Severus Snape let the blessed silence of the house sink into him.  His mother, no doubt was still abed, not yet risen from her slumber.  From the window in the kitchen he could still faintly see the path that he had worn behind the house, the one that had ultimately led him to Lily.  He rarely looked out that window anymore.  She had been dead these past five years and the ache of her loss never seemed to diminish.  He wouldn’t let it.

He finished washing the morning dishes, well aware that the rest of the day held nothing but menial tasks and a jaunt belowstairs to check on his latest batch of household potions and curatives for his mother. It was a task that he completed each Saturday that he was scheduled to be off.  He returned to his childhood home every fortnight to care for his mother, who had suffered greatly under his father’s brutal hand.  She had lost all her magic during the twenty three years of their marriage, and was just now, four years after his departure, beginning to exhibit infinitesimal bouts of accidental magic.  Of course, Severus’ own past had set her back; she had told him as much when he took the Mark that had destroyed his life. 

He sighed as he dried his hands, purposely pulling his mind from the dark train of his thoughts.     There was much to do here before evening, when he would decant the potions into bottles and then return by Floo to Hogwarts ready to face another week of tedium and frustration. 

He had been a full professor there for more than six years, and at twenty-seven, he was still the youngest staff member.  Even with the cloud that still hung over him from the trials, he was marvelled for being the youngest Potioneer to obtain Mastery in the United Kingdom, and also the youngest Head of House in over five centuries and.  He could thank Albus Dumbledore for that latter distinction, along with the accompanying headaches incumbent with the job.  Yet, he had only himself to blame for his current state of employment and his lack of real desire to actually instil young minds with the necessary skills of Potioneering.    Severus Snape had never wanted to be a teacher. 

He had envisioned a much different life, but that was never to be with Lily… dead.

The sharp ache he had been experiencing in his wrists and fingers on and off for the last year returned with a vengeance as he twisted the ancient tap off making him shake his hand to lessen the sensation that shot down his wrist and into his lower hand.  It was an irritation most times, but some days, when the weather was foul, he welcomed the acrid taste of willow bark with a greater gusto than was his normal wont.  As he looked past the little path, his gaze wandering to the leaden sky, he knew that much of his day would be spent with a dyspeptic stomach and fiery pain.  There would be snow soon.

He began his first chore, the annual cleaning of the Floo, careful to keep his spells murmured so that he would not wake his mother. 

Soon he was engrossed in the task, vanishing the soot and the residual Floo powder to the dustbin outside, sealing cracks that had appeared in the chimney, with even the limited use his mother made of the outdated fireplace.  He finished with a flourish of his wand, only to realise that he was nearly as filthy as the Floo he had just cleaned.  He cursed softly under his breath, for forgetting once again to cast an Impervius charm on himself and his clothes, just as the hand-cranked door chime sounded.

Severus rose from the tiled floor of the Floo, only to hear his mother shouting from upstairs, “Severus!  Get t’door!”

“Yes, Mum,” he called.  He was twenty-seven, not a child, a concept she never seemed to grasp.  He knew the importance of the door chime.  He took a step toward the small entryway, and nearly stumbled from the pain that shot up his legs from his feet and ankles.  The chime sounded again.

“Get the door, Severus! Why do I always have to repeat myself?”  Eileen Prince’s words brought back memories of his sullen teen years spent waiting in his room between the time he could see Lily and the time he last left her. 

“Awright, Mum!  I said I’d get it and I am!”  he called,  slipping easily back into the Northern vernacular of his childhood.  Lucius Malfoy would definitely disapprove if he could hear.  Severus muttered to the spectre of his pureblood sponsor, “Sod ‘im.”

He had finally made it to the entryway when he could hear the crank being lifted again.  He flicked his wand at the apparatus, silencing it effectively, before he wrenched open the door with a little too much force.  It banged against the lath wall and bounced back, bringing a shower of ancient plaster down.  It was yet another thing he would have to fix that day. 

A small boy waited, his hair covered by a garish hat with a pom-pom on the top.   Snape struck his most intimidating professorial pose and barked, “What do you want?”

The boy stepped back, his feet slipping on the slick cobbles because of the too large, obviously handed down clothes he wore.  Beyond him, a silver car of some sort idled, one that was obviously much too nice for the neighbourhood in which it was parked.  The boy looked back at the occupants, whom Severus could barely see, due to the darkened glass of the windows.  The passenger side door opened, and a querulous voice from his past spoke sharply, “Get on with it, boy!   We don’t have all day to wait here while you idle about!”

As Petunia Evans’ sharp features came into focus, Severus smirked. “What is it, Tuney?  Did you come in search of some freakishness from me?  Has your precious spawn showed the same talent as… your sister did?”

The boy seemed to shrink, drawing his shoulders up to his ears.  It made him seem, if possible, even smaller than he already was.  Mrs. Whatever-Her-Married-Name-Was gave an unladylike snort before she countered, “We don’t want him.  He’s yours now.  My husband has been transferred to Australia and we don’t want to take that frea… bra… erm… boy with us.”  She motioned to the boy, “Give him the letter, boy.”  As the tyke seemed to hesitate, she shrilled, “Quickly!”

The boy fished a stained, obviously aged envelope out of his back pocket, and held it out to Severus with a shaking hand.   It was then that he looked up at Severus with very familiar, mournful, grass green eyes.  Before Snape could react and send the nightmare on its way, the woman clambered into the car and the vehicle sped off. 

The two stared at each other for several minutes, the boy’s hand still extended with the envelope, Severus unwilling to take it from his fingers.  The boy gave a decided shiver in his inadequate, too large clothing, just as Eileen Snape, nee Prince, appeared behind her son. “Who is this, Severus? He’s not from around here, I’d recognise him if he was. ”

Snape remained mute, unable to give voice to just who exactly it was that had been discarded on his mother’s doorstep.  She gave a noisy huff and stepped around her son.  “Who are you, young man?”

The boy’s gaze shifted to her.   He whispered, even as he appeared to shrink further into his oversized clothes, “’m Harry, Ma’am.”

As the child announced himself, a sharp, cold breeze lifted his fringe, revealing the distinctive scar on his forehead.  Eileen sucked in her breath, rounding on her son.  “Severus, is that…?”

Snape nodded mechanically as she bustled forward. 

“Oh my!  Come in, come in. “  As the boy scooted inside, the letter now crumpled in his fist, Severus noticed a small mesh shopping bag left behind on the cobbles.  The Potions Master scooped it up and peered inside it.  It contained nothing but rags and a few broken toys, yet if the boy had troubled to pack such worthless rubbish, it must be important to him.  Severus knew the value of such things to boys, especially those boys who seem to be as unwanted as this one. Impossible.  He had to have drawn the wrong conclusion.  Potter was supposed to be a haughty little lord, not a pauper, and certainly not unwanted enough to be dumped on a virtual stranger’s doorstep.  Especially not his doorstep.

He heard his mum in the kitchen with the child, nattering away over something as she clinked dishes and made noises of rooting around in the under-stocked pantry.    His mum called out from the other room, “Severus!”

“Yes, Mum?”  He had recovered his voice enough to answer hoarsely. 

Eileen popped her head around the doorway.  “Clean yourself up before you touch anything, and the boy wants you to have this.”

She held out the envelope, shaking it impatiently whilst he ran his wand over his robes and exposed skin, cleansing himself with a silent spell.  Eileen said, “You’ve always been a powerful wizard. No need to show off.  Here.  Take the letter and this money. I need some fresh milk.  Go down to the grocers and get some and bread, and some lunch meats.   The boy appears half-starved.”

Severus stalked to her, relieving her of the burden of both money and epistle and strode to the door, his ankles and knees crackling with pain as he did.  His mum called behind him, “Take off those robes!  Your dad’s old coat is in the closet.  I don’t want the neighbours talking about your strange clothes again.  You should know better by now!”

Severus stood by the door and placed his robes on the hook in the closet meant for outerwear and such, making sure to secure the envelope inside them.  He hesitated before he donned his father’s old worn pea coat, which still stinking of stale ale and cigarettes.  Casting a freshening charm on it, he exited the house.  He would obviously be returning to Hogwarts sooner than expected.  Albus would need to be told post-haste about the boy’s familial defection.  He hoped his mother was up to taking care of the boy whilst he sorted what to do with him.

The grocery was a small, run-down building at the end of the row.   It had been there since he was a child, still run by the same family, and still stocking the same familiar products.  Severus opened the door quickly with a jangling of bells that hung from the frame.  Behind the counter, a young West Indian woman lounged, reading a novel as she bobbed her head to some type of rock music a radio blared through the shop.  She looked up disinterestedly as he made his way to the back of the shop where the cooler stood.  Grabbing the milk and meats, he turned to the counter before remembering bread.   He hadn’t seen it on his quick run through the shop.  He barked, “Where’s the bread?”

The girl pointed without looking up and Severus followed the direction of her finger.  There were so many types.  When had Muggles invented so many?  The shop had never carried that many before.   Finally, he decided to get both the whole wheat and the plain white, not knowing which one was better for children nutritionally.  That’s why wizards had house elves serving them food.  Letting those creatures care for the sustenance of children freed wizardly minds for more important matters.

The girl rang him up, the beep-beep of the machine becoming more annoying as she did.  She finally said, “That’ll be four fifty-eight.”

“Outrageous, is what that is.”  Snape murmured.  The next time he came home, he would be going to Tesco’s to shop for his mum.  He slammed the coins down on the counter and juggled the items, having forgotten the shopping bags at his mum’s house. 

