He sighed sleepily before his breathing deepened.

“Love you too, son.” His voice was a rough croak. He went downstairs, knowing sleep was a lost cause after this.

The kitchen was dark and cold this time of the morning. Kreacher poked up the fire when Harry made no move to do so.

“Leave it,” Harry said huskily when the house-elf made to light the lamps. He gestured vaguely toward the door. “Go to bed.”

In the firelight the elf’s eyes gleamed, “Perhaps Kreacher should wake Mistress Ginny?” he croaked dubiously, recognizing his master’s mood.

Harry shook his head; Ginny didn’t need to be sitting up, too.

“Perhaps Kreacher could get Master....”

“Kreacher.” His voice was sharp with exasperation. “Go. To. Bed.” The poor thing flinched. “Please,” Harry added more softly, feeling ashamed of raising his voice.

The elf didn’t move for a heartbeat, his head tilted to the side, as though looking for a way around the direct order. He nodded his head slowly, clearly unwilling to leave Harry alone, but clicked his fingers and, with a little crack, disappeared.

Letting out a long breath, Harry put the kettle on for some tea. The clock chimed four times as he sat down with his cup, feeling old and stiff and depressed.

He was half tempted to head up to his study to pour himself  a glass of firewhiskey but after witnessing that last memory in Tim’s mind, he knew the whole bottle wouldn’t suffice.

For the last four years, Smith’s death had taken a prominent place in Harry’s nightmares. Smith was the first man he’d ever killed--even in the War, Harry had managed to leave his own hands bloodless. Tonight was the first time the Auror had been able to think of Smith’s death without regret. Merlin knew that if he’d been able, he would have resurrected the bastard to kill him again.

Maybe he’d pay a visit to the Smith grave to spit on it. For now, he’d have to talk to Phoebe when she came--preferably without Ginny. This latest thing was far too likely to frighten her for no good reason.

This last nightmare of Tim’s was the strangest thing that Harry had experienced in a long time.  There were other presences when he touched the child’s mind. Once or twice, he’d felt something like it before, but previously the presences had all been vague and younger than Tim actually was.

Phoebe had said it was a symptom of the way Tim blocked things off. Harry could only think of it like a self-created Confoundus. Dudley had called it “dissociation.” With a grim little smile, he’d made the comment that he was familiar with the technique.

Harry shivered, thinking of some of the hints Dudley dropped about things that had gone on between Vernon and Dudley when Harry was either safely locked away or at school. Two years of once-a-month joint therapy with Dudley had made Harry grateful that he’d only ever had to contend with Vernon’s foul mouth and violent streak.

What Dudley spoke of was just a kind of blanking out, but he’d also described a way someone’s mind could block parts of itself off so that it seemed as though there were more than one identity in a body. When the events Tim had wanted to block off were too big, it was as if he just decided it hadn’t actually happened to him, but created someone who could bear whatever it was.  

Tonight, in Tim’s mind Harry had touched three distinct entities--yet they were all somehow Tim. One was the toddler who apparently remembered being nearly killed, another was the frighteningly cold eleven-year-old who was denying that any such thing had ever happened to him, and the third...the third was apparently attempting to keep body and soul together while retaining some semblance of sanity.

Sometimes, over the years, Harry had looked into those eyes and seen a disturbing flatness that he’d never really understood until this moment. A profound chill passed through him as he thought of the scene he’d just witnessed and the emotions emanating from his son--the cold touch of a type of hatred that should be out of place in a child’s mind. Hatred for Smith, who nearly killed him, and hatred for Mary, the mother who had seemed to abandon him.

It recalled the memory of a young, handsome Tom Riddle as he had sat on his bed in an orphanage the first time he ever met Dumbledore.

With icy clarity, Harry envisioned a grownup Tim bristling with malevolent power. The boy’s biological father had come from a long line of powerful wizards and Tim showed every sign of being at least as powerful as the greatest of them.

What was preventing Tim from making the choices that would set him on that path?

From the long-dead past, Dumbledore’s words echoed around Harry’s brain, “You are, in short, protected by your ability to love.”

For all that Tim’s magic could lash out violently, it had never harmed anyone. Even his mother’s drug dealer boyfriend had been merely transfigured rather than killed.

Tim had once said that the Dark Man had done that. The details of the story left no doubt in Harry’s mind that the boy’s magic had prevented some variety of molestation.

Phoebe had assured both Ginny and Harry that, whatever else was going on, the Dark Man meant Tim no harm. She said that he was in fact quite concerned about the boy’s welfare. She told them that she needed to do some research before she could give them definitive answers on what the Dark Man actually was.

Tonight Harry had come as close as he’d ever had to meeting this Dark Man.There was nothing shadowy or vague about him in this last encounter. He’d felt the entity flinch back and completely Occlude as he’d pulled Tim from the dream. It was a very different type of Occlumency than what Harry used--and yet it was typical of his adopted son. The emotions were blanked and hidden behind a wall of rationality.  Rationality that was far too adult for Harry’s taste, and full Occlusion in an eleven-year-old? That was almost unheard of.

He mused on what Phoebe and Dudley had told him. About how these others were still somehow Tim rather than “haints,” as Phoebe would call them. Truthfully, what he’d felt before the Dark Man had retreated was indeed just like Tim. No one could ever say that Tim wore his heart on his sleeve; he was hard to read at the best of times. Harry remembered how the small child had calmly sat with Smith, pasting on a false smile and awaiting his chance to escape the man. Tim had all the makings of a good spy.

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck went up with that thought.

Well, he reminded himself, trying to calm down, full Occlusion in an eleven-year-old was only as unheard of as a corporeal Patronus in a thirteen-year-old.

Unbidden, the night he’d met Sirius in third year floated to mind. Thirty minutes had been enough to convince him to trust a stranger enough to agree to move in with him. Hell, Harry was trusting enough of Sirius to almost completely disregard Snape’s version of events even before Pettigrew had been revealed.

Tim was much wiser that way--he didn’t instantly bond with the first adult to take an interest.

It was a testament to Tim’s resilience that he was still able to trust anyone at all. Or else it was a testament to the quality of the Dark Man’s protection.

Tim’s dream...it had been a confusing mix of wish-fulfillment and actual memory. It was difficult to sort out the second-hand impressions.

An empty glass jar floated through the air in answer to Harry’s summons. He lifted his wand to his forehead, concentrating. The memory of what he had witnessed came out of his mind in a long silver strand that he dropped into the open jar, carefully screwing on the lid when he was done.

The tea in Harry’s cup had cooled to lukewarm. He was in the act of pouring more from the pot when the fire flared green. The pot went flying as Harry jumped to his feet, pulling his wand and crying, “Expelliarmus!” before the intruder had even fully materialized.

James tumbled out of the Floo, his wand skittering across the floor. Off balance for only a second, the young man scrambled to his feet, holding his hands palm-out in front of him. “Merlin’s beard! S’only me, Dad!” he cried.

Harry dropped his wand, staring stupidly at his oldest son.

James leaned down to grab his own wand, then he glared at Harry. “Not welcome here anymore, am I?” he said sourly, “Don’t worry, I’ll clear off. Right after I talk to Mum. I want to see Tim, too. I promised him.”

Fighting with James was not something Harry could handle right now. “Don’t be daft.” He sighed irritably, picked the teapot up off the floor and sat back down, putting it back on the table. “You startled me.” He glanced at the clock. “I wasn’t expecting anyone to come through at five in the morning.”

James glared at his father. “Well, I wasn’t expecting anyone to be sitting here at five in the morning,” he snapped.

Harry closed his eyes. “James. Please. I can’t do this right now.” His voice cracked and he ran his hand through his graying hair. He took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes before perching them back on his nose. He looked back up at James. “Just sit down, or something.”

Taken aback by his tone, the young man peered more closely at his father.  After a second, he impatiently flicked his wand to light the overhead lamp, apparently feeling that the firelight wasn’t sufficient. “You look like hell,” he announced.

Another time, Harry would have replied sarcastically at his son’s lack of tact, but not this morning. “Slept badly,” he said quietly.

“Obviously.” The young man’s voice became softer, more solicitous. “Work?” James knew that this was often the cause of Harry’s insomnia.

“No. Your brother.”

To Harry’s surprise, James nodded, looking worried. “Kreacher said Tim was having a bad night.”

“What?” the older wizard asked sharply. “When?”

“Don’t shout at Kreacher,” the younger man cautioned, as though sincerely worried about it.  “I told him to come find me if Tim was having a bad time the other day when I was here.” He filled the empty kettle and set it back on the fire. “I didn’t want Tim to think I was avoiding him,” he finished pensively, sitting down across from his father.

“Oh.”

The two men’s eyes met; James’ face was set into an unwontedly serious expression. “Kreacher said that Phoebe’s been to see him?” he went on tentatively. “What happened? Kreacher said that she told him that she wanted me or Uncle Ron or someone here, if you had to go somewhere. Does she think it’s Dark Magic?”

“She’s not sure. She thinks it’s probably not Dark Magic per se, ” Harry told him quietly, “but maybe some magic that’s a bit on the shadowy side.” Phoebe had wanted an Auror in the house with the child at all times. It actually hadn’t occurred to Harry that James was a fully qualified Auror now. “You...wouldn’t mind?”

“Don’t  be stupid,” he said a little peevishly. His voice dropped as though fearing someone overhearing. “Kreacher said that the Dark Man came back, too.”

Harry nodded. “He told you about him?”

“Well, he used to talk about him a lot,” James said softly. “Especially when you were still laid up, that first summer.”

That was news. “What did he say about him?” asked Harry cautiously, not wanting to alienate this unexpected source.

James thought for a moment before he answered just as carefully, “He said...he said that the Dark Man told him things. There was this one time...This was right after you went back into St. Mungo’s with pneumonia...remember?”

Harry nodded. That had been what he’d gotten from a short walk in the summer rain--it was what had convinced him that being on loan to the Haitian Aurors would be a good thing.

Shifting uncomfortably on his chair, James continued in a low voice, “We were...er...sort of worried about you. Gran kept saying you were fine...but honestly...Al and Lily were scared to death.” Harry read between the lines to understand that his eldest son had also been frightened.

