Some mornings it didn’t pay to get up.  Severus knew that this was just such a morning as he swung his legs over the bed and moved to stand, only to find that his joints felt as if they were filled with shards of broken glass.  He breathed deeply through his nose several times, the inhale whistling through his nose, the exhale through tightly compressed lips.  Breathe through the pain, think of it being eased with each breath… in…out…in…out…

He finally stood, and was able to hobble to the WC where he finished his morning ablutions and took the first of, what would most likely be, many tinctures of willow bark.   He noted mentally that he would need to replenish his stock soon. When he exited the bath, a cloud of steam puffed out into the much cooler air of his chambers.  Obviously if the boy were to be his ward, something would have to be done about heating charms in the dungeons.  Walking to the fireplace, he placed several logs in it, stirred it to life, fumbled for some Floo powder from the mantle, and then sent an order for coffee to his chamber elf, Merry, asking that the elf remain in his chambers.  Pulling his head out of the green flames that swirled about him, he heard a small intake of breath and saw two bare feet next to his knees.

Potter stood beside Severus in his nightclothes that consisted of an overlarge t-shirt emblazoned with the non sequitur, “Never Gonna Give You Up.”  The shirt was the closest thing to a proper nightshirt that Severus had been able to find at Tesco’s, and had the added advantage of being in the sale bin.  More gruffly than intended, Severus asked, “What are you doing up at this ungodly hour, Potter?”

The boy shrank away from him, before saying softly, “’m sorry, Sir. ‘m hungry.”

“In the future, when I ask you a question, I will expect you to speak clearly, Mr Potter,” Severus admonished absently.  “And where are your slippers?”

“Don’t have any,” Potter answered after consideration of his quickly whitening toes.  Severus would remedy both the lack of proper footwear and floor covering soon, if Lily’s wishes were to be observed.  He most certainly wouldn’t be responsible for making the boy ill.  Potter fidgeted in front of him before he asked, “Does your face hurt?”

For a moment Severus was back in school following Lily to class, as James Potter taunted him from behind, “Oi!  Snivellus, does your face hurt?  Well, it’s killing me!  Put a bag on it, Snivelly. There should be a law against cruelty to human beings!”

Snape tensed and skewered the boy with a glare, causing Potter to retreat a few steps.  Severus felt the sneer on his lips even as he tried to stop the sudden feeling of betrayal that swept him.  The brat was still the toerag’s, after all.  With narrowed eyes he observed, “Your question is impertinent, Potter, to say the very least.”

The boy considered his toes again for a moment before taking a deep breath and venturing, “B-b-but, .  I-I thought… since your head was in the fire…”

Ah.   It was Severus’ turn to look at his feet, feeling foolish at how the boy’s concern had been twisted in his mind to something ugly and dark within himself.

“So it was.”  Severus took a step forward, making sure to soften his stern expression and herding the boy towards the couch with an outstretched hand.  “Putting your own head in a fire is a thing you must never do, Mr Potter.  Do you understand me?”

The boy shot a look over his shoulder of outraged disbelief as he climbed onto the couch.  Severus secured a blanket around Potter, a Black Watch plaid gift from Minerva from a few Yules ago, before sitting in his customary chair beside the fireplace.  Potter finally said into the uncomfortable silence that settled between them, “I’m not a baby.  I know I shouldn’t put my head in a fire.”

The boy then gave Severus a pointed, communicating look as if to say, And why exactly don’t you know not to do it?

A bubble of mirth rose in Severus’ chest, which he had a greater degree of difficulty suppressing than was his normal wont.  “I concur that you are most definitely not an infant, Mr Potter, however, I should be very displeased if you decided to mimic my actions, no matter how ill-advised you might find them.”

After another long stretch of silence, in which Potter seemed to be digesting Severus’ statement, the and trying to find an acceptable way to answer, the boy said, “I don’t understand.”

“What is it, Potter, that you don’t understand?”  Severus leaned forward, feeling his knees creak and tingle as he put pressure on them.