The girl smirked, and then fished under the counter, bringing up an ancient canvas bag.  “Tell yer Mum to bring it back next time, Mr. Snape.”

As Severus threw the items into the bag, he gave her a sharp, obviously suspicious look.  She giggled.  “Don’t go getting yer back up now.  You look just like her.  That’s how I know.”

He hurriedly left the establishment, not liking the fact that a mere Muggle had observed so much.   Once home, he dumped the coat in the closet and went to the kitchen.  

The boy sat perched on a chair, his shoulders hunched forward, his stockinged feet swinging above the floor, the ratty trainers he had worn discarded below him.  Eileen sat across from him sipping plain tea, the way she always took it.  “It’s about time.  What took so long?”

Severus placed the bag down before his mother with a little more force than strictly necessary, but otherwise ignored her sharp words.   “The shop girl said to return the bag next time you’re in.”

He turned to leave the room before adding, “I’ll need to leave the boy here whilst I return to Hogwarts.”

“No you won’t, Severus Tobias Snape.”  Eileen rose.  She addressed the boy.  “Be a good boy and put these away.  Feel free to make yourself a sarnie and pour yourself a cup of milk.”

She took Snape by the arm, her fingers digging into the flesh of it.  “Cast one of those spells you’re so proud of.”

He wordlessly cast Muffliato, and then whispered superfluously, “Mum, I need you to…”

“He’s a young wizard, Severus,” she countered.  “I haven’t any magic, how am I supposed to watch him?”

“Just the same way you did when I was young, Mum.”  Her magic had been gone for years. 

Eileen’s expression softened before she said with some asperity, “You see how well that turned out.”

They had been over the same territory before, had rowed over it when he had taken the Mark.  He answered, “Mum, don’t blame yourself…”

“No, Severus,” she said, “That boy is a special one.  He’s too special for around here, even for a few hours.  Suppose one of your old friends dropped by.  They have before, you know.  That Malfoy boy did.”

“One time, Mother.”  But even so, Severus knew she was right.  He couldn’t risk his position by letting someone such as Malfoy find the Boy Who Lived under his roof and presumably under his protection.  “Very well.  I’ll take him with me.  I’ll need to contact Albus before I do.”

“You know where the Floo is.”  She turned back towards the kitchen.  “Cancel the spell, son.”

He did so with a wave of his wand, and she smirked, “Show off.”

“Always, Mum.”

Severus was aware that Eileen watched pensively from the kitchen as he spoke to the green, spectral image of Albus Dumbledore.  His mum had been tasked with keeping the boy away as he Fire-called Hogwarts.  Her disapprobation at maintaining the young wizard’s ignorance had surfaced in her blanket denial of Severus’ judicious application of a common silencing charm upon the Headmaster’s request.  She had said, “My house, my rules.  You tell that jumped up pillock that, Severus.  I won’t be a party to that type of blag.  The poor lad’s had enough of that for a lifetime.”    

Now he asked, not entirely upon her insistence, “Why does he know nothing of his ma-- his heritage?  Albus, he’s a wiz—w-i-z-a-r-d for Circe’s sake.  Surely he’s exhibited some sort of accidental mag—m-a-g-i-c before today.”

“Now, my boy, I—we—that is, the Order, felt that it was for the best that the boy grew up in as normal a situation as possible, away from all the hubbub of his fame.”

“I’d eat my wand if I believed for a moment that you consulted with anyone on his placement, Albus,”  Severus answered, knowing that he would pay for speaking to both his employer and saviour with such candour.  He’d be damned if he cared at the moment since it looked as if he would be stuck with Potter on the three hour long ride by train to London and a six odd hour trek by the Hogwarts Express to the school.  All because the little Lord (although, if Snape gave even a moment’s consideration to the tyke’s plight , the boy obviously wasn’t as spoilt as Severus might have assumed,) hadn’t been informed of such basic information about whom he was.  “If you had deigned to consult me, I could have told you that leaving him with Pet—That Woman-- would have resulted in, at best, this situation, and at worst,  the boy’s abuse at her hands.  She’s always been the worst sort of Mug—dammit—M-u-g-g-l-e.”

“So I’ve been told, Severus.”  Albus sighed.  “Perhaps I might have been mistaken about the situation in which I placed the boy, but you must know, this turn of events is disastrous when, not if, Voldemort does return.”

Severus hissed in pain at his former master’s name. Dumbledore continued, “I’m sorry, Severus, there is nothing for it.  Since Mrs Dursely saw fit to entrust you with her nephew’s safety…” At that, Severus snorted. The Headmaster quirked a brow as he spoke over the interruption, “Then you are the one who must convey him to Hogwarts without alarming him.”

“Of course, Sir.”  Severus fumed inwardly. “We will be there by this evening.  I just need to decant some pot—medicines here first, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Do what you must, Severus.”  Albus made a move to close the connection before he added, “I don’t need to remind you of your obligations concerning him, do I?”

“No, Sir.”  Severus couldn’t contain the sullen tone of his answer.  He would be stuck with James Potter’s (and his beloved Lily’s) get for the next ten hours or so.

“Very good, Severus.”  Albus’ eyes twinkled as the connection closed.

Severus rose from his kneeling position, his knees once again paining him as he stood.  He bent to rub them as Eileen said, “I’ve gone through his things.  He’ll need some clothes before you leave,” Ticking off on her fingers, she said, “Get him a good coat, and a pair of trousers, no doubt some pants, a jumper, and some new shoes and socks, and a nice night shirt.   You’ll need to go to the cashpoint before you take him to Tesco’s.”  She held a plastic card out to him.  “I don’t want to hear a word, Severus.  The boy… he has… well, less than I could ever provide you.  You can just keep the card.  I’ve been meaning to give it to you anyway.”

“Mum,” Severus began,  “I don’t think the boy will need all that…”

“Not another word, Severus,” she cut him off.  “I remember how bad it was for you when you went away with your used clothes and such.   Just let me do this for him, after what he did for all of us.”  She turned back to the kitchen.  “Let it just be my gift in memory of his mother.  Lily was always so sweet to you when you were both young. Now come in here and meet the boy properly. He’s in a panic about… well, you know how he must feel with all this.”

Severus followed her into the other room, stopping to stare at the boy who was standing by the backdoor.  He looked defensive, and just so small.  Eileen gently pulled him forward until she stood with his back to her thighs.  “Harry, this is my son, Severus Snape.  He’s a professor at a special school in Scotland.” 

She gently pushed him forward as Severus rolled his eyes. With a warning tone she said, “Severus, meet Harry Potter.”

Severus nodded abruptly whilst crossing his arms over his chest, unable to stop the downturn of his lips at the boy’s likeness to his father.  “Mr Potter.”

The child scooted closer to Eileen, and she bent down to whisper conspiratorially in the boy’s ear, “His bark is much worse than his bite, lad.  Now, he’s going to be taking you to a very interesting place today.  It’s the school he teaches at.  It’s a special place that is full of magic and wonders.  Does that sound nice?”

“Mother,” Severus warned.

“Magic’s not real,” Potter said after a moment’s consideration of the floor.  “Aunt Petunia says so.”  Potter looked up at Eileen, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “When can I go home?”

Eileen’s sent a swift, troubled glance to Severus before she said, “Well, that’s the thing, lad...”

“You will be accompanying me, Mr Potter,”  Severus cut her off.  “That is the apogee and perigee of the entire situation.  Mum, I’ll just finish my project in the lab and we’ll be off.”

Severus turned on his heel and headed towards the basement door even as the boy’s quiet snivelling dogged him.   He slammed the door behind him.

&*&*&

Severus didn’t know what he had expected when he took the boy to Tesco’s, but it certainly wasn’t the mournfully longing looks at the merchandise from the boy, and the uncomfortable feeling that Potter had never received anything new in his life.  He couldn’t get the child to express a desire one way or another on his wardrobe. Instead, the child had accepted whatever Severus picked with a growing look of alarm. Severus chose sensible clothing in dark colours so that they might blend with the more conservative clothing of the wizarding world.  Severus did remember the feeling of not fitting in due to penurious wardrobe choices, and he couldn’t help but attempt to protect Potter from derision for however long he remained at Hogwarts.  Certainly Dumbledore would find an appropriate home for the boy fairly quickly.  Finally, when it came to choosing pants, Severus grunted in absolute frustration.  “Surely you have some preference, Potter.”

The boy stood for a moment in front of a display of garishly coloured briefs emblazoned with vaguely familiar Action Man characters.  He touched a package with his index finger before snatching it back.  His darted, timorous gaze reached Severus’ face and then faltered back to the floor. The boy mumbled, “These, Sir?”

Severus snatched them up in what he thought was an appropriate size, and strode to the front of the shop, not bothering to see if the boy followed.  He knew Potter would.  The boy had been nothing but cringingly obedient. 

The girl who rang their purchases looked between the two of them knowingly.  After a moment of excruciatingly painful consideration she ventured with a small, knowing smile, “Your first weekend with your son?”

Severus glared at her and didn’t deign to answer.  The girl finished the process in silence and gave him the price.  Severus handed her his own credit card.  The boy’s situation was of no import to Eileen, and he refused to use her funds to replenish Potter’s wardrobe. 

As he placed his wallet back in his transfigured robes, his fingers met the hard edge of the envelope which the boy’s aunt had been so insistent that he receive.  He would have time on the train to read it, and so he pushed its presence to the back of his mind.  As he gathered the shopping, bags, he looked around for the loo.  He didn’t see it immediately and so he asked as politely as he could manage in the face of the girl’s still intrusive stare, “Where is your WC?”

She instructed him to follow the main aisle to the back of the building, telling him,  “You can’t miss it.”