“So, TIm...he was the calmest of the lot of us...it was a bit weird. I reckoned it was because he didn’t understand what was going on; you know, I just figured he didn’t really get what pneumonia was.” He stopped, shook his head. “Well, I was wrong about that--I got up this one night and he was down here talking to someone. I thought he was talking to Kreacher first, but then there was nobody here. He was eating all the chocolate biscuits.” The young man smiled a little. “I sat down with him because I thought he might be a bit lonely with you and Mum gone. I remember I told him that you were going to be fine...He sort of rolled his eyes. I think he thought I was being a bit of a prat—I guess I didn’t really get what he’d already been through.”

Harry could imagine then-sixteen-year-old James trying to deliver a pep talk like that to little Tim. Probably on the arrogant side. Probably including lots of assurance of James’ superior knowledge of the situation.

Tim had a tone of voice that never failed to put a stop to that sort of thing, a blunted assertion of facts that put a stop to most well-meaning but condescending reassurances.

James looked down at the table and Harry held his breath to avoid interrupting his train of thought. When one questioned witnesses, silence was one of the most useful tools. After a long moment, he looked up. “He asked me if I’d ever seen anyone die.”  Harry was startled by the shadows in his normally light-hearted son’s eyes. “I told him I hadn’t. He told me about when his Nana died. He said she died of pneumonia. And then he told me about the day you killed Smith. He said the Dark Man had been right about everything so far.”

“What do you mean?” asked Harry sharply, alarmed by the idea that the boy could be spouting prophecies. Perhaps the Smith family had some Seer blood.

Shrugging a little helplessly, James said, “Just that Tim knew you’d be fine. He said that the Dark Man had been there when his Nana died. He’d been there when Smith kidnapped him and that’s why he knew he had to call Kreacher. And the Dark Man said you’d be fine, so you would be. He was totally all right with the whole thing.”

“But you weren’t?” Harry caught an odd inflection in the young man’s voice. Again, his years of questioning witnesses came in handy.

James stared at Harry again, this time seeming to weigh his answer. “Dad. That was the second time you almost died that year. Of course we weren’t ‘all right’ .”

Harry made a little scoffing sound, “Oh, it wasn’t...”

“That bad?” James snapped. “No, of course not. Aunt Hermione didn’t come to collect us from school so we could be with family while we waited to hear if you lived or died. Uncle Ron didn’t wear a hole in the living room carpet because Healer Patil had thrown him out to get some sleep. Gran and Grandad didn’t spend three days with hourly owls coming in from Mum about your condition,” he finished angrily.

“I...I didn’t know...” Harry stammered after a moment.

“No. Of course you didn’t,” James said wearily, “Poor Tim. The first time you were in St. Mungo's, he cried all day when Mum brought him home. He kept going on about how it was his fault if you died. Nothing we said could change his mind. And he was convinced until you woke up that you were going to die. I had to keep getting him out of the closet. He wouldn’t even come out for Lily. And then when the Smiths said they wanted him, he stopped talking to everyone. He was so frightened, he kept breaking the mirrors with his magic. Gran said it showed how much the Snape Potion helped him. Without it he’d’ve blown the whole house up.  But, I guess once everything got settled he was just plain too exhausted to worry. By the time you got pneumonia he’d been so worried about you the whole time, he’d come out the other side, you know?”

Harry nodded. That summer was a bit of a blur really. The only things he remembered clearly were the day they had gotten the final adoption approved and a terrible fight he’d had with James just before they left for Port au Prince.

“Anyway, we used to talk a lot while I was teaching him to ride a broom.”

The screaming of the kettle interrupted them. Harry got up and made the tea. “About what?” It was easier to talk to James when they weren’t sitting face to face, so Harry started pulling the makings for breakfast out of the cupboards. He’d never gotten the knack of making Kreacher’s Scottish pancake things, so he stuck to eggs and bacon.

“Well, we talked about you a lot. He told me about how you killed Smith over and over. I asked Mum about it and she said that he needed to talk about it so I should just let him.”

Tim never spoke about that with Harry. “What did he say about that?” bracing himself for things he didn’t necessarily want to hear, but that might be important.

James sighed, “Well...he just kept telling the story, you know? He kept saying he thought you weren’t going to come get him, but the Dark Man said you would. And then he said the Dark Man reminded him that he could call Kreacher.”

“Did he say why he didn’t think I was going to come get him?” asked Harry evenly.

“He just reckoned the social workers sent him back to live with his dad. He said he knew kids it had happened to.” James paused, “You know. I never really thought much about Dark Wizards till then?” His voice had turned contemplative. “I mean, I knew the stories about you and the War, but it never seemed real. Tim though...his stories gave me nightmares.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Really. Well, I should say it gave me a nightmare. It’s always the same. I had it a few times a week that summer. Still get it sometimes. I always wake up in a cold sweat.”

“So, what is it?”

James hesitated. “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“‘Course I won’t,” Harry asserted, “I get plenty of bad dreams myself, you know.”  He was careful to keep his back to the boy...the young man, rather, he reminded himself.

“Yeah, well I suppose you’ve got reasons,” James muttered in that voice he had when he wasn’t sure what he was saying was particularly wise. He took a deep breath and went on, “Well, it starts out pretty okay. I’m always a lot older and I’m looking after a baby. Lily’s there usually, but sometimes it’s Mum. And all of a sudden I just know something awful’s going to happen. I tell Lily to take the baby...Sometimes you’re there too, but I have the idea that there’s something wrong with you...like you’re hurt or something and can’t help. And then someone comes in the door. Well, they blast it in and there’s smoke everywhere. I can never see who it is, just that they’re not quite human, you know?”

Harry flipped the eggs and chanced a glance behind him. James was agitatedly tapping his wand against the table, his attention inward. “I realize my wand’s all the way in the next room. And all I can think is that one of my friends sold me out and I’m going to die. I keep telling Lily to Disapparate, but someone’s put up wards, so she can’t.” He stopped.

The hair on the back of Harry’s neck was standing up. “Is that all?” he asked.

“The last thing in the dream is this flash of bright green light and it kills me,” James finished. His voice sounded hollow.

The breakfast was done. Harry served it up on two plates and brought them to the table. They ate silently for a few minutes, before James spoke again. “Do we have any Seer blood? I mean on your side? Mum says she doesn’t.”

Harry shook his head slowly, thinking it was funny that he was just wondering that very thing about Tim. “Why?”

“I...the dream always seems so real. I suppose I keep being afraid it’s like a vision.” He wrapped his arms around himself, as if he was cold. He looked away.

“I doubt it,” replied Harry in a soft voice. “When was the last time you had it?”

The young Auror gave a quiet snort, his eyes still averted. “Last night. Except this time Tim was there. He was older, like my age, but I knew it was him. He got in between me and the whatever it was. He was killed instead of me. I woke up in a panic, and then Kreacher was there. I was glad, too, because otherwise I probably would have set off all the house wards, checking to make sure he was all right. Kreacher said I’d be able to get in by Floo.”

“Set off the house wards?” Harry asked in confusion. “Don’t be stupid, we wouldn’t change the wards.”

Every so often, Harry noticed that James looked like Ron. This was one of those times as his skin flushed with anger. “You said you would.”

Dimly, Harry recalled that somewhere in the shouting match at St. Mungo’s James had ranted something about wishing Harry wasn’t his father. Harry had yelled back that perhaps they should change the house wards and he’d wash his hands of him.

Harry put his hands over his face, upset. That hadn’t been a shining example of parenting on his part, but it was hard to remember to be a good father when the child in question was a good six inches taller than he. “James,” he said through his hands, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.” He put his arms down to look up at his son. “I can’t imagine I’d do something like that. Ever. Anyway, do you think your mother would let me do that?  I just...Merlin...I was just so frightened. When we got the owl from St. Mungo’s...”

“I was fine. It was just a scratch on the head. You know those bleed like mad.”

“That’s not the point,” Harry snapped, then took a deep breath. It wouldn’t do them any good to get into a shouting match again. “Look,” he said quietly, “it would kill me if anything happened to one of you.”

“Dad. I know you never wanted me to be an Auror,” James said quietly. “I know you don’t think I’m good enough or serious enough about my training or whatever,  but Roz says...”

That had never occurred to Harry. Could it be that James thought Harry’s nerves were because of a lack of confidence in his abilities? He jumped in to set him straight.  “No...no that’s not it at all. James, Roz says...well, everyone says you’re fantastic at...well...everything.”

“But you wouldn’t know, would you?” sneered James. Harry never, ever came to watch James duel.

“No. I’m sorry. I can’t bear it,” Harry confessed quietly. “It’s too close. I guess I just...” He stopped, closed his eyes, opened them again. “By the time I was your age, I’d lost so many people. It was years before I could watch your mum play Quidditch with the Harpies. It’s not that I don’t think you’re any good. I just...the only way I can cope with it is not think about it too much, you know? Why do you think I told Roz I didn’t want you in my department?”

James looked away and mumbled, “I reckoned you thought I wasn’t good enough.”

Harry stared at his son, astonished. “How could you think that? I just...I’d be shit as a supervisor for you, even peripherally.” He gave a nervous little bark of a laugh. “You’d never get out of the office. Do you remember when you were little and your mum and Uncle Ron taught you to swim?”

“Yeah, you used to say you didn’t swim well enough to teach someone else.”

Looking at his hands, that he had been unconsciously twisting together, Harry folded them. “I couldn’t watch because I’d be so overprotective I’d be downright hazardous.” The younger man made a scoffing noise. “ I’m serious, James. If something happened to you...” He stopped, took a deep breath.  “But that’s no way to live your life, is it? So, I don’t watch you train and I make sure you’re assigned to another department for the same reason.”

“Oh.” James looked surprised.

Harry realized that this was the longest and deepest conversation they’d had since James had been fourteen. “Do you remember stealing my broom?” It seemed like they’d stopped talking to each other about anything other than Quidditch after that.

James nodded warily.

“I lost it because I was scared. I still have nightmares about it. I still wake up at night because I think there’s an owl at the window from St. Mungo’s.” His voice was suddenly quite thick. He found himself wiping his eyes under his glasses. “And then one comes the other night. And you’re all blood and all I could think was that...” His voice cracked. He closed his eyes, getting a hold of himself.

“Dad?” James said softly.

“Yeah?” Harry said, still not opening his eyes.

Strong arms wrapped themselves around his neck as James gave him an awkward hug. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He sat back down and poured them both some tea, probably a little embarrassed by his outburst.

“If you didn’t change  the wards,” James said, after a few minutes of sitting together, drinking tea, “Why did Kreacher tell me to use the Floo?”