The boy shrugged, sucking his lips between his teeth. 

“Words, Mr Potter, are the key to communication.” Severus was quickly losing patience with the stuttering quality of conversation with the boy.  Though, after some consideration, it struck Severus that perhaps the boy’s voice had been stifled by Petunia Evans.  She had always had a predisposition to disparage those who were even slightly different than her.  Severus’ own voice had been silenced enough by his brute of a father.  “You may speak without fear of reprisal here, Potter.”

“What’s re-re…” the boy squirmed under the blanket and then shut up abruptly as Severus’ ordered cup of coffee appeared at on the table at his elbow.  “H-how did you do that?”

Damn and blast!  Severus had forgotten about the house elves’ tendency to do exactly as asked. He decided, in for a penny, in for a pound, as dear old dad used to say, especially since Severus’ forte was to teach by example.  He slid his wand from the holster on his wrist, pointed it a stack of unmarked essays and said, “Wingardium Leviosa!”

He made them dance in the air in a higgledy-piggledy line as the boy gasped.  “That, Mr Potter, is magic.” As the boy started to protest, Severus interrupted smoothly, “No matter what you’ve been led to believe, magic is very real and a very powerful tool for those of us who are wizards.”

He sensed rather than saw the boy’s interest fade. “Oh… you’re pretending.”

Severus arrested the movement of his wrist, effectively cancelling the spell as he did.  Obviously the boy remained unconvinced, so Severus said, “What would you like to eat for breakfast, Mr Potter?  Say it aloud, and it will appear.”

Potter sent him another sceptical look before replying, a look of disbelief firmly in affixed upon his face, “I’d like porridge with milk and sugar.”

“Merry, bring Mr Potter what he wishes, as well as pumpkin juice and two rashers of bacon.” Severus addressed the air, knowing that the disillusioned elf remained in the room as it had been instructed. “And Merry, please do so without the Disillusionment Charm you’ve been instructed to employ in front of students.”

A soft hiss and then a small pop! cut through the silence in the room as Potter goggled at Snape.  After a few moments of lip-chewing contemplation, the boy said, “I-is M-mary your imaginary friend?”

For the second time that morning, Severus felt himself repressing a smile.  “You shall see, Mr Potter.”

He leaned back in his comfortable leather chair, finally able to devote the necessary attention to his morning coffee.   After Severus had taken a few sips, the boy, his voice timid and soft, ventured, “I have—had an imaginary friend once.”

Severus closed his eyes, sniffing the dark brew that was, as usual, perfectly made. “Oh?”

“His name was Sirus.”  The boy slid his arms under the blanket. “He had a funny laugh, and he always told me stories, and sometimes we would fly on sticks in the park.”

The boy paused, looking at Severus as if he were judging whether his admission was well-received or likely to get him walloped.  Severus had let his eyes open to slits on hearing the name of the ‘friend,’ observing the boy for signs of distress.  Potter finally said, “I had to quit pretending him.  Aunt Petunia didn’t like me acting freakish. “ 

“I see…”

“I knew he wasn’t real, but she didn’t think I did,” the boy added in a desolate tone as he gave that irritating shrug again.  “I mean, I know people can’t fly on sticks because that would be magic, and it’s not… really real.  It’s all fake, like on TV.”

Just then, as if to punctuate Potter’s coMadamnt, Merry appeared with his leathery brown skin, bat-like ears, and bulging eyes. Potter gave a high-pitched scream and dove under the blanket, and Merry let out a startledyelp before Disapparating, leaving the broken dishes of Potter’s breakfast in a steaming heap on the rug before the hearth.

“That went well,” Severus said to no one in particular as he pinched the bridge of his nose to avert the headache he knew was coming. 