Severus picked up the purchases and barked, “Come, Potter.”

The boy scurried behind him, his short legs working overtime to match Severus’ ground-eating stride.  Once in the bathroom, Severus pushed the boy into a stall and closed the door firmly behind him.  After casting a mild compulsion charm on the outer door, he swept the clothes with a cleansing charm before beginning to take off the tags and sundry items from the articles. After he finished with each item, he pushed it under the stall door on a section of floor he had Scourgified thoroughly.   He said, “Change quickly boy, we’ve a train to meet on the half hour.”

The room was silent save for the rustling of cloth and an occasional sniffle.  Once done, the boy knocked on the door. “Sir, I’m finished.   Can I come out now?”

“It’s ‘may I’ and yes, you may.” Severus shrank the remaining clothing, and with a flick of his wand deftly disassembled the quickly placed charm before he stepped back from the door.   

Potter stepped out of the stall, clutching the rags in which he had arrived against his chest. “I… w-what do I do with these, Sir?” 

Severus pointed to the rubbish bin next to the sinks.  Once the boy was finished, Severus urged him outside the tiled room.  They had a train to catch.

A short walk took them to the train station, and after purchasing their tickets for London, Severus found a seat in a sparsely occupied car.  The boy sat opposite him and looked out of the window as the train, which they had almost not met, pulled out of the station.  Severus said in his severest tone, “I expect you to remain seated and silent.  If you need to use the wash room, tell me and I will accompany you there.  There will be no hijinks, shenanigans, tomfoolery, or dunderheaded appeals for entertainment.  Is that clear? “

The boy nodded with a faint, sullen scowl on his face as he twiddled with the string that closed the hood of his coat.  Severus settled back in his seat, prepared to rest as they made their way down to London.

Twenty minutes into the journey, Potter began kicking the seat with the heels of his new slick-soled shoes, his boredom with the speeding scenery evident.   Severus put a quelling hand on the boy’s calf.  “Mr Potter, desist immediately.”

The boy scrunched his face as if preparing to protest, but said nothing.

Soon, Potter lay sprawled somnolent on the seat, his legs splayed, and his neck at an uncomfortable angle.  Severus looked at the sleeping child.  There was much of his accursed father in him: in his hair, the blunt shape of his cheeks, the bow of his mouth.  But Lily could be seen too, if Severus looked past the more offensive features.  His eyes were the shape (and colour) of Lily’s, his long-fingered hands were hers, and the stubborn point of his chin definitely spoke of her.  The one feature that seemed to be his own was his nose, which was blunt at the tip, but would tend towards aquiline as he grew, but even that had an echo of his forebears.  Severus remembered well Lily’s house and the walls that were covered in old photos.  There had been one grainy picture of a Welsh great-great-grandmother, of which Lily had been particularly proud.  The boy’s nose bore unmistakeable resemblance to the lively girl who had peered out of the frame across time.

He had assumed much about the boy over the years.  Before today, if anyone had asked him, Severus would have described the scene that had grown in his mind of Potter being pampered beyond belief. He would have said that Potter was raised to be as arrogant as his father, a bully, and that he revelled in his fame, as unfounded as that fame was.  That these images had been shattered with the boy’s first appearance on his doorstep was a thing that Severus would have to reconcile within himself.   He had lived for six years with the spectre of James Potter replicated in his son with no hint of his mother anywhere to be seen.  What lay before him was an almost alchemical admixture of both parents, which created a whole new person. 

After several moments of such contemplation, Severus’ mind turned to the envelope.  He pulled it from its resting place and ran his thumb over the beloved script in faded Muggle ink.  The letter was addressed to Lily’s parents and had obviously been read and re-read through the years if Severus could tell by the tattered state of the flapping closure.  A faint hint of Lily’s sweet magic still clung to the envelope.

He slid the letter out, his heart beating a painful tattoo in his chest at seeing the girlishly scrawled writing inside, and began reading.

21 September, 1981 

First of all, we’re fine.  Harry, James, and I have been placed in what you might call protective custody.  Don’t be too alarmed, I’m sure it’s nothing, but Professor Dumbledore (you remember him, don’t you?) has decided that we’re in some sort of danger.  Since we’re in a secret kept location, I’m afraid we won’t be able to visit.

The next paragraphs were the general, breezy bits and bobs of everyday life.  News about an infant Harry, thoughts on the planned Yule celebration, thoughts on the Muggle Parliamentary elections…

Severus skimmed the letter until he saw:

Mum, have you ever made a mistake that you couldn’t fix? 

Lily

Severus stared out the window for a long while.  Lily’s parents had been killed on the twenty-third of September that year.  If things had been different, if they’d have had time to tell him…

He looked at the boy again, a strange, choking feeling tightening his chest, until he felt tears on his cheeks.  He turned his face towards the window as the dam broke and Severus once again mourned for his lost love, and for what might have been.

Severus rested the sleeping boy against his chest as they exited the empty car of the Express at Hogwarts.  He grimaced as the newly acquired dragon plushie that the boy held in a death grip tickled under his chin.  He pushed it down, and the boy sighed, scrunching his face, his mouth working in silent protest.   Surely Albus would send the groundskeeper to escort them back to the school.  Severus did not relish a trek through Hogsmeade burdened with the child and his sundry items, shrunken though they were.

He hadn’t meant to give the boy a reward for his fractious behaviour on the trip to London. 

Potter had awoken about an hour into their trip and, as with all children, he soon grew bored with the repetitive scenery outside the window.   Severus had ended up sitting the child next to him, his arm bent around him repressively, to still the child’s squirming, whilst he sternly lectured the boy on decorum and proper behaviour.  It had done little good, and by the time they had exited the train, the Potion Master’s resolve to take the fresh start that Lily’s letter had promised, was quickly faltering to frustrated doubt. 

They exited the station after grabbing a quick bite at a caff that served nothing but sweets, soft drinks, and things fried in lard, and the boy lagged behind.  Soon, by necessity, Severus found his hand enclosing a smaller, grubbier hand.  He pulled the boy along the teeming streets of London as rapidly as he could.  Saturday was apparently a very busy time for the masses to come out and be seen.  When they were almost to King’s Cross, Severus felt the boy’s hand slide from his grip.  After a panicked moment of searching, he saw the boy’s distinctive cap, an atrocious thing that Severus would soon condemn to the rubbish bin, and he strode angrily to the boy, his own heart thrumming painfully in his chest.

Potter didn’t notice Severus’ ire. He only had eyes for the bright display of toys under the title “Star Wars,” set up in the storefront to entice just such a reaction from young children and dunderheaded adults who collected such things.  Severus peered at the cheaply painted bits of plastic, wondering that anyone, even a child, could believe such bunk was valuable. 

As he began to draw Potter away from the garish shop front, a memory assailed him of a long ago train ride, and his own, very small hands clutching a toy automobile and an Auror doll.  He vaguely remembered playing with them quietly (there was no other way to do so in the presence of his father even then) until they pulled into the station that would ultimately bring them to his grandmum who had settled in Wales after some unknown (to Severus’ young mind) war.  He was to stay with her for the summer whilst his father had looked for employment, and his mother took care of her husband.  That train ride had been an idyllic time, before the drink and the dole had whittled his father to nothing but impotent fury with fists, and life had beaten-down his mother and stolen her magic. His grandmum had died a year later, and Severus was left to mourn her passing alone amidst the rows and long reproachful silences of his parents.  Things had changed that rapidly in his life.

Perhaps it was too much to ask this young child, who obviously knew privation of his own sort, to behave as an adult. “Come, Potter.”

Severus escorted him into the shop his large hand cupped behind Potter’s knobby little head.   He bent over the boy, who shrank away, saying, “You may have one thing.  Choose it wisely.”

Severus noted the gaping maw and brightened affect of the child before he sidled away from the imposing teacher’s side.  In mere moments, the boy returned with a cheaply made plastic ring and pin.  Severus took it out of the boy’s hands.  “I said to choose wisely.  Certainly this thing will be broken in a few moments and our journey will become highly unpleasant, no doubt.”

Not to mention that Severus remembered playing with the same type toy when he was Potter’s age, and having it snatched from his hand and broken to pieces when it came too close to his sot of a father. 

The boy scooted down an aisle, wandering further afield.  The man behind the counter, who had been following the conversation offered, “If it’s a long holiday you’re on, many parents purchase colours, art pads, and books so that their children have something to do when they tire of their playthings.”

Severus gave a short nod, at once acknowledging the man’s superior knowledge and his sales acumen.  He chose a picture book with several male-oriented stories emblazoned with depictions of spotted ponies and red Indians, a small pad of finely grained paper, and a box of coloured pencils that had the distinctive ability to become paints with the addition of water.  The boy returned to Severus carrying the ridiculous green and purple dragon. Severus looked at it doubtfully “Aren’t you too old for that?”

The boy shrugged, pulling a face before he hugged the plushie in question to his body.  Apparently Potter had made his decision.  Severus slipped his mother’s card from his wallet and went to the cashpoint situated in the shop, snidely thinking that since Mum wanted to purchase the boy something, this could be it, thus technically absolving Severus of buying the boy’s good behaviour.  He further assuaged the light pricking of guilt he felt at using her scrimped and saved funds, by reminding himself that she had wanted to purchase the brat’s clothing, a much more extravagant expenditure.  Thus, Severus, being the dutiful son, had saved her bank account considerably by the purchase of said toys.