Harry smiled a little. “Because he’s tired of us fighting, apparently. He knew I was here. I told him to go to bed. I guess he took a detour first.”

James smiled, too.

Light footsteps on the stairs announced Tim’s presence. He came down wearing his dressing gown and slippers. When he saw James, his whole face lit up. “James!” he said excitedly, “are you back to stay?”

Harry looked at James, hopefully.

“Yeah,” James said, as Tim slid in beside him.

There were soft noises from upstairs that indicated the rest of the house was awake, too. Getting up to make more breakfast, Harry smiled to himself. Soon Lily was at the table yawning and Al was asking Kreacher if he could make some coffee.  Ginny came over to give Harry a hug from behind as he cooked. For five minutes, Harry was content to bask in the blessed normality of an early morning with his family.

“Ginny?” Harry paused at the door, his hand on the doorknob, to look at her questioningly. “Are you sure you don’t mind?” he asked for the fiftieth time that morning.

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t be stupid,” she huffed irritably. “James is here and Ron is dropping by later. Phoebe said she’d be over around three o’clock. Just be home in time for that. Honestly, I think we can cope without you for five minutes.” And then, because Harry looked like he was hesitating, “Oh, for...just go!” she exclaimed in exasperation, making shooing motions with her hands.

Dudley and Harry generally had a standing lunch meeting on Mondays. Harry had been going to cancel it, but Ginny wanted to keep the household routine as normal as possible. It wasn’t going to do Tim any good to feel like he was getting in the way.

Besides which, it was likely that Dudley would be very helpful for Harry to talk to right now. It was hard to imagine now how they’d gotten along without Dudley and Philip’s presence in their family.   

“All right, all right I’m going.” Harry sounded like it was against his better judgement but he headed out the door, regardless.

“Boys?” she called down to James and Tim. “I’ve got some writing to get done this morning. Don’t bother me unless the house is burning down. And then only if it seems like it’s going to get to my parchments, all right?”

Tim’s answering giggle and James’ chipper, “Yes, Mum,” were music to her ears. It was such a relief that Harry and James had worked out their quarrel.

Albus and Lily were gone for the day to meet Eleanor and Scorpius at Diagon Alley. Narcissa had offered to chaperone the children after Molly had hosted them at her house the other day. Philip was going, as well; Ginny thought she’d love to see that meeting. She’d have to owl him later to see what he thought of the Malfoys.

She sat at her desk and pulled out the journals from Minerva. They were all the journals the headmistress kept during the War, along with letters back and forth from Dumbledore and members of the Order. Minerva had sent them along to help Ginny with the writing of her book.

The one from the last year of the War was thicker than the others. Minerva had confided to no one but her journal during that year.

Ginny opened to the last page she’d read:

December 24, 1998

I just passed Severus in the hallway--I don’t believe he heard our conversation or else he is so sure of his master’s ascendency that he does not care.

I don’t know how I can go on with this much longer. One day I will simply challenge him to a duel and that will be the end of one of us. And even were I to win, that bastard will certainly send someone more competent than the Carrows after me.

Were it not for the children, I would have done it already. I feel I am going mad.

There are days when I have to remind myself who it was who killed Dumbledore because Severus will suddenly seem to become almost the man I used to know. Other days...I have no doubt of what he is.

I do not know how I will face Molly and Arthur again. Ginny has become reckless and I am sure it has to do with the hours she has spent in Severus’ private study. He has made no secret what it is that he does to the girl there, but at least she is spared the attentions of the Carrows.

According to Poppy, that is a mercy--Severus’ taste does not appear to run to violence. Well, not to any violence beyond the act itself.

Ginny shivered, remembering. Sometimes her nightmares still featured the Carrows.

She picked up her quill.

We will never know what it cost the professor to protect the students, but  

She could go no farther. She wrote and crossed out her phrases several times before she put her quill down with a sigh.

After twenty-five years, she still couldn’t easily speak of it.

The only time she had ever talked about it publicly was just before and during Snape’s posthumous trial.

Ginny picked up the Prophet article that covered the Order of Merlin ceremony. The clipping was starting to yellow with age, but Harry’s picture was there. He saw her looking and blew his nose so he could give her a watery half smile.

It had only been a week or two after that that her mum had invited Harry back to the Burrow. It was hard to remember those days now, but there had been funerals, memorials, award ceremonies, speeches and dinners with the Minister. All with ample coverage by the Prophet and the WWN.

After the Order of Merlin Ceremony, Hermione and Ron set off for Australia to see what could be done for her parents. And Harry…

Harry had been a wreck.

In some ways they had all been wrecks, but after Ron and Hermione left for Australia, Harry had retreated from the world in a most alarming way. They’d had asked him to come with them of course, but he’d refused, saying he wanted to get used to living in one place.

Actually, he needed to get used to living at all. He’d hidden out alone at Grimmauld Place for three days before Ginny had gone over there to pry him out. She’d found him in the most cliché position possible, throwing his guts up after a night of solitary drinking.

Fortunately for him, he didn’t have the constitution to be a drunk--no tolerance whatsoever. Even now he could never drink more than one without getting sick.

The fact was, they’d almost lost Harry. Every funeral, every memorial, every interview, every speech seemed to drive him into a deeper depression.

But that’s not what she was writing about. Except it was.

The last year of the War had been a strange interregnum that seemed like one long nightmare. At the time, no one really realized no one was in charge at the Ministry. No one had thought that the Battle of Hogwarts would be the only battle. No one had foreseen that with the death of Voldemort, the entire Death Eater army would just collapse.

Well, Harry had, but no one else believed it. The new regime had seemed unassailable. They had all gone into the Battle believing they were going to join Shacklebolt’s resistance, or flee the country, or just die in battle.

At least the ones who had thought about it had.

It had ended so suddenly that no one had any time to process it. Even after all this time, it seemed unreal.

Ginny had never been one to keep journals, but there were memories from that year that were as clear now as if they’d happened yesterday.

For some reason, Tim’s first year at Hogwarts had brought it all back up in a way the others hadn’t for her. Well, Tim often brought things back up.

She leafed through some of the other parchments, a stack of old letters. One was a letter from Luna about the Malfoy hearings. Luna had been instrumental in keeping Narcissa and Draco out of Azkaban and had even asked for clemency for Lucius.

She’d forgotten that Luna had written so candidly about her captivity. She’d have to drop Luna an owl and see if she could use the letters in the book.

A passage from the letter caught her eye,

I hear Harry wants to clear Snape’s name. Do you know I wondered about him when I was at Malfoy Manor? He came to visit Mr. Ollivander a few times and it was strange how concerned he seemed about us. He told Draco to be sure we had enough food and water and everything because it would go badly with Voldemort if we died.

Snape again. Protecting those he could. Even when he would have been better served by just throwing his lot in with the Death Eaters.

A timid knock at the study door. “What’s burning?” she asked, not looking up.

James poked his head around the door. “Nothing yet,” he said. “Tim’s gone to sleep again. Do you have a minute?”

Sighing, Ginny put the letter down. She just couldn’t get any writing done, worrying as she was about Tim, anyway. “Yes, love. What is it?” She gave him her full attention, dismissing the long-ago memories.

James came in and pulled the door shut behind him, pulling up the spare chair. “What’s going on with Tim?” he asked without preamble. “You said it was his head, but head injuries don’t have you hearing voices and I don’t know what else.”

His face was very grave and worried--he never looked so much like his father as when he looked concerned.

“Phoebe says she doesn’t know yet,” Ginny admitted quietly. “She said it was probably brought on by the concussion.”

“But its not going to go away by itself?” James asked. He looked out of the window at the grey day, fidgeting uncomfortably with his wand.

“Well, Phoebe went to do some research. She said…” Ginny paused, then took a deep breath and admitted, “She thinks there might be something odd going on. She’ll be back this afternoon.”

“Odd?” James asked sharply. He shifted his gaze back to his mother’s face. “Odd how?”

She shrugged, feeling helpless. “She didn’t say.”

“She wanted me or Dad or someone here, though?” James pressed her.

She nodded. “The Dark Man’s been back and she’s still not sure what the Dark Man is.”

“Yeah, that’s what Dad said,” James replied quietly.

Ginny remembered the first time James had ever laid eyes on Tim, the day of Mary’s funeral. He’d been quiet and serious that day, listening to his father and his Uncle Ron discuss Mary’s case. Ginny often thought that Tim was the reason James had decided to pursue the career of Auror.

“She’s pretty sure he’s benign,” Ginny said, as much trying to reassure herself as James.

The young man nodded. “How’s the book coming?” he said, clearly to change the subject.

“It’s hard going,” Ginny sighed.

They were quiet for a moment, neither sure what else to say. They both gazed out the window at the gray sky.

“Mistress Ginny,” announced Kreacher’s bullfrog’s voice from outside the door. “Madam Phoebe has returned.”

The woman herself stood next to Kreacher. She smiled, which told Ginny that her news must be good, or at least not terrible. Or so Ginny told herself to calm her own anxiety.

“Sorry if I’m interrupting,” Phoebe said in her slow American lilt. “I didn’t think you’d wanna wait on this.”

She was dressed in soft green and black robes today, with a thick silver necklace encircling her throat, contrasting beautifully with her dark brown skin.  Her long, manicured nails were painted green with silver filigree patterns. Her tiny, neat dreadlocks had reverted to their natural silver to match.

Ginny knew that Phoebe’s favorite color was green, but she always wondered if Phoebe frequently wore Roz’s House colors as a kind of reminder to the Aurors she worked with that not all Slytherins went Dark.

She stood and crossed the room to the other witch. “Thank you so much.” She gave Phoebe a hug, which the woman returned. She drew her into the room. “What can you tell us?”

Phoebe gave James a little look.  He took a second to catch on, then he jumped up saying, “I’ll let you talk, then. Do you want me to go wake him?”

Phoebe shook her head. “Give him a few minutes. I wanna talk to your mama. But I’ll probably wanna talk to him before your dad gets home.”

James nodded, hurrying down the stairs.

Ginny’s study was at the very top of the house. Originally it had been an attic garret decorated in Early 19th Century Mad Wife complete with barred windows, but it was now a neat little room painted a cheerful cream that caught the afternoon light. It was quiet even without the help of silencing charms and cozy for two people to sit and chat, although any more than two people and it very quickly became crowded.