It took the full two hours before they were to go to Albus’ office to calm Potter enough after telling the boy about magic.  The boy reacted badly when Severus informed Potter of his own wizarding heritage. During the process, Snape thought that if Petunia Evans were before him at the moment, he might have considered invoking some of the lighter Dark curses he’d seen used as a Death Eater.  He most especially wanted to curse her when the boy informed him matter of factly, “My dad and mum were drunks that got killed in a car wreck.  They weren’t wizards.  Aunt Petunia said so.”

A child’s dose of Calming Draught, and a replaced breakfast later, and Severus now strode with Potter through the hallways of the mostly slumbering castle.  They encountered several Ravenclaws on their way to the library, no doubt, and a familiarly ginger-haired, third year Gryffindor obviously sneaking back from outside, judging by his ruddy cheeks and the state of his clothing.  Snape stopped the boy and observed, “Mr Weasley, you’re tracking filth into the building.”

Weasley halted his muddy progress, looking back sheepishly at the line of footprints that led from the main doors to the staircase on which he was attempting to ascend.  “Sorry, Sir, I was just coming from Hagrid’s…he had a unicorn ready to foal…” at Severus’ huff of impatience, the boy coloured, gulping before he added, “I’ll just  go to Mr Filch to get something to clean it with, Sir.”

“See that you do, Mr Weasley, I would hate to have to take points so early on a Sunday.”  Severus turned his attention to Potter who had slunk behind him.  Surmising that the boy would dawdle if given half a chance, he held out his hand, saying, “Come, boy, else we’ll be late for our appointment.”

Snape was aware of the curious gaze of the Weasley boy as Potter readily took the hand of the feared Potions Master.  Severus smirked down at the boy as they stepped onto the moving staircase that would take them to their destination.  Potter, who had remained silent during most of their trek past talking portraits and sentient armour, looked avidly over the banister as they moved.  He peeked up at Severus before returning his attention to the moving scene below them.  When the staircase came to a halt, they disembarked and Severus looked, once again, on the grimace of the gargoyle. 

The creature looked down ponderously at the little boy standing before it.   Potter peered back, for once undaunted by the strange new world into which he had been thrust.  The gargoyle inclined its head as if listening, and when Potter did the same, it harrumphed loudly and then stepped aside for the boy.  Potter looked back in question at Snape, but stepped onto the ascending stairway.  When Severus attempted to take his place behind the boy, however, the gargoyle stepped in front of him.  It croaked in that disarmingly stone-on-stone grinding voice, “Password.”

“Oh, for fu…” Severus just barely contained his oath, remembering with a start how much a child could mimic, and ground out through clenched teeth, “Candy-floss.”

He was sure the creature smirked as it stepped aside once again, especially as the boy gave, a previously uncharacteristic voice to his mirth.  When Severus drew abreast of him, the boy wormed his grubby fingers back into Snape’s hand.

They entered the already opened door of the office.  Albus stood with the familiar, monocle-sporting figure of Amelia Bones, current head of the Auror Corps, deep in what appeared to be serious conversation.  Potter inched closer to Snape, his fingers becoming damp in Severus’ hand as both the formidable witch and wizard’s attention turned to them.  Albus bowed to Madam Bones and with a flourish of his hand said, “Severus, I’m sure you remember Madam Bones.”

Severus gave a scant nod, remembering the exact circumstances in which they had met, and fighting the impulse to rub his wrists at the ghostly feeling of charmed manacles.  “We’ve met briefly, I believe.”

“Amelia, I’m pleased to introduce you to young Mr Potter.” Albus waved them forward as Madam Bones gave a curt nod to the boy. “Now let’s not stand on formality.  Please, have a seat, all of you.”

Severus pulled a reluctant Potter forward into the room and bade him to sit in a chair transfigured to accommodate his small size.  Severus sat nearby, his back ramrod stiff.  Albus fussed with his beard, situating it just so after he sat.  “Harry, I am Albus Dumbledore.  I am Headmaster of Hogwarts.   Would you care for a sweet?”