Hence, Severus came to stand in the blackened night of Scotland, loaded with scribbled art stuffed into his pockets, and all the accoutrements of travel that had been deemed necessary for one small boy, plus the bits and rags that the boy had brought with him, which Severus had forgotten he had.  He sighed as he realised that Hagrid had not been dispatched to aid him.  Not wanting to send a Patronus to communicate his need, Severus cast a lightening charm on the boy and began his trek from the station to the school gates. 

Severus was fortunate that Rubeus was still making his nightly rounds when they approached the edifice topped by two smug, bronze boars.  The half-giant shined his lantern upon them his features softening as he saw Severus’ burden.  “Sorry, Perfessor.  Dumbledore, ‘e didn’t know when to expect yeh and well, ‘e thought maybe I’d—erm—be too much fer t’poor mite at this point.  ”

 “Though like as not with t’lad slumberin’, I could’ve helped yeh, no doubt...”  Hagrid swung the gates open.  “Le’ me take ‘im, Severus.”  Rubeus regarded Snape with some amusement.  “Interestin’ togs yer wearin’, by th’way.”

Hagrid reached for the boy, easily prising his boneless form from Snape’s arms as Severus countered the spells that had transfigured his ordinary teaching robes into Muggle clothing and the lightening charm on the boy. The groundskeeper frowned as he observed, “T’boy’s a tad light for his size.  ‘e’ll need some feedin’ up, no doubt.”

“Possibly,” Severus said with a sour twist of his lips.  The boy hadn’t seemed all that light to Severus on their journey uphill through Hogsmeade.  Severus surreptitiously stretched his cramping arms, before rubbing his neck muscles.  An ache had formed in the back of his skull and down his arms during the walk, due to the jouncing weight of the boy. 

Snape trotted to catch up with Rubeus, who at that point was speaking over his shoulder, “Perfessor Dumbledore tol’ me to let you know he wants to see you when you get here. I’ll jus’ take little ‘arry up there for yeh.  ‘e says ‘e wants to meet t’lad too.”

Severus, by necessity, let Hagrid take the lead, due to the half-giant’s lengthier stride and Severus’ aching joints after the long journey.  It was well after curfew, so no students lingered in the hallways, a situation for which Snape was entirely grateful, since he had to limp to keep from crying out in pain at the ache in his hips and ankles.

With an air of unreality settling upon him, now that his goal was near, he and the Rubeus approached the Headmaster’s keep.  The gargoyle stood aside without a password being uttered, after carefully considering Hagrid’s cargo and Snape’s dour face.  Severus patted the creature’s head in gratitude as he ascended the revolving steps.  He abhorred Albus’ less than dignified passwords, and Severus suspected the Headmaster used the names of sweeties so that he might needle his youngest staff member. 

His fingers slipped to his pocket and he fingered the edge of the envelope.  He’d had six hours to think of a way to approach the subject of the boy, his resolve not yet firm, and his own lack of confidence in his abilities to raise a child properly seemingly choking off the cool, logical words he usually plied to achieve an aim.

What could Lily have been thinking?

She knew how rough he had lived.  She must have known just how inadequate his parenting skills would be due to his upbringing.  Eileen Snape’s efforts to ease his lot in life notwithstanding,   his youth had been a series of abuses, mishaps, and disasters.  His adulthood had been spent in service to the monster who had killed Lily.  Had she known that it was he who delivered the prophecy which sealed her family’s fate? More to the point, had she realised he had only cared for her safety when he begged Dumbledore for aid?  He was wholly and completely unsuited to raise a child.  He would tell Albus nothing of the letter and… what?  Let the boy be placed in another situation in which he would be exploited, or worse, treated as a fatted calf awaiting sacrifice?

He touched the letter again, the remaining wisps of magic curling around his fingers, easing the ache in his heart that hadn’t let up since Lily’s death.  

Hagrid knocked once and the door swung open.  Albus Dumbledore sat behind the imposing headmaster’s desk, still in the same robes he’d worn when Snape had left that morning.  “Ah, Severus, I’m pleased to see you made it in one piece.”

The Headmaster’s gaze swept to Potter, who still slept, plushie under his chin, cradled in Hagrid’s arms as if he were an infant.  The groundskeeper asked, “Where would you like him, Perfessor?”

Dumbledore quietly transfigured one of the chairs in front of his desk into a small, squishy bed.  “That should be adequate.”

“Tea, Severus?” Albus’ customary twinkling attention settled on his employee for a moment before Snape demurred.  After bidding Severus to take a seat, Dumbledore asked, “I trust the boy had no cause for alarm?”

“No more than one would expect being dumped on a stranger’s doorstep, Headmaster.”  Severus eased himself into the chair next to the transfigured bed.  Hagrid let himself out of the room as Severus regarded Potter for a moment before saying dryly, “Certainly when he wakes he’ll be in for a much bigger surprise, this being a magical castle and all.”

“No doubt, Severus.”  Dumbledore’s amusement faded as he said, “Now, tell me how this situation arose, my boy.”

Severus related the details, leaving out Eileen’s more colourful descriptions of Albus Dumbledore and Petunia Evans as he did.  The mention of the letter seemed to pique the Headmaster’s interest as he interrupted the narrative.  “Yes, you mentioned a letter before… did you read it, Severus?”

Now is the time to lie.  Now is the time to absolve yourself of the responsibility involved with the care of Potter’s spawn.   Deny! Deny! Deny!  Severus said in his mind, even as he nodded his head.  “I did, Sir.”

“I see,” Albus said with an expectant gleam in his eye.  Severus drew the envelope out of his breast pocket, his fingers skimming once again over Lily’s script before he reluctantly handed it to the Headmaster.  He waited, stone-faced and grim, while Albus read it.  Once the Headmaster finished the letter, he folded it and pushed it back in the envelope before he rose and traversed the room to the mullioned windows that overlooked the Quidditch pitch.

Snape remained impassive, stirring only to cover the boy with a hastily transfigured blanket when Potter’s small frame shivered under the unrelenting chill of the castle’s stone walls.  The Muggle clothes that Severus had purchased were obviously ill-suited to the higher latitudes of Hogwarts.  Finally Dumbledore said, “As I’m sure you’re aware, blood is a very powerful bonding agent, Severus.”

Severus answered his face poker stiff, “I am indeed aware, Headmaster.”

“Yet, you failed to tell me of this ritual that both you and Lily enacted.”  Albus’ tone was unreadable, cool.

“I had… forgotten the incident entirely.”  Severus felt skewered by the line of questioning.  Had he remembered, would it have made any difference in his actions?  He couldn’t say.  They had been mere children when they played at being blood siblings.  

“Perhaps…, ” Albus began and then paused, his back still to his spy.  Dumbledore sighed finally and turned to face Severus.  “Forgive me.  Something about this situation eludes me.  I don’t mean to accuse, Severus.”

Snape inclined his head sharply and then looked towards the boy before saying, “I assure you, Sir, I have no desire to relinquish my various duties for…”

“You are more than the sum of your duties, to me, my boy.” Albus returned to his seat, the lines of his face drawn as he regarded the boy.  Finally he said, “We’re obviously going to get nowhere on this conundrum this evening.  I’ll instruct the elves to make a room up for Harry…”

“Where will you put Potter that won’t further damage his trust, Albus?”  Severus nearly sneered, in spite of the very real concern he felt growing for the boy’s well-being.   Lily’s son was no doubt going to cause him no end of headaches, no matter where he was placed.

“Why, I’ll put him in your quarters, of course, Severus.”  Albus beamed at his Potions Master.  “You’ll remember that at least eight Heads of Slytherin had families, and while most of those rooms have been sealed off, elven magic can access them quite readily.”

“Oh.”  Severus’ tone was sour, but he couldn’t deny the thread of elation that wormed through him at the thought of carrying out Lily’s wishes.  She had wanted him in her child’s life, after all.  Perhaps if she had lived, they might have been able to speak to one another. Maybe she would have seen him as more than the friend who failed her.  A pernicious undertone whispered through his blood, Maybe she would have left Potter for you!

Severus stood, scooping the boy in his arms, capturing the blasted plushie under his chin again.  The Headmaster dispatched an elf to do his bidding and then stood.  “I will meet with you and Harry tomorrow morning at nine.  By that time I’ll assume you have told Harry about magic and explained the castle a bit.”

Severus concealed his grimace of displeasure behind the toy. “Of course, Sir.”

Albus smiled, his twinkling eyes gleaming madly in the firelight, “And of course we’ll need to complete a physical for the boy.  I’ll let Poppy know when to expect you both.”  He gave Severus a deceptively innocent look before saying, “I will expect you to complete a physical as well, Severus… to show the boy there is no need for fear.”

Severus damned Albus Dumbledore to the lowest level of hell.  He had been trying to get Severus to see the mediwitch for ages, ever since his pain had become obvious.  The devious old bastard had him over a proverbial barrel, and they both knew it.  Severus sneered, “No, we wouldn’t want Potter’s spawn to be upset, Albus.”

He swept from the room with his head held high, even as Albus chuckled.  For the second time that day, he slammed a door behind him. He was losing his hard-won self-control and all over a boy who still hugged a ridiculous dragon plushie.

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?”

“I do apologise, Professor,” Amelia Bones said into the silence that followed Harry’s statement.  She shot Albus an accusing glare as she continued, “I was led to believe that Albus had told you about my… particular expertise in the area of blood magic as it pertains to wards.  If you will, please take a seat and I will attempt to explain exactly why I was brought here and what I wish to do.”

Madam Bones made a show of holstering her wand, and took one of the large, squishy seats that Albus preferred, which sat in front of the banked fire.  When Severus remained standing, she raised her hand, palm up, in a placating gesture.  “Please, Professor.” 