She closed the door and ushered Phoebe to the chair James had vacated, then sat down at her desk chair, resting her elbow on the desk.

“So?” All her anxiety seemed contained in that single word.

Phoebe clasped her hands on her lap and leaned forward slightly. “I’m sorry to be so mysterious,” she said. “I been trying to figure out how this happened and how to fix it.”

“How what happened?” Ginny demanded. “You never said what you thought it was.” She clenched her fist on the desk.

The black woman sighed and looked away. “I’m not sure how to explain...I think Tim is playing host to…”

Her worst fear confirmed, Ginny sucked her breath in sharply, both hands rising toward her mouth. “Playing host to? You mean he’s possessed?” Her voice rose in pitch and volume, “How can that be? The ke revele…”

Phoebe’s hands leapt up to take both of Ginny’s. She had half risen as Ginny had. “Now you listen, honey, we’ll figure this out. I just need you to sit down and let me explain.”

Distractedly, Ginny noticed that Phoebe’s American accent had become more pronounced.

“So, explain.” She hated the way her voice shook and she took a deep steadying breath.

Phoebe didn’t let go of Ginny’s hands. “Have you ever heard of a potion called Heart’s Ease?” she asked, her dark brown eyes holding Ginny’s own.

Ginny shook her head; she was dismal at potions.

“It’s used for people with severe depression sometimes. They try it after everything else fails.” She paused. “It can be addictive and it has some...weird...side effects.”

“Are you suggesting we try this with Tim?” Ginny was not following. Did she mean that one of the weird side effects was cancelling possessions?

Phoebe shook her head, took a deep breath and said, “I just got through talking to Madam Pomfrey. See, in 1997 she gave Professor Snape a dose of it. On Christmas Eve. Twenty-five years ago.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” demanded Ginny. She pulled her hands away and stood up to pace.

“Well see, there is another presence in Tim’s head, right now. Tim says it’s his Dark Man, but I think…” She trailed off, took another slow breath and seemed to steel herself. “The presence in his head claims to be Severus Snape.”

Ginny felt all the blood drain from her face and anything else Phoebe might have said was lost in the roaring in her ears. Her vision narrowed to a dark tunnel. All she could think of was waking up with no knowledge of where she’d been and blood all down her front.  

She flashed on a scene of lying cold and stiff, staring at the ceiling of the Chamber of Secrets. Harry beside her, covered in his own blood and the ink of that diary.

Darker memories lurked there, too. Memories of things that never happened really, but were the implanted fantasies of a sixteen-year-old Voldemort. Uglier than anything that had happened to Ginny in truth, but those nightmares had dominated her life for years.

Distantly she heard Phoebe’s voice calling for Kreacher. Something was pressed to her lips that she recognized as firewhiskey. Reflexively she swallowed, feeling the heat of the drink go right through her.

She was in her own home, not Hogwarts. She was safe. She was not the one possessed this time and she needed to pull it together for her son’s sake.  

Her son. An entirely different sort of alarm jolted through her.

She wrapped her hand around the drink Phoebe was holding, realizing that she was sitting in her chair again. She swallowed hard and swiped at her cheek with her free hand. “Th-thank you.” Her teeth chattered with a deep chill. The whiskey was dispelling that, though.

“Better?” asked the witch cautiously. She sat back, taking her hand away from where she’d been holding Ginny’s shoulder.

Ginny nodded, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. That...gave me a bit of a turn,” she whispered. She cleared her throat. “G-go on. What do we do about it?”

The mind healer nodded, although she still looked concerned. “I think the presence isn’t so much possessing Tim as he’s just kinda...along for the ride.”

“But...Snape’s dead,” Ginny said flatly, “And Luna said that wand was clean as anything, so what could Tim have found that contained some fragment of Snape?”

“Well, this is where the potion comes in.” She pushed her silver hair back over her shoulder and sat back in her chair. “See, it seems like the Professor Snape I talked to isn’t dead at all.” Phoebe’s eyes never left Ginny’s “The last he remembers is Christmas Eve, 1997. The night Madam Pomfrey gave him that potion. I think he’s displaced in time.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Ginny’ hands went to her mouth, covering it.

“Now, just calm down. He wants to cooperate with us. Honestly, he’s as worried about Tim as we are, going by what he was saying. He thinks Madam Pomfrey poisoned him and he just wants some peace.”

“So...what now?”

“Well, if what Madam Pomfrey says is right, the spell’s actually self-limiting. Her guess is that he’ll be pulled back to his proper time on Christmas day, or thereabouts. I think the best thing we can do is tell him that and he can just wait it out.”

“Why would she say that?”

“She said that she spoke with Snape on Christmas day. She said he never told her what he dreamed of, though. Just that she should tell anyone who asked that ‘It’ll all be done by Christmas’.” Phoebe stood, finally pulling her eyes away from Ginny’s. “That potion is pretty drastic. You can’t ever predict it.” She turned, putting her hands behind her back and walking to look out of the window. “Sometimes it kills.” She paused, just staring out the window, before continuing, “You know that’s what killed Frank Longbottom?”

“No. I didn’t,” Ginny replied quietly. “I mean...I knew it was an experimental potion that killed him...Neville told me that Augusta finally gave her permission for them to try it…That was why they hesitated with the Snape Potion.”

Phoebe sighed and nodded, “I consulted on that case. At the time we didn’t think it did anything at all for Alice, but it turns out that it did help her. Unfortunately, I’m guessing the only thing that Frank wanted was peace. There’s really no predicting what will end someone’s pain. I mean,” she turned back to smile wryly, “I got the idea that Professor Snape is pretty damned confused at being here.” Her faced sobered again. “I think that the spell won’t pull him back till it’s satisfied, though. I’m guessing that he’s here for more than just a joy ride through a happy Christmas.”

“Harry,” Ginny asserted. “I bet he’s here to see Harry.” That made far too much sense. “But...why is he in Tim’s head? Why isn’t he here in the flesh? And why Tim?”

“Tim and Snape clearly have some kind of affinity. Otherwise Snape’s wand would never have chosen him,” Phoebe said, speaking in a low tone, as though fearing to be overheard. “Minerva and Madam Pomfrey both told me that Tim reminded them of Professor Snape when he was a student. Time travelling someone that far in the flesh would take a crazy amount of magic, but if just Snape’s mind was brought forward that makes more sense. He’s like an echo. Probably drawn to Tim’s wand. Although…” she hesitated, “from what I understand, there’s some pretty serious indebtedness between your family and Professor Snape.”

Ginny nodded. “We couldn’t ever repay him, even if he was alive.” Her voice was quiet. “I expect half of magical Britain could say the same. But why didn’t the spirit reveal work?”

Phoebe pursed her lips. “I had a few thoughts on that. The most obvious being that Professor Snape’s mind was brought forward, but his soul is still firmly in his body. He was alive in 1997, after all.”

“So...what? He’s just sort of an observer?” Ginny’s stomach slowly began to unclench. Perhaps this wasn’t a complete disaster after all.

“I’m thinking that we should talk to him before Harry comes back. Kreacher says he’s out seeing his cousin?”

Ginny nodded, her stomach clenching up tight again. This was going to hit him hard, most likely.

Phoebe called for Kreacher as they made their way down to Harry’s study--Ginny’s wasn’t warded against dark magic and the mind healer wanted to play it safe, “Would you go tell Tim that his mama and I want to talk with him?” she asked the house-elf. “And do you think you could make me some coffee?”

Kreacher nodded and disappeared with a crack.

Tim came up the stairs, yawning a little. James came up behind him, looking tense.

“You go on, James,” Phoebe said kindly. “We’ll probably be a while.”

“I’ll be in my room if you need me,” the young man muttered, slouching off, looking nervously at Tim. He only went so far as the second floor landing, judging by his footsteps. Ginny had no doubt that the minute the study door was locked, the young man would be sitting outside it with his wand drawn.

Tim sat in his favorite spot on the little settee and Ginny sat next to him. He gave her a nervous glance and she wondered how much her face was showing.

“What’s wrong, Mum?” Tim asked, his voice high-pitched and tense.

It was Phoebe who answered, “I think I figured out who and what your Dark Man is.” She said gently, “And I think he’s been scared and angry because he’s lost.”

“Lost? How can he be lost? He’s always been here.” Tim objected, “Where does he come from, then? Is he a hougan? I wondered about that.”

Phoebe glanced at Ginny, who nodded minutely. “I think he comes from the past.” The witch told the boy, “I don’t think he sent his mind out on purpose. Anyway, I think we need to speak with him.”

Tim got a curiously pensive expression, his gaze drifting off somewhere to the right of Phoebe’s shoulder. He shook his head, bringing his eyes back to her face. “He doesn’t want to talk with Mum here,” he said apologetically.

Ginny was just about to get up to leave but Phoebe shook her head. “I think he needs to talk to your mama and your dad, both.”

Tim’s blue eyes grew wide. “He really doesn’t want to.”

“Sweetheart?” Phoebe said with her gentlest voice, her brown eyes intent, “Can I put you to sleep for a bit?”

“Promise you won’t do anything without telling me?” Tim checked.

“Absolutely.” Phoebe asserted, “But, I should warn you, he might get pulled back to where he belongs without me doing anything. I’ll give you a chance to say goodbye if I possibly can.”

“Okay.”

Phoebe muttered a charm and Tim slumped against Ginny, sound asleep.

“You’re not going to get back to where you belong by hiding,” Phoebe said tartly. Ginny was surprised; Phoebe never spoke so sharply to the children and rarely so to an adult.

Tim didn’t stir for a few seconds, then his body stiffened and drew away.

He stood, suddenly seeming somehow taller, his movements no longer those of an eleven-year-old boy, but more graceful, more deliberate.

Putting his hands behind his back, he strode towards the fireplace, stopping in front of it. Ginny saw the almost unconscious movement of his hand, checking that his wand was in the sleeve of his sweater. Harry did the exact same thing.

“I am not sure what you expect to accomplish with this conversation,” said a voice that was Tim’s and yet not. It was deeper, almost reaching a baritone, although Tim’s own voice had not yet begun to change. It was also more precise and quite polished, the product of years of practice.

He turned and Ginny felt as though the ground had fallen out from under her. The curly blond hair and blue eyes were still there. The baby face that was just beginning to thin towards puberty, the sweet cherubic mouth. However, the sneer upon her son’s face was no expression she’d ever seen there before.