The boy began to scrunch his shoulders into a shrug before he shot a glance at Severus.  Instead he shook his head. He seemed to remember Severus’ admonishment about using words earlier that day, and amended in a small voice, “N-no, thank you… sir.”

“Tea, Severus?”

Severus waved the offer off impatiently before pointedly sitting forward in his chair attempting to moderate the panic he felt at Madam Bones’ presence.  That Albus thought to bring in Magical Law Enforcement boded ill for Severus.  “Might we get on with this interrogation, Albus?  As I‘m sure you’re aware, Mr Potter and I have an appointment later this morning.”

Madam Bones’ monocle glittered in the early morning sunlight streaming through the window.  Her mirthless, square-jawed features didn’t change expression as Albus assured him, “There is no interrogation scheduled, Severus.  I merely asked Madam Bones here to confer with her on the blood magic that you and Mrs Potter unwittingly enacted as children.”

“If I may, Professor,” Madam Bones stood, and let her wand slip from the holster she obviously kept on her wrist.  “I will need to do some tests to see the strength and intent of the blood magic in queston.”

Severus felt his tension ratchet up several notches even as he attempted to control the rapid beating of his heart.  In recent memory, it had taken less to end up in Azkaban than blood magicks enacted by a wizard known to have taken the Dark Mark.  He wondered if this were some elaborate revenge attempt by Lily after all.  He tried to dismiss that last traitorous thought, but years of spying would not allow him to do so.

The Head Auror lifted her wand in preparation to cast, and Severus stood his own wand already in his hand.  “I think not, Madam.”

“Albus, you assured me…” she began, as Albus also spoke.

“Now, my boy, we merely wish to ensure that Lily’s spell was not coerced in any way, that the magic enacted, even while you both were innocent, was not Dark in intent, and that the boy’s best interest are met, while maintaining his safety.”

Bones added, “These are questions that must be answered, Professor, given your… history.”

For the first time since his childhood, Severus felt magic rise up in him without his own intent behind it, as fear was replaced by the sharp, metallic bite of anger. The pain of the morning intensified along his joints, making it almost impossible to concentrate enough to keep his rising temper in check.  He could not go back to Azkaban, most especially not for a youthful bit of play, no matter how Lily might have used it against him. The magic swirled in him and lifted the fine hairs of his necks and arms.  He spared a glance at Potter, who had assumed an avid expression.  Hating the wounded sound of his voice, even as he uttered the words, Severus asked, “Have I not done everything you’ve asked of me Albus?  Have I not earned even a little of your trust?  Do you think, even now, that I would deliberately harm this... infant?”

Severus was aware of the look of consternation from the child in question at the statement.  That look of betrayal nearly sent his magical energy spiralling out of control.  Papers from Albus’ desk flew in the air even as Severus attempted to reign in his temper.  Fawkes, the ridiculous goose, squawked and flew about the room bashing into the walls and windows in panic, and leaving a trail of flaming red feathers in his wake.

Albus rose from his seat, his tone calming as he said, “Severus.  Calm yourself.  I do not mean to imply distrust nor do I mean to…”

“What would you do with Potter, Albus?  Will you use him as you’ve so obviously used me?”  Severus took a deep breath, realising that he had made his own decisions about Potter’s situation even before he came back to Hogwarts last evening.  “No, Albus.  You will not farm Pott—no, Harry, out to be raised as you see fit.  He will not be given to some disinterested party so that you can further hone his dependence on you and your good will.  This was Lily’s wish, her last ones concerning her son, and I am the one to whom she entrusted his care.  I will most definitely not submit to another’s magic so that you can, once again, ensure that I am in your debt for your forbearance.  Pott—Harry has become my priority from this point forward.”

Just as Severus’ unexpended energy reached its peak and it seemed that violence might be the outcome, Potter’s small voice cut through the tension in the room.   The boy was standing, a ruby feather in his hand and bits of paper circling his feet.  He looked between the three adults and said, “I think I might like magic!  Can you do some more?”