Magic still swirled impatiently in him, seeking an outlet. He ran a shaking hand over his face, trying to collect himself and to contain the pain that still clouded his judgment.  Madam Bones, obviously noticing his distress, said kindly, “Professor, please indulge the boy.  A little magic wouldn’t go amiss, I believe.”

Severus gave a curt nod and without preamble, cast Scourgify.  Papers and feathers swirled in the air before floating to the Headmaster’s desk in a not quite neat pile and his magic calmed enough to allow Severus to begin reconstructing his Occlumency shields.  He sank bonelessly into the chair as his nervous energy gave out.

Harry, who had held onto the ridiculous feather from the Phoenix, softly exclaimed, “Brilliant!”

Severus shot the boy a repressive glance, and then directed his attention to Albus.  The man seemed extremely pleased with himself, considering that his omission to Severus had been noted by none other than the Head of the Auror Corps.  Dumbledore met Snape’s gaze, becoming suddenly sober as he realised his triumph had been noticed by his spy.  With Severus’ attention still directed at Albus, Snape said, “I do apologise for my reaction, Madam, you can understand, I hope, from whence my confusion came.”

“Of course,” she said rising from her seat and began pacing in front of the fire, her body causing the light from the fireplace to fluctuate and her shadow to grow bigger and smaller in a sickening way.  Severus closed his eyes as she spoke, “Professor, I studied blood magicks as used in the Americas and Asia as my thesis project.  Albus brought me here to not only ensure that Mrs Potter’s manipulation of your blood oath was, in fact, effective, but also to quell any rumours that might occur due to your past affiliations.  As you know, young Potter here has a godfather.  Normally, that situation wouldn’t warrant my involvement in the matter, but since the godfather in question is incarcerated in Azkaban as a Death Eater, and since Albus assures me the boy is…important… if You Know Who returns, it is imperative that we establish your claim without any question.   I have no intention, Professor, of using any of this information against you in any way.”

She stopped close enough to Severus that he smelled her dusty, floral-scented fragrance.  When he opened his eyes she said, “If you will allow me, I will cast a series of diagnostic spells that will give me the information I need, and you and Mr Potter can be on your way.” She slid her wand back into her palm.  “I do believe you said you both had an appointment later this afternoon…”

Severus considered her statement for a moment.  If her intent were truly what she stated, and since his own traitorous mouth had ensured he would not be shot of Potter anytime in the near future, he saw no reason not to allow her access.  He finally said, “Very well.  Just get it over with quickly.”

Madam Bones let out a pent-up breath before moving to stand before him.  “If you would, Professor and Mr Potter, remain completely still whilst I cast these spells.  They will connect your magic, young Harry’s magic, and any blood magicks enacted upon both of you to a particular colour of the spectrum.”

She drew a deep breath and then began the first of several incantations.  White light washed over him and Severus saw it coalesce around him.  After a second spell, a greenish-black miasma formed over Severus’ left arm where the Dark Mark had been cast.  A third, azure light came after the third spell casting.  Tendrils of the blue light covered Severus and then it seemed to seek out the boy.   A strong filament of pure blue light appeared to bind their energies together.  Madam Bones, whose eyes had shut during the last spell, opened them, wand still held aloft.  After moments of observation she said, “That’s odd.  Do you see this Albus?”

The Headmaster’s troubled gaze followed where she was pointing, the same ugly green-black gash that had shown over Severus’ Dark Mark had formed over Potter’s scar.  It pulsated in its own rhythm, seemingly separate from the harmony of both Severus’ and the boy’s magic.  The Headmaster finally answered, “I don’t believe I have ever seen anything quite like it in one who wasn’t Marked...”

“I think I can begin to see why you believe He might be not quite as dead as he seems.”  Madam Bones said as she leaned closer to Potter.  The boy began to squirm before obviously remembering he was to remain motionless and so he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, apparently to still himself. After observing the magic for some moments, Madam Bones then turned her intense gaze to Severus.  “In spite of this anomaly, Professor, I will, if asked, report that your claim on the boy is legitimate, and that you have the necessary wards in place to protect him more than adequately.  Your magic is joined with his as it should be.  As your bond grows stronger, the wards will become nearly unbreakable.  Mrs Potter truly did craft a thing of great beauty when she utilised the blood bond from your childish whims.”

The Auror cancelled the spell with a small flourish of her wand and a quiet Finite.  Severus stiffly inclined his head towards the Headmaster.  “If that is all, Headmaster, I think Mr Potter might be in need of a small break before we go to the infirmary.”

“Yes, my boy,” Albus said absently, his attention obviously focused inward for the moment. “Madam Pomfrey is expecting you both soon.  We will meet later to discuss the particulars of settling Mr Potter into his new life… and your duties as well.” 

As soon as Severus stood, Potter rose also, taking his hand as if it were the most natural thing to do.  It took Severus aback to realise that he was no longer alone, and would not be solitary for some time.  He wondered fleetingly of what the boy’s presence would do to his greater role as spy, if the Dark Lord did, in fact, return.  He dismissed the thought before it fully formed, sure that it was one of the many subjects to which Albus had alluded when he had dismissed them. 

Severus and Harry made their way through the halls with little incident.  If any student thought it odd that the feared Potions Master would have a small child attached to his hand, they did not give voice to their concerns for the child’s welfare.  He wasn’t well-liked outside of Slytherin and for good reason. He did not foster friendly camaraderie with the students under his care, simply because it was impractical.  A friend could not berate a student for nearly blowing up a classroom quite as well as a hated professor could.  Not that he would actually consider befriending most of the dunderheads that passed through his class.  As a result, his demeanour did much to ensure that his potions classes had very few injuries and no deaths since he had taken over, with the added bonus that he and Potter could make it to their dungeon abode with little fuss and no interference.  

The only pause they had was when another Weasley, the oldest this time, smiled and waved at the little boy.  Potter responded by crowding his little body closer to Severus, nearly making both of them trip.  Snape said, more sharply than was strictly needed, “I’m sure you have better things to do than to accost small children in the hallways, Mr Weasley.  No doubt you haven’t even started on your Potions essay.  It is due at the end of next week, as I recall.”

The Gryffindor, to his credit, merely smiled cheekily and went on his way, heading in the direction of the Library.  Severus thought he knew his students too well sometimes. 

Potter waited by the door as Severus whispered the password to his quarters.  He supposed he would have to set his wards to admit the boy without a password.  He was well aware that young children didn’t have the mental capacity to remember large amounts of information.  There were several wards that Severus could choose from that would be appropriate to admit a small child whilst keeping the world at large at bay.  He would also have to ensure the wards were only one way.  He would not have Potter running amok at all hours, especially not after the boy’s identity was revealed to the student body.  As ridiculous as it seemed, the small boy who still clutched Fawkes’ feather as if it were a talisman or good omen, was still hated in some corners of the wizarding world, and Severus knew not all the hatred emanated from Slytherins.

There was also the small matter of Potter’s schooling.  Severus knew he would not be able to give the boy the attention he deserved in his lessons.  Since most wizarding families hired tutors or schooled their children themselves, and the small Hogsmeade School was out of the question for security reasons, another alternative would have to be arranged.  He supposed he would have to rely on his mother to take the boy to the primary school in Cokeworth, which would be less of a danger to the boy since most of Snape’s former brethren would never expect Severus to trust Muggles with the boy’s education.  The boy would have to Floo back and forth between Hogwarts and Spinner’s End. It would be a hardship on them all, but education was too vital an area of development to ignore

He would send an owl to his mother to get her input.  He would also send some funds and the child’s clothing size so she might purchase the necessary uniform and such so the boy would be able to attend school as soon as Severus was able to establish guardianship of the boy in the Muggle world.  He would have to retain some sort of legal representative, one who dealt in both Muggle and Wizarding law.  Perhaps Lucius would be able to recommend someone.  Severus resolved to fire call him this evening, whilst of course, omitting the reason for his need, when he asked Malfoy.

“Sir?” the boy asked, effectively slicing through Snape’s thoughts with his childish lisp. 

Severus stopped his absent pacing, fixing, what he hoped was a benevolent expression on his harsh features. “Yes, Mr Potter?”

The boy took a small step back, both lips sucked into his mouth, his face tilted down.  He clasped his hands in front of him, fingers tangled together before asking, “I was wondering… I mean… when do I have to go home?”

Noting the boy’s choice of words, Severus considered his options.  The bald truth, while it would be expedient, might not yield the calmest of scenes, and indeed, might cause more harm than good.  Snape motioned the boy to sit on the same sofa he had occupied that morning.  The boy complied, his legs sticking off the rough horsehair surface, looking at Severus owlishly.  Snape sat in the same chair he had occupied that morning, his posture straight. He began, “Mr Potter…”

“Why do you call me that?” the boy asked, sucking his bottom lip in, worrying it with his little white teeth.  “I mean… it’s my name, but… well, no one ever calls me that.”

“Very well then, Harry…”  Severus paused for effect.

“Aunt Petunia calls me Worthless Freak, but only at home.  When we’re out, she says my name just like you said it, like it tastes bad in her mouth,”   Potter added.  “Uncle Vernon just calls me Boy sometimes, but mostly he just sla-- never mind.”  The boy clamped his lips shut, alarm crossing his features as he cut the supply of information off.  Severus would get to the bottom of just what Lily’s beastly family had done to her son. 

“What did your Uncle…Vernon, was it?  What did he do, Harry, that caused you to quit speaking so suddenly?” Severus felt his patience, always thin, fraying even more under the onslaught of useless information.