He looked towards Phoebe. “I suppose this is some variety of…” He hesitated. “What? Vengeance? Justice? Why not merely cast me out?” He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes narrowing. “Perhaps you feel that she deserves some sort of…” he searched for a word, “closure? Isn’t that what you mind healer types call these sort of confrontations? Don’t you prattle on about how important it is for healing?” He sneered the last with a cold sarcasm that Tim could never have managed on his worst day.  

The truth of Phoebe’s words were there in the boy’s every gesture and word. He held himself like the Potions master had that last year. A coiled spring that could erupt into viciousness or violence at any second.

But there too, behind the anger, was something that Ginny had also seen in that last year that she’d been too young to understand.

He moved Tim’s blue eyes to gaze narrowly at her. “Go on then, Miss Weasley.” He smirked in the most unpleasant manner possible with Tim’s attractive childish features. “Or, I suppose I should say, ‘Mrs. Potter’.” He inclined his head as if she were the one who was eleven years old, and he was mockingly humoring her pretense. “Level whatever accusation or diatribe you feel you must and then we can get on with this.”

“Th-this..?” stuttered Ginny, looking at Phoebe for help.                              

The person speaking with Tim’s voice growled in a very Snape-like manner, raw fury visible for one bald second before being covered by a more manageable contempt.

“This!” He waved his right hand sharply, as if to take the three of them. “This-this exorcism.” he spat, “or banishing or whatever-it-is that you have planned.”

The fury returned, the young voice rising to a shout, reminding Ginny of the professor shouting at someone who was remiss in lab safety precautions.  “The sooner you have someone competent cast me out, the sooner I’ll be decently dead and you can all get on with your charming little lives!”

Severus raised his chin and scowled at the women, aware the effect was completely negated since it was on Tim’s face. He turned away sharply, feeling ridiculous that he stood in front of these women in the guise of a child. More, he wondered whether it was healthy for Ginny to hear the things that he might say out of her adopted son’s mouth.

He turned to Phoebe. “Do you think it would be detrimental to cast an illusion to give me a more appropriate appearance?”

The dark skinned woman’s eyebrows knitted in thought. “I think it would probably help us along with this discussion, actually. Why don’t you do it?”

“You don’t think that it will be a problem if he uses Tim’s magic?” Asked Ginny, worriedly.

“I think Tim’s magic will be fine with it,” Phoebe said.

Severus nodded. He waved his wand to invoke a standard glamour spell. It was a two way illusion. It gave him the illusion of feeling as well as looking taller. “That’s better.”

Ginny stared, her eyes nearly bugging out of her head. Both her hands covered her mouth as she no doubt relived some of the things that he had made her believe happened in his office. “Professor Snape.”

He crossed his arms again and sneered. He wanted to say something witty and cutting, but he realized he had a fine line to walk. If Ginny forgot for one second that he still borrowed Tim’s body and magic, she could harm the boy in a fit of rage. He wouldn’t blame the woman for wanting to strike him dead, after what she must believe he had done to her. Her unsavory memories of an older boy provided the material. He’d simply put himself in the memory. While it was unfortunate that she had those experiences, at least he hadn’t had to create a whole new set of trauma.

 “Professor...” Tears started down the woman’s cheeks. She swiped them away impatiently. “I can’t believe it.” She looked at the mind healer. “What do we do now?”

Severus jumped in before Phoebe could answer, “I don’t deny you are owed some retribution.” He said sharply. “But, I caution you to remember that I still inhabit the child’s body.”

Confusion furrowed her brow. “Retribution? For saving me from the Carrows? For feeding Neville your potion so he didn’t end up gibbering in the corner like his parents? For making sure Luna didn’t die in the Malfoy dungeon?”

He ground his teeth together. He refused to be a party to this revision of history. “I will remind you that I raped you.”

She rocked back as though he had slapped her. Breathing hard, Severus waited. Surely this Phoebe woman would banish him now.

 “I don’t want revenge, Professor.” Ginny’s voice was very soft and it held an incongruous note of...affection? “I remember what went on in your office. You never touched me. Those memories you created? They weren’t drawn from reality at all.” A brittle smile crossed her lips. “Professor. Those memories were dreams Tom Riddle left in my head. None of it actually happened.”

That never occurred to him. The prospect of actually following through on the act had sickened him. He would have done it, if he’d had to, but first he legilimized her for a frightening memory with sexual content.  He thought Christmas had come early when he found her memory of an older boy with a Slytherin tie molesting her. Numerous times. He simply inserted himself into the scenario instead of the unfamiliar boy.

The fact that he didn’t recognize the face didn’t worry him. Most six or seventh years were capable of changing their appearance to avoid prosecution. Especially given the creativity of her assailant. It had worried him that it apparently happened when Dumbledore ran the school

A sick fantasy implanted by the Horcrux diary would explain that. It also explained why her magic didn’t even try to rise up in her defense. At the time he’d assumed it was simply despair.

“Sure of that, are you?” It was a weak retort, but he didn’t have anything else to say. He wanted it to be true. One less horrible thing to carry around with him. He had to poke at it, test it, see if it held up. “Perhaps I implanted that idea.”

“No.” Phoebe said, softly. “I was one of the mind healers brought in during that trial. We discovered the tampering. Plus, the testimony of the healers that no such injury had ever actually been done to Ginny pretty much proved that you were protecting her.”

“How was the tampering discovered?”

“Professor.” Ginny’s brittle smile turned into an equally brittle laugh. “That diary...Riddle got so far into my head...Nothing you did could permanently change those memories. Not unless you spent the better part of a year legilimizing me all day, every day.”

That never occurred to him.

“I knew for certain the memory was false when you took me to Poppy that first time.”

 No wonder she stared at him during meals. No wonder she didn’t protest more when he “invited” her to his office, which he did whenever she looked too ill from the attentions of the Carrows.

“I could never understand it. Not until the war was over.” Her voice cracked on the last word. “It was too late to thank you.”

He turned away from the weeping woman. He didn’t know what to say, although he was relieved she had cleared his name. Of that crime, at least.

“Professor?” Ginny said when she calmed a bit. “I’m sorry.”

What on earth for?

Before Severus could ask her what she meant, a voice called from downstairs. “Ginny? Phoebe? James said you wanted me back early.” Potter was home. He thumped up the stairs. Opened the door. “So what’s going…?” He stopped and his face turned ashen. He might have swayed on his feet.

 Severus said sharply, “Potter. Get hold of yourself.”

That seemed to snap him out of his shock. Without a word, he came in. Carefully shut the door behind him, sat down next to Ginny, reaching out for her hand while staring at Severus. Even though he was in his forties, sporting streaks of gray hair, his expression was that of an errant schoolboy who hadn’t read his chapters.

“What’s he doing here?” Potter asked, weakly, turning his gaze to Phoebe.

She smiled a little. “Maybe, you need to ask him.” She nodded her head at Severus.

Severus answered. “I really don’t know how I got to be here. My preference would be to be sent back as soon as possible.” He was very tired. He sat down in the unoccupied desk chair. “I don’t know how to accomplish that on my own. This,” he indicated his face, “is an illusion.”

“You’re Tim’s dark man.” Potter said. A statement, not a question.

“Well, he seems to think so. I think his mind is manufacturing this idea to protect him.”

Potter shook his head, slowly. “No.” He looked thunderstruck. “You...” His brows knitted. “No, never mind.”

“What? Out with it?” Severus snapped.

Phoebe cut them off. “I think we need to talk about the problem at hand.” She said briskly. “We need to find out what will satisfy the heart’s ease potion.”

“The what?” Potter turned his attention to Phoebe. “What’s this about heart’s ease?”

Phoebe sat down in the wing chair, picked up her coffee from the table and took a long drink. “Madame Pomphrey gave Professor Snape a dose of heart’s ease Christmas 1997. It brought him here. Probably because of his affinity to Tim. He won’t be able to return to his proper time until the spell is satisfied.”

“Wait. Where is Tim?”

It took a moment for Phoebe to catch Potter up on what had been going on in his absence.

“What will satisfy it?” Potter asked when she was done.

Phoebe looked down at her cup. “I don’t know. The potion is supposed to ease the taker’s pain.” She caught Severus’ eye, “Is there anything you can think of that might work, Professor?”

“To ease my pain?” He almost laughed. “I can’t think of a thing, short of sweet oblivion.”

“Professor Snape,” Potter leaned forward, his face intent. “Anything you want--anything I can give you-- is yours.”

Snape sighed, “Of course, Potter. I know you’ll do anything to save your son.” For some reason that simple fact seemed very sad to Severus. The body he was trapped in was still far more likely to be moved to tears than his own. At least, that’s what he told himself as he discovered he needed to brush wetness from his face. He hoped the illusion hid it.

Potter slowly shook his head, “I can’t even come close to imagining a way to pay you back for everything you’ve done for us.”

 “Done for you? Well, yes, I suppose protecting your wife...Well, the students I suppose.”

Potter cut him off, “You risked your life every day for us. You died saving us all. If it wasn’t for you, Voldemort wouldn’t have fallen.”

“What?”

“Your memories. If you hadn’t...Oh Merlin.” Potter stopped, comprehension suddenly lighting his eyes.  “Of course. That hasn’t happened to you, yet.” He turned to the two women. “Would you mind leaving us alone for a few minutes?” Meeting Severus’ eyes, he asked, “That’s all right with you isn’t it?”

“Yes.” The fewer witnesses to this scene the better.

Ginny’s smile was understanding. Phoebe’s face held a little more concern, “You’ll call me if you need me.?”

“Yeah, thanks Phoebe.”

“Well, I think I’ll to see if Kreacher’s made more coffee.” She and Ginny left the room, leaving Potter and Severus staring at each other.

After an uncomfortably long silence, Potter said, “This is so strange. I feel like I’m beginning to get an idea of what’s happened here.”

“Is it something you’d like to share with the rest of the class then, Potter?”

Potter actually chuckled, as though he found Severus funny.  “I was just thinking, I had a lot of very strange dreams about you when Tim first came to live with us. It was one of the things that inspired me to go digging through your journals for the tears potion. You and Tim...since he came to live with us...There’s something about him that makes me think of you. Even Minerva and Poppy say the same.” He shook his head slowly, “But, I feel like there’s something I’m missing.”

Severus never had patience for people maundering. He stopped his pacing, leaned against the desk, half sitting on it. “I’m sure there are many things you’re missing, Potter. If you get near a point, make it.”