The boy shrugged.  “Nothing, really.  They just say… I’m not to talk about what goes on at their house, or I’ll be sent into Care with all the other horrid, freakish children that tell lies on their families.”

Severus digested this for a moment before saying, “Harry, how would you feel about never having to return to them again?”

The boy’s face crumpled and sudden tears threatened to spill from his bright eyes.  “Oh.  But---but I didn’t say anything!  I don’t want to be sent away.  Please, Mister… Sev’rus… don’t let them get rid of me!  Care is for bad little kids and I’ve been good, I promise I have!”

As much as it galled Severus to utter, he reassured the boy, “You have acted in an exemplary manner, Mr…Harry, under the most trying of conditions.”

Potter remained dejected, “I’m sorry, Sir, I guess… I am ex-expellery.  I’ll try harder, though, I really, really will.”

“Pot-- Harry,” The boy sniffled loudly before he ran his pullover’s sleeve under his nose.  Severus pulled a handkerchief out of his robes, and brandished it under Potter’s nose.  “Don’t do that.”

Potter shot a look up to Severus, and the Potions Master made note of the glittering tracks of tears coursing down the boy’s face.  He settled stiffly beside Potter on the couch, unsure exactly how to proceed.  His own personal history had few examples to show him how to comfort anyone, much less such a small creature who was obviously in distress.   Severus’ own mother had abandoned giving him false hope of the gentleness of life when he was fairly young.  Severus settled for placing a wooden-feeling hand on the boy’s shoulder.  “Harry, the word is ‘exemplary’ and it means you’ve done… very well… given the situation that Pet—in which your aunt placed you.”

“Yeah but…,” Potter said as he slid out from under Severus’ hand.  “I know I can be horrid.  Sometimes when… I get upset or scared… things happen.”

“What sorts of things?”

“Well,” Potter licked his lips, obviously deliberating whether to trust Severus or not. He finally said, “The reason Uncle Vernon told Aunt Petunia to get rid of me was that I got in trouble at school. I-I didn’t mean to… It’s just that Dudley and Piers were Harry Hunting and I knew I’d get clobbered for sure if they caught me… erm… cos I did better on the spelling test than Dudley did, and well… somehow I ended up on the roof of the school.  I mean one minute I was running and the next, I felt this twisty thing in my tummy and head… and … anyway, I was just up there.  It was brilliant, really.”

Good Lord in Heaven!  The boy had Apparated at such a young age, Severus thought as he schooled his features to calm acceptance.  It would do neither of them any good if the boy saw just how very impressed Severus was at the story.  He finally said, “That, young Potter, is what we wizards call accidental magic.”

“I’m not a wizard.” The boy picked up the garish feather which he had put aside during his narrative.  “Am I?”

“I thought you understood this morning, when I told you how your mother and father were wizards, that you understood you were one also.”  Severus attempted a mock teasing tone, one that fell flat as the boy looked away, his shoulders once again hunching over, his figure shrinking. 

“Okay,” Potter finally said, before adding, “Can I have a drink of water, Mr… Sev’rus?”

“You may. Hold out your hands,”  Severus commanded as he summoned a small tumbler from his largely unused bar, a gift from Lucius on the first anniversary of his employment at Hogwarts.  He cast Augamenti as the heavy glass plunked firmly into the boy’s small hands.  Harry barely held onto the crystal, but managed to after flash of naked terror crossed his features.  After the boy had schooled his expression to one of blank calm, Severus added, “And, P—Harry, my name is simply Severus.”

The boy giggled at little frantically at that, saying, “That’s a silly name, like Simple Simon, only it’s Simply Severus!”

Severus’ ire rose until he remembered making similar juvenile remarks before his own humour had been quashed by grinding poverty and his father’s brutal temper.  He finally answered, “And you are a silly boy.  Now, we’ll have a small lunch before we go to our second meeting of the morning.  You barely ate breakfast, as I remember.”

As Severus rose to summon Merry he thought he heard the boy mutter, “Two meals in one day!”

&*&*&

They finished eating, and at Severus’ command, Potter procured a diversionary toy from his room, the ridiculous dragon which he had apparently dubbed Simon after their talk before lunch.  

The walk to the infirmary was punctuated by the boy’s obvious curiosity and awe at the nearly sentient portraits and other commonplace wizarding artefacts which littered the hallways.  More students were about and had obviously caught wind of the boy that was attached to their dour Potions Master.  Severus heard several groups of girls (Hufflepuffs!) coo and giggle as the two passed. Only one group (his own upper year Slytherins, for Merlin’s sake!) ventured more.  Vera Montalvo, a dusky-skinned half-blood of Spanish descent, waved at Harry and offered, “If you ever need any help with your cute little boy, Professor, you can count on me.”

That proclamation was uttered with a becoming blush, an emphasis of her décolletage with a slender hand, and a disturbing fluttering of lashes that left Severus at once confused and irritated.  He resolved then and there to never have need of the girl’s offered services. “Is there something wrong with your eyes, Miss Montalvo?  You seem to be blinking entirely too much.  Perhaps a trip to the infirmary is in order, or perhaps the library, seeing that your Transfiguration essay is due tomorrow and I have it on good authority that you haven’t even started it yet.”

The girls behind her pushed and giggled as the Seventh year’s heightened colour mottled and she shot him a wounded look.  She hurried off, to the derision of her schoolmates, who remained long enough for Severus to raise his eyebrow and give a downward quirk of his lips.  Once the warning was given, he knew that he had taught them well enough to hurry after their sister in arm; else they would risk detention and docking of points. 

The rest of their journey was uneventful. 

When they reached Poppy’ demesne, Harry asked, “Sev’rus, what are we going to do here?  More wizard stuff?”

Severus opened the double doors with a flick of his wand, a trick that he knew from experience that would produce awe in the young and uninitiated, and smirked as the boy dutifully exclaimed, “Cool!”

“We are here to see Madam Pomfrey, the school mediwitch, who will be giving both of us,” Damn Albus Dumbledore! “Medical exams.”

Potter stopped, digging in his heels against the polished, hardwood floors.  “No!  Aunt Petunia… she says that I’m not to go to the doctor! She says… I’m a freak and they’ll take me away and do all sorts of painful stuff to me like they did on that one ET thing in that film!”

Severus halted, leaning down in front of Potter.  He’d had enough of the lies and bullying of Petunia Evans for one day.  “Look around, Mr Potter.”

The boy, even in his state of panic, looked around owlishly.  Severus continued, “That vile woman, your aunt, is not present, is she?”

“No, sir.”  The boy’s breath hitched as he answered.

“She did, in fact, leave you on my mother’s doorstep with little care about how you would be received, did she not?” Potter nodded again with a little less conviction.  “Therefore, I am now your guardian, and I can assure you that at no point will I ever allow anyone to harm you, ET or no ET.  Do you understand me?”

The words knocked the edge of the boy’s panic, and as he finally gave another gulping sough of breath.  “You… you mean you’re going to keep me?”

“I suppose so, since your mother saw me fit enough to do so, even after…” Severus cut off that painful train of thought before he could voice it. “Yes, and furthermore, I do believe I am obliged to, since you won’t relinquish my hand from your grip.”

“Wha…,” the boy began, then as Severus shook their joined hands slightly, Potter shot him a cheeky grin and said, “Oh, sorry, Sir.”

“It’s no imposition, Harry.  Now come along so that we might get this over with.  I have a great deal of business to attend after we leave here.”

Potter willingly followed him.

Poppy greeted them from her office, her starched white apron gleaming in the lights falling through the mullioned windows as she bustled out into the infirmary.  “Hello, young man, and you too, Mr Potter.”

Severus battled the impulse to roll his eyes heavenward as she took his arm, leading him toward an area of the room cordoned off by clean white curtains on a metal framework.   “I see the Headmaster has finally found a way to get you into my clutches.”

Potter stuck closely to Severus’ side as the nurse began her bustling, bidding them to sit on separate exam tables. “Now, Harry, I’m going to be doing some magic around you to get a good idea of your general health.  It won’t hurt, I promise.”

Harry shot the mediwitch a dark look, his brows drawn down fiercely. He remained next to Severus’ table.  “They said that when I got my jabs for school.”

“Well, I can see you’re a natural sceptic,” she smiled at the boy, even as she manouevered Severus onto the closest exam table.  “So, what I will do is cast the tests on Severus so you can see he’s not in any discomfort, and then I will do the same to you.  Will that be alright with you?”

The boy clutched his ridiculous plushie closer, but gave a jerky nod of assent.  Poppy turned her full attention on Severus, saying sotto voce, “Don’t pull your usual nonsense, Severus.  You have an example to set with little Harry here.”

Severus bit his tongue to keep from giving her a blast of the vituperation she so richly deserved.  He finally said through gritted teeth, “Yes, Madam.  I am well aware of my role in this little theatre you and Albus managed me into.”

“Good.”  She patted his shoulder then quickly gave him a slight shove.  “Lie down and get comfortable.” 

She pulled a quill and a roll of parchment out of her voluminous apron pocket, and set them on the bedside table.  Once everything was arranged, she cast the spell, a soft white light issued from her wand and covered her patient’s body,  “Now, Harry, the quill there will write down what the spell ‘sees’.”  She turned to the boy, admonishing Severus with a tart, “Just relax, Severus. It’s only a little diagnostic spell.”

Severus was distressed to note that the spell had changed colours over his hands and the quill’s scratching picked up speed as the spell did its work.  He tried to close his eyes, but the tension in him rose.  Suddenly he felt something soft against his hand.  He craned his neck to see the blasted plushie had been placed against it.  The boy’s wide green gaze met Severus’, and the boy said, “Simon says you might need him more than I do.  Cos you look really scared, Sev’rus.”

Poppy covered a snort of amusement with a cough. “I think you’re right, Harry.  Severus is very afraid of me.  Isn’t that the oddest thing you’ve ever heard?”

The boy smiled shyly back at her and nodded.  Poppy motioned him over to the other exam table and settled him onto it with the ease of experience.  She laid out her tools and cast the same spell.  “Now all we have to do is wait, you two.  I’ll be back in ten minutes to check on you both.”

&*&*&

The boy’s spell finished first and Severus was heartened to realise that, while he had obviously been neglected and emotionally abused, he was relatively healthy.  He was slightly myopic and had a good deal of astigmatism, but those problems could be dealt with relatively easily.  Potter did show evidence of a few past injuries that were troubling but the boy refused to speak about how they had happened, beyond, “I was clumsy.”

Poppy told the boy, “Well, now that you’re all done, perhaps you would like to use those colours and that paper I have set out for you over there.”

She pointed to an area outside the curtains and watched as Harry sat down to draw, his tongue between his teeth.  She turned to Severus, her expression as he could remember it being since the war.   She sat on the table as she looked over his results.  Once done, she asked, “How long have you been dosing yourself with willow bark?”

Severus considered remaining mute, but answered, “A few months, and perhaps as long as a year.”

“Describe you pain.”  She ordered, shuffling the parchment to a new section and rolling the top as she went.   “Is it sharp, dull, grinding, stabbing? Do you ever feel feverish around your joints?”

“Poppy…”

Pomfrey said just as acerbically, “Severus…  just tell me.”

“My pain, most days is manageable, and yes, sometimes my joints are hot to the touch, especially in my hands and knees.”

Poppy sighed heavily, “How often were you tortured by that madman, Severus?”

He bristled.  “That is beyond the scope of this exam, as you damn well know, Poppy.   I refuse to talk about that time.”

“How often, Severus?”  She placed her hand over his and patted it.  “You know this information will go no further.”

“Often enough.” 

“Severus…” she warned.

Snape gritted his teeth, loathing how he felt when he had to talk about that time.  “Once or twice a week from the time I was nineteen to just before the war ended.”

Poppy looked as if she might cry, her placid professionalism cracking only briefly before she mastered herself.  “Well, dear, there’s no easy way to tell you this, and you have never been one for sugar-coating, so I suppose I’ll just blurt it out.   You have a particularly aggressive case of rheumatoid arthritis that seems to be made worse by the severe nerve damage from whatever curses that mad bastard you followed sent your way.  There’s really nothing I can do for it but give you stronger pain medication.”

She rose, once again assuming her calm demeanour.  “Eventually, you’ll need assistance for your day to day tasks, but for now, I’m going to prescribe laudanum for you, and I will cast a monitoring spell to ensure you’ve taken it, young man.  There’s no sense in you suffering needlessly, especially now that you’ve got a little boy who depends on you.”

She strode to the curtain, her back to him before she said, “I’m sorry, Severus.  I wish I had better news for you.”

It was only after she left that he realised he still had the damned plushie, and that he held it clutched to his chest.

“I told you not to do that, Severus!”  Eileen called querulously from the kitchen as Severus hefted the threadbare carpet over his shoulder.  He meant to beat it outside to clean the air for the boy.

Harry, Severus reminded himself forcefully.  That was what the child wanted to be called.  Harry.

Potter’s son watched his guardian from the chair in the kitchen where he had his tea after school most days.  “I can get the door for you, Sev’rus.”

“Do that.”  Severus grunted as he worked hard not to sneer at the urchin.  It was because of this boy that Severus was now cleaning the ancient, wool carpet that had definitely seen better days, years ago.  It was greying, the wool that it was made of stank of misery and cigarette smoke, and for some reason it also smelled faintly of cat urine.  The Snapes had never owned a cat, much less allowed one in the house.

He had cast a lightening charm on the carpet, but only a weak one. It would not do, as his mother reminded him constantly, to have the neighbours see him hefting a largish rug about as if it weighed nothing. And by the same token, he could not cleanse the carpet with magic.  He had tried that last week with little effect on the actual dust that seemed to fill the very space between the molecules of ancient wool. The boy had developed allergies, no doubt from his years spent at his aunt’s house in the scant space she provided him.  An under the stairs cupboard, for Merlin’s sake! 

Potter sneezed twice as he went to the door and started to wipe his nose with his sleeve, but arrested the motion at Severus’ raised eyebrow.  Instead, Harry fished a nearly unrecognizable tissue out of his dungarees and swiped at his nose before he opened the door with a bang.  He sneezed again as Severus passed him.

It galled Severus that he’d had to take the boy outside the wizarding world and into the labyrinthine bowels of the NHS to obtain relief from such a common ailment as allergies.  But Potter, of course, could not have the standard wizard’s sicknesses.  No, the child had to be slightly asthmatic, a fairly rare disease in the magical world, and was also allergic to the main component of the standard allergy potions.

Not that Severus was any better with his resistance to the opiates that helped the average wizard defeat pain.  The standard dose of laudanum barely had an effect on his symptoms, yet when he increased the dosage he was completely incapacitated.  His mother had the same problem, she had said with misplaced pride.  Drug resistance was a Prince family trait apparently.  

“Do you need your… inhaler…Harry?”  Severus asked as he shot the boy a sharp look, a distasteful expression on his face as he wrapped his tongue around the very Muggle word. 

Harry answered clearly, “No, Sir.”

“Take a deep breath.”  Severus commanded, even as the weight of the carpet dragged at his shoulder, creating a deep ache in his back and arms.  Harry complied, and Severus noted with some relief that there was no wheeze in the process.  Severus said, “Now, complete the remainder of your schoolwork so that I can go over it when I’ve finished.  And, remember to stay clean.  We have an appointment at the oculists this afternoon.”

The boy slouched and all but flung his body into the vinyl-upholstered kitchen chair that was honestly more tape than vinyl at this point in its sad life.  “Yessir.”

After reaching his goal, Severus struggled with the bulky carpet to get it over the rocky terrain under the clothesline that had been up since he was a child.  His mother came to the back door in her dressing gown, gold-toned genie slippers, and curlers in her lank hair apparently to watch him. “I told you not to bother with that, Severus.  I am perfectly capable of cleaning that rug myself.”

Severus took a deep breath through his nose and counted to ten before he answered, “No, mother, you are not, otherwise you would have done this job years ago.  I wouldn’t have to do this any way if you would just let me buy you a new one.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, boyo.” Eileen huffed as she shivered in the winter air.

“Mother…,” Severus began, with an impatient tone.  He clamped his mouth shut as several retorts came to mind, none of which would make his lot any easier with her today.  He finally said, “It’s cold. Shouldn’t you set a good example for the boy?”

She remained shivering in the winter air, giving him the same glare that he had adopted and used to send students scattering.  It didn’t work on him anymore, and she knew it.  Severus added, “I’ll just be few moments, Mum.”

“Ooh, there’s that nosey old biddy, Margie Talkington, peeking out of her fancy lace curtains again!”  Eileen observed as she began furiously pulling the curlers out of her hair and shoving them into the terry pockets of her dressing gown.  “Do be careful not to use,” she modulated her tone to a whisper to spell, “m-a-g-i-c.”

“I’m sure Madam Talkington knows how to spell,” Severus said, beginning to breathe heavily as he rolled out the rug on the ground in preparation to heave it over the line. “And as you know, I am well aware of the Ministry restrictions, Mother, having been a wizard for the last twenty-eight years.”

“You’ve always had a smart mouth, Severus.  Don’t be long out here. I worry about you, son. You’re not well,” she said before she stepped back into the kitchen, shutting the door with an audible click of the latch.  

Severus hated that he was unwell.  He hated more that he would be unable to fulfil his obligations to Dumbledore if (when!) the Dark Lord returned.  Albus had been visibly disappointed to hear Poppy’s diagnosis and Severus had felt guilt for that as well as a sharp stab of resentment.  Albus, of course, had assured his Potions Master cum spy that he was still useful, just in a different capacity.  He had even gone so far as to mention that his greater duty was to the boy, but Severus still felt that he was less than useless to the Headmaster, and that made him more than a little afraid that his position in the world might be in jeopardy.  He might hate teaching most days, but he was still afforded a good deal of respect because he held that position.

Severus was finally able to heft the rug over the rickety clothesline and begin beating it with a ratty besom that his mother had kept for such purposes.  Sweat poured from his hairline, and he grimaced because he knew it would make his already greasy hair appear greasier.  It would also be a perfect magnet for the dust that was flying as he cleaned the rug.  He would have to shower before he did anything else, cutting into his already limited time.  He had hoped to spend some time in the Slug and Jiggers because his personal potions stores needed replenishing.

Within a few moments his joints felt as if they were on fire.  He gritted his teeth and continued.  

A little over a month and a half ago, Harry’s loving aunt had dumped the boy off at Spinner’s end.  Lucius had provided the name of a solicitor that had the necessary influence to move the Muggle red-tape for Severus to assume guardianship of Harry. It had surprised Severus more than a bit that Lucius had shown no interest in why Severus needed the solicitor.   Lucius had seemed strangely preoccupied and dismissive of Severus’ request, but had come through for him in the end.  It had taken two weeks, and several spells that just skirted the law, for Severus to obtain the papers needed to rightfully care for the boy in the Muggle world.