“Can I ask you something?”

“You may ask. I don’t guarantee an answer.” Severus replied in a subdued voice.

“Why did you protect Alice?”

This sudden change of topic was disorienting. Potter was as disorganized as ever. Severus hesitated; it was a story he didn’t care to tell. However, there was no point in keeping secrets now. Not after he’d been dead for 25 years. “She was...” he searched for the word proper word, “she was kind to me.”

“What do you mean?”

“She was a school prefect. She had that much vaunted Gryffindor sense of fairness, but unlike others, she applied it to everybody, not just members of her own house. One of the reasons she was such a popular girl. She was one of those rare teenagers who was honestly nice.” Severus paced back and forth in front of the couch, as though in his classroom, lecturing. “When your father and his cohort would harass me, if she happened on it she would make them stop. There was one instance where she even spoke to McGonagall about it and those little toads got punished for once. I pay my debts.”

“So, you risk your life for years, to protect someone who was merely kind to you?” Potter’s face twisted as if he’d eaten something bitter, his gaze dropping to the floor. He went on, speaking more to himself than Severus. “Hell, she wasn’t even all that kind. She was just showing some basic human decency.” Potter focused his eyes on Severus. “You still have a chance to save yourself.”

“What?”

“You’re still alive in 1997. You don’t have to die in 1998. If you wanted, you could change everything”

“If I chose that, who knows what the world would look like?”

“But...don’t you want to live?”

Severus thought about that. Did he want to live? As far as he could see, there was no good outcome for him. If Voldemort won, he would eventually be found out. And if Potter’s side won? He’d be looking at a long trial, possibly time in Azkaban. That was a battle he didn’t want to fight.

“I don’t think I do.” He admitted, painfully. “I am...tired. Perhaps it’s best that I die. Allow my name to be consigned to a dusty shelf of history.”

Potter stood to face him. “No. I’ve spent the last 25 years making sure that your name is remembered as a hero for the light.”

“I don’t know what to say to that.” He took a deep breath and asked the question he’d been afraid to ask. “How do I die, Potter?”

“Voldemort kills you.”

“I was found out, then?”

“Ah.” The Auror crossed his arms, as though the tale chilled him. He spoke quietly. “No. He thought that the Elder Wand’s allegiance was to you, because you killed Dumbledore. He set Nagini on you. In the Shrieking Shack. I saw the whole thing.”

It struck Severus then, how old Potter had gotten. Every line on his face, every gray hair on the man’s head was well earned.

In the same quiet voice, Potter continued, “You gave me your memories.”

That startled Severus. “Why would I do that?” He demanded. “What memories? How would you even know what to do with them?”

“You gave me some of your memories of my mum. And then of Dumbledore telling you I had to die. So Voldemort could be killed. You left the Pensieve sitting on your desk.” Potter held his gaze without flinching. “As though you expected me to find it.”

“Pray tell, how did this help you?” With a sneer befitting such nonsense, Severus resumed his pacing.

“I knew I had to let Voldemort kill me. And he did.”

“Yet, here you are.”

A long sigh. Potter sat back down to put his elbows on his knees and rest his chin on his hands. “Voldemort tied us up magically. I didn’t die properly because of that. And then...” A pause. “Well, I’m pretty sure that he was so freaked out by my rising from the dead that he wasn’t really much use. I beat him in a duel.”

At seventeen Potter beat the Dark Lord in a duel? He had to be leaving something out. “When did all of this happen?”

“In May of ’98. I...uh...don’t know if I should be too specific...It might change things.”

“And yet, you tell me I don’t have to die.” Severus snorted at the illogic.

“Yeah. That does seem stupid. I just...” Potter stood again, to look him in the eye. “Professor? I have always wanted to tell you that the way Dumbledore treated you was wrong. He never looked after you when you were a student. He asked too much when you left Voldemort and held your mistakes over your head long after you had made amends. I’m sorry for that.” The man’s gaze drifted towards the floor, but then he squared his shoulders and returned his eyes to Severus’ face. “And, I’m really sorry I was such a rotten little tick. To you, I mean.”

“I...don’t know what to say to that.”

Potter nodded. “Yeah. I just wish there was a way to fix things. I wish there was a way I could make amends.”

“I am dead, Potter. I knew that as soon as I drank that potion. I am relieved this wasn’t some plot of the Dark Lord’s. I would be most distressed if harm came to Tim.”  In the back of his mind, Severus could feel Tim stirring.

“I am glad that you have stepped up to be the boy’s father. He needs that.” Again Severus was struck by Potter’s age. At least a decade older than Severus. The same age Severus’ father was when he had his heart attack. He never missed him much. Toby had more in common with Tim’s natural father than Potter. “I wish...” Severus trailed off and looked away, overcome with the sudden realization that a father had never appeared to rescue him. That Albus had been as bad as Toby in his own way.

“What?” Potter stood again, put his hand on Severus’ shoulder as easily as he did on Tim’s. “What do you wish?”

He bit his tongue before he could utter the sentimental foolishness that crossed his mind. He had less control over Tim’s emotionally charged body, which spilled tears down his cheeks and leaned into the comfort of the warm parental hand.

Severus finally had to wipe away the small torrent. Tactfully, Potter pulled back and averted his eyes while Severus turned away and pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose.

Tucking it away, he sat down on the settee. “Finite.” He said, dispiritedly. He rubbed the bridge of his nose. Tim would wake up with a headache. Hopefully it wasn’t a complication of his healing concussion.

Fatigued as he had not felt since he had become a part of Tim’s body, Severus said, “Potter. I’m tired.” He tilted his head back to look up at carved wooden ceiling. “You and the mind healer need to sort out how to send me back to where I belong.” He closed Tim’s eyes. “I’m sure between the two of you, you can work it out.”

Albus’ white tomb rose before Severus. He glanced around, behind him was the grey obelisk and his own black tomb.  Snow was piled high around the little memorial, but it had been cleared from the paving stones.

A slightly built, blond man in dark green velvet robes stood gazing at the names on the obelisk.

“Hello?” Severus wasn’t sure he was even actually here.

 The other man turned. Severus was relieved to be heard. “You.” He smiled, seemingly pleased to see Severus. “You said we’d see each other again.” His eyebrow furrowed when Severus didn’t say anything. “It’s me. Tim.”  

An adult Tim. A Tim who was at least as old as Severus. Possibly older. It was hard to tell. “I’m glad you came.”

“I don’t understand.” Severus finally said, feeling lost, wrung out and desperately tired. “Has that mind healer not sent me back to where I belong?”

Tim crossed over to Severus’ side. “Are you all right?” He waved his wand and a chair appeared. He pushed Severus to sit down.

“I most certainly am not. I expected to be back where I belong. Not here.” He waved his hand to indicate the tombs. “Not even further into the future. Am I still in your head?”

Tim shook his head. “Not usually. But I’m not surprised you showed up today.”

“What do you mean?”

Tim looked away, his face going flat, impassive. “Dad’s dying. I guess my subconscious conjured you up because…well…” His lips compressed into a bloodless line.

 “Isn’t there anything to be done?” Asked Severus slowly, almost against his will. He didn’t much care about Potter, except that he didn’t like to see Tim distressed.

Tim looked back, smiled mournfully. “No. He doesn’t want to try anything else. And I can’t blame him. It’s just hard.”

“Tim? Wake up.” Someone was shaking them. “Tim? Dad’s asking for you.”

That disorientation of being a passenger in Tim’s body again made Severus a little dizzy. Tim sat up. “What?”

He was taller now, with a lithe angular frame. He brushed longish hair out of his eyes.

An auburn haired, middle aged witch in healer’s robes stood over him. At first Severus took her for Ginny Weasley.

“Dad’s asking for you. He’s worse.” Tears were flowing down her face. “Tim…I think….” She broke off. “Just, come on.”

“Okay, Lily, I’m coming.” Tim slept in his clothes on top of the bed cover. He picked up his wand and gave himself a quick refreshing charm. The bedroom was the same one Tim had been sleeping in, but it was empty of personal effects

A much older James sat beside the bed. “Hey, Tim.” He said, tiredly. He got up to give his brother an awkward hug. “Another change of plans I guess. Lily tell you?”

Tim nodded.

“Can you stay with him for a bit?”

“Yeah. You go on.”

Tim sat in the chair James vacated. “Hey, Dad.”

The man in the bed had stark white hair, a neat white beard and Potter’s scar. He opened wandering green eyes, vivid against the gray pallor of his face. His breathing was a wet rattle in his chest.

Potter’s eyes found Tim, his eyebrows furrowing in confusion. “You? What are you doing here?” After staring for a minute, he smiled slightly, “Is it that time, already?”

“Dad?” Said Tim more loudly, putting his hand on Potter’s shoulder. “It’s me.”

The vague eyes narrowed, focused on Tim. Suddenly the elderly man’s eyebrows crept up to his hairline, “Oh, of course!” His voice was full of wonder, “I should have seen it sooner.”

“Seen…what?”

“The Dark Man came back. Didn’t he?”

Tim and Severus shared equal measures of astonishment. “I just...I had a dream about him. How did you know?”

The old man nodded. “Don’t worry about it.” His eyes wandered away from Tim’s face again and he seemed to forget Tim was sitting there. His hands picked at the bedspread and he mumbled quietly. “...ledore.” Severus thought he said. “...not talking to you.”

“Dad? Do you need anything? Lily said you were asking for me.” Tim tried to bring his father back to the here and now.

“Yes, love.” Potter shook himself, bringing himself back with an effort. “I wanted to tell you, the cloak goes to you.”

“Me?” Tim said, astonished. “But, James...”

“Has his own. I bought it for him years ago. But I wanted you to have the old one. It seems right somehow. And I just wanted to say goodbye.”

Tim nodded, his throat too tight too speak.

Potter’s eyes dropped closed. The alarming rattle in his chest seemed worse. “Will you go out there and tell your sister to bring me more of that potion?”

“Of course.” Tim stood, bent down to give his father a hug.

“Take care of each other.” Potter whispered.

In the hallway, Albus, James and Lily stood talking quietly.

“Dad needs more potion.” Said Tim.

Lily nodded. “I’ll take it in.” She summoned the bottle to her and plucked it out of the air, heading into the bedroom.

“I miss Mum.” Said James, who was wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I guess I’m not surprised that...” He broke off.

Albus nodded, “We always did say that he wouldn’t last long after she went.”

“Sev?” A voice said, standing very close to Tim. “We should go.”

A low cry from the bedroom made everyone turn. “Dad!”

The three men met each other’s eyes in alarm and hurried into the bedroom.

Strangely, although Tim had gone to check on his father, Severus remained standing in the hallway. A cool hand rested on his shoulder.

Severus turned. Standing there in front of him was an elderly Harry Bloody Potter in robes of red and gold. More fit and healthy than he had been as he lay in the bed, but at least ninety. His green eyes no longer vague, but sharp and clear.

“What’s happening?” Severus asked, plaintively.

The walls around them faded away. They stood in a white fog, on a white surface. “Come along.” Potter said, taking him by the elbow, “You gave me quite a shock, I must say. I thought you were coming to fetch me. But, it seems I need to take you home first.”

Too confused to do anything else, Severus allowed himself to follow the man’s lead.

The world seemed to take shape as they walked. A path of paving stones and a stone wall appeared with benches at intervals. Sunlight broke through the fog.

“Come along.” Potter said again. He steered them both to sit on one of the benches. Then he fixed his gaze on Severus’ face. “The potion wants to draw you back to your proper time, but we need to talk first.”

“What if I don’t want to go?” Nothing was back there for him.

Potter leaned forward and patted Severus’ hand paternally. “Then you don’t have to. Madame Pomphrey will find you dead in the morning, in your office. The War will be over for you, at last.”

That was so appealing that there had to be a catch. “And then what happens?”

“I don’t know.” Potter looked down. “I’m sure we’ll win in the end.”

“Harry.” Another voice said, “If he doesn’t go back, many more people will die.” Albus Dumbledore strode confidently up the cobbled walk, dressed in blue robes with yellow stars at the hem, looking better than Severus had seen him since before Voldemort returned.

Potter rose, stared up into the much taller man’s face. “I’m still not talking to you.” He growled. Turning to Severus he said, “If you do go back, you should go back because you chose to, not because he manipulated you into it.”

“Was what I did so wrong?” Dumbledore sounded hurt. “I was only...”

“Doing it for the greater good. Yes, yes. I’ve heard.” Potter waved a dismissive hand. “And doing it through secrets and lies. I’m still not sure the ends ever justify the means.” The old man paused, “Professor Dumbledore, I think you have something you need to tell Professor Snape.”

Dumbledore’s cheeks reddened. “Quite right, Harry,” he said. Turning to Severus, he inclined his head graciously, “I never got the chance to say thank you, my boy. I am very grateful for everything you have done for me.”

His own cheeks reddening, Severus muttered an acknowledgement.

“Well. We’ll talk again soon, Severus.” Dumbledore smiled, gently.

“Until then, I suppose.” Severus said.

“Until then.” The tall man turned and walked away, fading into white fog.

Severus sat, not speaking, just soaking up the peace of the sunlit afternoon for a long time. Potter seemed in no hurry.

“Tell me spirit,” Severus said, half facetiously, “‘Are these the shadows of the things that Will be, or are they shadows of things that May be, only?’ ”

Potter replied with a grin, “’Men's courses will foreshadow certain ends, to which, if persevered in, they must lead, but if the courses be departed from, the ends will change.’”

“I would not have thought you cared for Dickens.”

“Al reads to me, since I’ve been ill.” His smile faltered and he sighed. “I’ll miss the children.” More seriously, he went on, “I think for you, these are only things that may be. To be honest, I would rather you didn’t go back. It’s hard to send your son to war.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Haven’t you seen it yet?”

“Seen what?”

In answer, Potter waved his wand and a mirror appeared in front of them. At first, Severus saw a normal reflection with himself and the old man that Potter had become. Then, so subtly that it was hard to discern just when it happened, the black hair became blond, the black eyes turned blue. In the mirror sat the middle aged Tim.

There’s only one soul in that body. “But...how?”

“I think we needed a chance to do right by each other. Tim is who you’ll become.”

“But...he’s not me.”

A small smile played around Potter’s lips, “We change, Sev. But, we remain who we are. Tim needed protection, so your soul looked to its own past. You became his Dark Man—the shadow of his adult self.”

“So, I’m to be discarded again? When I’m not needed?” The thought was a blow to his chest. The horrible truth of his life.

Shaking his head, Potter said, gently, “If you went back to speak with your seventeen year old self, would he still be you?”

“Yes.”

“So, it follows that Tim is still you. Your own future life. Even your wand knew its master. Don’t you remember?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

Potter stroked his neat white beard. “It occurs to me; perhaps we were meeting out of order.” He said contemplatively.

Severus sat thinking about the implications of that. The way the boy’s inner monologues were so easy to listen to. The way Tim shut down when afraid. How naturally the boy’s magic flowed for him. The thinnest of barriers separated them; Severus leaked his thoughts out to the boy and vice versa. That should not have happened, not with Severus’ skills at Occlumency. The boy even had the same taste in reading, for Merlin’s sake.

 The sun moved in the sky, dipping towards late afternoon. They sat silently, enjoying each other’s company, for hours.  “I think I should return to my office.” Severus said finally.

The old man nodded sadly. “Yes.” He stood. “I can go with you part of the way.”

The cobbled path was twisty. A dark wood sprang up around them. The bright afternoon turned sullen.

“Tell me, Potter, what does Tim do with his life?”

“Sev, if you could have been anything you wanted, what would you have been?”

“I had dreams of being a researcher. I’m not altogether sure in what.”

Potter grinned. “You do become a researcher. I won’t spoil the surprise by telling you what you research.”

In the middle of the path, a door stood. It looked remarkably like the door to the Headmaster’s office.

“I don’t want you to go.” Potter said, suddenly. He sagged where he stood, a frail old man. “I...” Gazing at Severus with eyes which were too bright, he swallowed whatever he was going to say and squared his shoulders. Because he was shorter than Severus, he had to reach up to embrace his son, the way fathers have always embraced their sons who go to war.

“Dad...” Whispered Severus.

“I am so proud of you. You are still the bravest man I ever met.” His adopted father looked up at him, his eyes shining with equal parts pride and pain. “I promise you, Sev, when you get to the end, you won’t be alone.”

With those last enigmatic words, he stepped back. Severus nodded sharply, turned to open the door, and stepped into the darkness beyond.

Christmas Past

Morning light peeped through the curtains over his office windows as Severus woke in his chair. Someone, probably a house elf, threw a blanket over him during the night. Dickens again floated through Severus' mind. He couldn't remember what Ebenezer Scrooge said upon his waking.

The clock said 11:00. "What day is it?" He asked aloud.

A little silence and then one of the portraits said, "Christmas day." He had slept about fourteen hours-what the dosage of the potions promised. He had enough time to go visit Alice and Frank, if he hurried.

Hesitating at the front door, he turned toward the lake.

Hagrid was there at Dumbledore's tomb, patiently shoveling the snow that had fallen overnight from around the white marble.

"Headmaster." Hagrid said, civilly enough.

"Hagrid." The tomb looked lonely by itself, without the little plaza and the matching black tomb. The loss of his friend and mentor rose up, raw and fresh. The weight of it made Severus stagger.

A large hand on his shoulder steadied him. "All right, Professor?" Hagrid's tone brought back memories of happier days. Severus' chest clogged with grief. He wanted to unburden himself to someone.

This was dangerous, and not just to himself. The memory of the Hagrid of twenty years hence put the steel back into Severus' spine. He would not falter, not so close to the end of this story. "Don't be ridiculous." He snarled, looking coldly at the hand on his arm as he couldn't bear to look in the man's face. "Unhand me."

Hagrid let go as though burned.

The silence stretched awkwardly until Severus said thickly, "I'm sure you have business elsewhere."

"Yeh, reckon I do."

Alone, Severus approached the tomb. "Soon, Albus." On impulse, he conjured a bunch of cream white calla lilies tied by a green and silver ribbon with a prominent Slytherin seal.  These he set on the ledge of the tomb. The seal was important; if any marked his gesture, it would be passed off as gloating.

He turned to go, passing Hagrid who was shoveling the walk to his hut. "Happy Christmas, Headmaster." The words were gruff and grudging. Severus didn't return them.

St. Mungo's was not yet crowded at noon. Most visitors came in after lunch; as did the casualties of Christmas day with family. Augusta Longbottom never showed up before two o'clock to visit her son and daughter in law.

Severus bypassed the information witch; he knew exactly where he needed to go. This had been a weekly visit for fifteen years. The healers on the ward gave him frightened looks, but didn't interfere. Even better, they made themselves scarce.

"Hello, Alice. Frank." Severus said sitting down in the chair across from Alice. She was sitting up in her own chair, staring off into space.

Her eyes focused on him, recognition sparking there. "You've been away," she said, her voice cracked and dry with disuse.

That single sentence was more words than she had spoken in fifteen years.

Shocked, he said, "I...yes. I couldn't come sooner...I..."

Unnervingly, she smiled. It was a fragile, eerie expression. "It's all right, Tim. We're meeting all out of order." She patted his hand. "So strange what eases one's heart, isn't it?" She looked towards her husband who was lying on his back staring straight up at the ceiling.

"Yes." Severus managed to say. "I...can't stay long. I just wanted to..." He was very grateful the ward was almost empty and the healers were staying out of his way. If they heard Alice speaking they would make far too much of a scene.

"Wish me Happy Christmas?"

"Yes."

Her smile changed. It lit up her face as it did after she said the Dark Lord's name for the first time. "Happy Christmas, Tim." She leaned forward and embraced him. "You are so brave." She whispered.

She leaned back and hummed softly to herself, her eyes drifting away.

"Alice?" Severus said, gently. No response. He took her hand and she looked past him, as vague as ever. "I wanted to tell you, I'm working on a potion that will help you. It won't be done for many years yet, but in the meantime, you're safe here." He stood, there was no point in tempting fate by being here too long. He planted a kiss on her forehead.

As he straightened, that spark of recognition returned. "Thank you, Severus." Then it faded again.

He returned to Hogwarts, spending the next few hours writing letters that he gave to the post owls to take to Gringott's.

The corridors were still uncommonly cold as Severus made his way to Madame Pomphrey's office. With no students staying at the castle, the house elves didn't light nearly enough fires.

The walk felt longer than normal.  He strode into the infirmary looking most unhappy in case anyone was watching. He didn't think the Carrows had come back, but there was no reason to get sloppy. At precisely 4:55, he rapped his knuckles on Madam Pomphrey's office door.

The nurse's eyes were wary when she opened the door. "Headmaster?" Her tone could have put a skin of ice on a glass of water.

"I'm here to check on you potion's inventory, Madame Pomphrey." He crossed his arms against his chest, appearing most displeased.

 "Headmaster, its Christmas." She objected, sounding weary and put upon.

"I don't care about the damned day." Severus said, stiffly. "I told you I want to inspect your potions inventory." He hoped she hadn't changed her mind.

"I suppose you'd better come in." Madame Pomphrey stepped aside and waved him in.

As soon as the door shut behind him, Madame Pomphrey turned around and asked, in a much different tone. "How are you, Headmaster?"

Severus was strangely at a loss. After so long playing this masquerade he wasn't sure how drop the act. He sat down in the chair at her desk. "Do you want honest truth? I'm tired."

Mme. Pomphrey had not yet thrown all caution away, he was pleased to see. She merely nodded.

For a long moment they stared at one another.

Finally, Severus broke the tension. He smiled at her. "I should thank you for the gift you gave me. Where did you get it?"

Mme. Pomphrey relaxed slightly. "It's not something I usually stock, that's true. However, yesterday morning when I was taking inventory of my potions, I found it in the back of the cupboard with your name on it."

Severus stared at her. "I beg your pardon?"

"You are aware of the enchantments on the castle that protect the headmaster, are you not?"

He was vaguely aware that there was some kind of defensive enchantments around the office of headmaster.

They were interrupted by a table with two chairs popping into existence. Another second and a Christmas dinner for two, with all the trimmings, appeared on the table.

"Why don't we sit down and talk about it while we eat?"

Severus sat down to the meal. The house elves had gone a bit overboard for a private dinner for two, since they didn't have anyone else to cook for. He poured himself a glass of wine. "Please explain what that has to do with our current situation or with finding an illegal potion in your cabinet."

She took her own seat. "I can only assume that the castle wanted you to have it. It's happened before. The castle looks after the headmaster."

"As Minerva is so fond of muttering under her breath, I am not the true headmaster, but an upstart."

The woman smiled. "No. If you weren't worthy of the office, the headmaster's office would have closed to you as it did for that horrible Umbridge woman." She held out her wine glass for him to fill. "The castle's purpose is to look after the students and the teachers and itself." Madam Pomphrey gave him a speculative, measuring stare before she continued, "I'm not sure anyone else here realizes what that means, not even Minerva." She paused a beat as if to see if he had caught on. When he didn't respond, she let out an exasperated snort. "It means the headmaster cannot be assassinated on the castle grounds."

"I would seem to have disproved that myth." His voice was harsh with grief.

She nodded, lowering her eyes. "Dumbledore was so ill." She sounded pained, "I knew him for far longer than you did Severus. I saw the creeping weakness that was overcoming him. I know he never wanted a slow demise. The school would never have allowed him to die at the hands of a traitor."

Chilled to the bone, Severus asked, "Have any of the other staff put this together?"

"No." Madam Pomphrey smiled sadly, looking up. "I feel it's much safer not to enlighten them."

"What about you?"

"I'm a Slytherin, Severus. Being underestimated is good camouflage." She filled her own glass again. "And, I think if the headmaster likes to harass me because I have objected to his treatment of a certain redheaded student, no one will think twice. You are always welcome here, if only for a cup of tea and a shoulder." A resigned frown settled over her features. "If you feel you must, you may also obliviate the memory from my mind."

He should obliviate her. This was dangerous, he couldn't afford friends. The dreams of last night were just that. He couldn't afford to cling to the hope they gave him.

But Alice...She had confirmed the truth of some of it. Hadn't she?

For the moment, he could put aside his fear for the space of one Christmas meal. He held up his glass in toast, "Happy Christmas, Poppy."

Christmas Present

On Christmas Eve, in his study, nursing a fire whisky, Harry contemplated the events of the past week. Tim was much better, although he was hearted that the Dark Man had apparently disappeared without so much as a good bye.

The kids and Ginny were out doing a bit of late Christmas shopping. Harry wasn't keen on the crowds and the relentless cheer, so he stayed in.

A tapping on the window made Harry jump. It was just a post owl. Probably delivering some late Christmas cards.

Three letters were held in the bird's beak. One was addressed to him, one to Ginny and one to Tim. The parchment looked old.

He opened the one addressed to him. In Professor Snape's cramped handwriting, it read:

Potter,

If you read this, then all my hopes have come to pass. I am placing these documents in the care of the goblins. I have directed that these letters should be delivered this Christmas Eve to you IF the letter to one Timothy Rhys Dawson Potter could also be delivered.

Although I left the majority of my possessions to Hogwarts, I have several items that I have bequeathed to you and your son Tim. The key to the vault is at Gringott's and will be released to you after the New Year. Please accept my thanks.

Sincerely,

Severus Snape.

Harry stared at the parchment, not sure how to feel about this proof positive that Snape's appearance in Tim's body was real.

The third letter was addressed to Ginny.

Hours later Harry was still staring into the fire in his study, although he had changed to just drinking tea. "Tim?" He yelled down the stairs. "You've got a letter."

The boy came thumping up the stairs, his cheeks red from the wind outside. "I do?"

"Yeah. It's..." Harry didn't know how to explain. "Just come in here to open it."

Tim gave him an eloquently quizzical tip of one eyebrow. Harry was sure the child must have been practicing that expression in the mirror, or else the muscles of his face had gotten used to the way Snape used them. He couldn't remember ever seeing the blond child look so Snape-ish.

Tearing the letter open, Tim sat down on the settee to read. His mouth slowly bloomed into a wistful smile.

"What does it say?" Harry asked after a few minutes, unable to contain himself.

Wordlessly his adopted son handed the letter over. The child's eyes were suspiciously bright and he swallowed hard. Tactfully, Harry didn't acknowledge the threatened tears. Instead he looked at the letter.

Dear Tim,

I am delighted that you are able to read this. I must apologize for my abrupt departure. Magic does what it will without necessarily complying with our own desires.

First, a small reassurance: we will see each other again. This is not so much "farewell" as "until later".

Second, I have a vault at Gringott's I have bequeathed to your father dad with the stipulation that it should pass to you upon your seventeenth birthday. The key will be available to him and you in the New Year. Merely trifles that I believe will be helpful to you.

I am very glad to have been able to spend some time with you.

Sincerely,

The Dark Man

The sound of the front door opening and closing announced the arrival of Dudley, Philip and Eleanor. The noise of the floo told them that other guests had turned up. Neither of them moved. It was some time before either Harry or Tim felt up to joining the noisy group downstairs.

Christmas Future

It was uncommonly cold this Christmas holiday at Hogwarts. Though the Great Hall boasted twelve Christmas trees and fairy lights graced every corridor, Professor Potter felt a chill that went deeper than skin and bone as he made his way to his dungeon quarters.

A concerned voice stopped him, "All right, Tim?"

He turned, attempted a polite smile. "I'm all right, headmistress."

Professor Longbottom stepped forward, taking a good look at him. "Neville and I were wondering if you wanted to join us tonight for supper?"

"I'm not sure if I'm up to company right now."

Her smile was understanding. "If you change your mind, we'll be in all night."

"Thank you, Millie." He turned down the stairs, not meeting anyone else, not even a ghost. When he got to his quarters, he threw himself into his favorite chair and started going through the messages that were stacked on the side table waiting for him.

Mostly letters of condolence, sympathizing the loss of his father. A few notes pertaining to the estate from the solicitor. A letter from James letting him know what time dinner was at the house tomorrow.

He dropped them all back on the table. He wanted something to occupy his mind, but there wasn't a thing he could think of. He thought of just getting on the computer, but in this mood, not even the internet could distract him.

Restlessly he got up, poured himself a drink. All that old pain rose up in his stomach. Mum and Dad's death so close together had brought it all back. Mary's death. His Nana's death. That horrible feeling of loneliness. He sat down again.

Something else tickled his brain too. He had been having the most awful dreams the last week since Dad died. Over and over, he dreamed of being on the astronomy tower and raising a wand to someone and watching him fall. The dream would change then, and now it was his own death he dreamt. He would wake up choking.

He got up to pour himself another drink.

When he returned to his chair, a small silver box had popped up on the table. One of the house elves must have brought it. For lack of anything better to do, he opened it. Inside was a small silver potion labeled Heart's Ease.

What the devil was someone doing sending him a dangerous restricted potion? He took out his wand and scanned the thing. He didn't have many enemies, but it would be mad to take it at face value.

The spell showed nothing untoward. Well, nothing more untoward than randomly receiving a restricted potion illegally.

The letter lay in the bottom of the box written in cramped handwriting.

From the past to the future. For a day when you need it. The Dark Man.

That was beyond weird. As far as Tim knew, the only people who knew about his dissociative disorder was his family and his mind healer. He hadn't been troubled by the sensation of housing separate identities in his body since he was young. And then there was that weird thing that happened that one Christmas.

He did have that dream about the Dark Man the night Dad died. Could this be connected?

He stared at the bottle, wondering if today was the day when he needed it.

"Tim? Are you there?" Someone called from his floo. "You're not coming tonight?" It was Bette Selwyn, an auror who worked with James. She was referring to the Ministry Holiday Party that James had to attend and invited Tim to. "I was sort of hoping to see you."

"I just don't feel up to a lot of people." Tim got up to crouch on the hearth, "Sorry." About ten years younger than Tim, they'd met when she started working in James' department. As a consultant on Dark Magic, Tim saw her quite often when he went to the Ministry. She always made time to talk. James had been telling Tim for months that Bette fancied him.

It was hard to shrug when one's head was sitting in the fire, but Bette managed it. "No worries, Tim. I know parties aren't your thing on the best days. I suppose I wasn't really expecting you...I was just concerned about you sending Christmas Eve alone. Could I come through? Or you could come over here. I thought we might just have a quiet cup of tea or something." Bette was quite popular, which was one reason he hadn't taken James very seriously. She could spend her Christmas Eve with anyone she wanted. He was touched that she would want to spend it with him.

A quiet cup of tea with the dark, soft voiced, big eyed auror sounded like just the thing at the moment. "Yes, that would be nice." Perhaps another time, they could do more than just a cup of tea, but it was a start.

The box with the silver potion went forgotten on the table. Today was not the day.

End