In the meantime, Severus had been forced to tutor Potter in his free periods and the evenings.  Both of them had been on edge during the process, Severus because he knew his usual acerbic manner would not do with this child, and the boy because he had been trained not to excel in any manner, rather letting his piggish cousin set the family academic records (and Severus knew the boy to be a pig just by the size of the clothes handed down to Harry.)  It was with great relief to both of them when the boy had finally been enrolled in the Cokeworth primary school for the last three weeks.  In that time Severus had shuttled Harry back and forth between his mother’s house and Hogwarts.  The boy would stay at Spinner’s End until Severus’ duties were over for the day, including his dinner in the Great Hall.  Severus had insisted that the boy’s exposure to the student body needed to wait so that the news of the presence of the Boy Who Lived in a former Death Eater’s household might be properly timed.  Even Severus could see that the boy’s past had a deleterious effect on his development.  The last thing Potter needed at this point was a swarm of reporters and a public outcry against his guardian, and Severus felt obligated to give Lily’s son the best possible home life that he could.

The thought of an outcry against his guardianship soured Severus’ already dark mood, and so he decided to practice Occlusion instead of thinking over-much.  He still had to get through the rest of his trying day with mother and Potter.  It would be best if he did so in a marginally sanguine mood rather than his saturnine norm.

&*&*&

Severus had failed to account for the Saturday crowds in Diagon Alley.

Eileen walked beside Snape, her hand bag in the crook of her arm, an outdated pillbox hat perched on the top of her head, the black decorative netting on it waving raggedly in the breeze.  She wore her best coat, a drab burnt orange creation from the same era as the hat, the pink hem of a knit Chanel suit knock-off from the local Tesco’s hanging stiffly against her opaque black hose.  Her shoes were obviously from some Muggle jumble sale, scuffed and cracked with another person’s wear pattern.  Severus could tell they were uncomfortable, but knew not to suggest any number of solutions to her.  His mother was, and always would be an extremely proud woman. 

Potter, who wore his new, square, tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles, clung to Severus’ hand as he walked, exaggeratedly stepping over real and imagined impediments.  The oculist had said the boy would have a tendency to overcompensate for a few days until his eyes adjusted to his new glasses, due to his astigmatism.  The boy also wore the damned multi-coloured knit cap that he had worn that fateful first day of Severus’ acquaintance, simply because Potter refused to throw the blasted thing away. 

Apparently it had been the first item of clothing Potter had ever picked for himself, and he took unholy pride in the monstrous bit of knit wool. Severus hadn’t the heart to get rid of it after the boy’s hesitant explanation.  As ugly as the thing was, it did cover Potter’s distinctive scar, thus making it unnecessary to glamour the child. 

They had only two more stops before Severus could return to Hogwarts, oversee a detention, mark a week’s worth of essays, and then fall into bed, only to begin the process all over again on Monday. 

He was tired, he was in pain, and most days it took all his strength to care for himself and the boy.   Today had proven even more trying, given that his mother needed help that was beyond his ability to give.  He would hire someone to do the odd jobs she needed completed, but she had already nixed that possibility with an imperious “We Princes do for ourselves, Sunny Jim.”

They made their way to Madam Malkin’s, where Harry was outfitted in an extensive wardrobe, from his small clothes to a Muggle-style woollen coat.  He had also asked, albeit reticently, for a child-sized version of the Hogwarts uniform, with the Hogwart’s crest.  The boy had hesitantly requested the costume so that he might be able to blend in when he was finally allowed to join the staff at dinner.  As Harry was fitted, Severus noted his mother fingering some of the finer woollen fabrics that lay about the shop. She seemed to linger over the navy blue.  It had been years since she had proper robes, and Yule was coming... 

“Mum, why don’t you and Harry head to the Leaky Cauldron, whilst I finish my errands.”  Severus expected his mother to put up more of a fight, but nodded as she absently patted the fabric one last time.

“Don’t be long, Son.”  She put out her hand for Harry to take, and the boy joined her after a swift unreadable look to Severus. “I’ll order your usual roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.”

Severus made short work of obtaining the robes for his mother as Madam Malkin had assure him that a sizing spell would do the work in the absence of exact measurements.  He paid for the purchase, asking that it be delivered to Hogwarts before Yule, and then went to the potioneer’s shop.  He made his purchases at Slug and Jiggers, including a small potion’s kit for Potter, complete with non-volatile ingredients and a children’s potions book. He shrank and pocketed his purchases, glad that his Yule shopping was over for another year.  Albus’ socks had been procured during Severus’ stay in Oslo at the International Potioneer’s Convention, Filch’s customary flask would come from the Hog’s Head, Poppy’s supply of skin balm would be finished next week, and the rest of the staff would get the obligatory card and money.

&*&*&

“Eat your peas, boyo, you want to grow up big and strong like Severus, don’t you?”  Eileen admonished even as she covered her own half-eaten greens with her discarded serviette. 

“I hate peas.”  Potter said in a small, disgusted voice.  He tugged his hair over his scar, having already been the focus of several pointed stares by some of the patrons of the establishment.  Tom, the proprietor, had been apprised of the situation by Albus so that their party might enjoy some anonymity on such a busy day.

Severus hated peas himself, and wondered why his mother continued to order those grey-green abominations, but it would not do for him to support insubordination, so he said nothing as he manfully wrestled with his own portion. 

“If you don’t eat your peas, there will be no afters, young man.”  Eileen folded her hands over her pocket book. “Surely you want to try an ice at Fortescue’s”

“I wasn’t aware we had made such plans, Mother.”  Severus took another forkful of the over-cooked peas and manfully swallowed them.

Eileen shot him a quelling look.  “I promised Harry when you were showering.”

The boy said, “Yeah, Sev’rus.  Grandma E said I could because I told her… erm, nothing.”

The boy made a masterful effort to put as many of the peas on his fork as possible, spilling more than half before they actually came to his mouth.  He huffed and began the process again, his frustration evident in the way he blew his fringe from his sweating forehead.

“Severus Snape, as I live and breathe!” Rita Skeeter’s fingernails on slate drawl broke the relative calm of the moment.  She slid into the seat next to Eileen, her Quick Quote quill already transcribing. “And who is this?”

The reporter’s predatory gaze shifted between Eileen, who appeared to puff up like startled partridge, and a shrinking Potter.  Severus scowled.  “Rita, my mother, Eileen Snape, and my… ward, Harry.”

Skeeter’s hand went theatrically to her bosom, showing her perfectly manicured acid pink nails against her impressively displayed décolletage.  “Harry is such an uncommon wizarding name… surely he’s not…”  Skeeter leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “The Boy Who Lived, Severus?”

Her free hand shot out and lifted the boy’s fringe, exposing his scar.  The boy exclaimed, “Hey!”

“Why it is!”  Skeeter leaned across the table, ruffling the boy’s hair up as she pulled him closer by his fringe.  “Now what could possess a man with your… past affiliations… to take in the very boy who ruined your leader’s plans?  Oh, but that’s right, I do seem to remember something about Albus Dumbledore believing you to be his spy.”

Harry squirmed against the intrusive reporter’s hold, tears coming quickly to his eyes as she pulled him closer to her.  “You’re hurting me!”

Eileen rose from her seat.  “Get your hands off my grandson, you daft cow!” 

Severus watched in fascinated dread as his mother brought her hand down on the reporter’s back and gave a small push. A blinding flash occurred as she did, and Skeeter was sent across the wooden planks of the pub.  She ended up in a heap on the floor, the chair she had occupied now splintered under her.   Several patrons laughed at the scene while others rushed to the reporter’s aid.

Once Skeeter regained her feet, she said, “You all saw it! I was accosted by a former Death Eater and his mother!  The public needs to know what’s happened to our poor little national hero!  Forced to live with a Death Eater and an obvious blood supremacist!  You all saw what she did to me, didn’t you?”

Eileen remained standing, holding her hand out and staring at it as if it were not part of her own body.  Severus threw some coins on the table, gathered Harry to him as he pulled on his mother’s arm.  “We must leave, now, Mother.”

He hefted Harry up onto his hip and dragged Eileen behind him.  Tom rushed forward, helping them in their escape to the Floo as he attempted to mollify the still expostulating Skeeter.  Severus gave him a slight nod to him as they passed.  He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and said as softly as he could, “Number Thirty-eight, Spinner’s End.”

Severus stumbled out of the way of his mother who landed with a sharp crack as she fell to her knees.  “I-I’m so sorry, Severus… I didn’t know I could still do magic… what have I done to you both?”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 

Severus eased Harry off his hip, “Go play quietly abovestairs.  We’ll be leaving shortly, so do not make a mess.”

Harry looked as if he might join Eileen in a ridiculous display of emotion as he bit his lip and swayed slightly.  Severus watched the boy’s indecision for only a few moments before he said, “Now, Potter.”

The boy, still chewing on his bottom lip, darted forward and gave Eileen a fierce hug before he ran out of the room.  Severus did not miss the loud sniffle that sounded in the hallway, nor did he fail to notice that the boy’s heavy footsteps went no further than two or three stairs before they stopped.

“Mum, you’ve had a shock, “ Severus began as he knelt and gathered his mother’s bird-like frame into his arms uncomfortably. “You’ve done nothing that I didn’t want to do to her myself…”

Her shoulder’s shook as he ran his hand over the back of her head, catching a rough nail in the bedraggled net that dangled from the hat she wore.  “Shh… Mum, Albus will handle Skeeter and life will go on.”

She finally lifted her face from her hands, a watery smile wreathed her face as she said, “I just realised that I did magic, Severus!  I’m a witch again.”

“You always were, Mother.”  Severus huffed as he patted her back awkwardly.  “I suppose this means you’ll need to purchase a wand again.”

 “No need.  Your father didn’t destroy my real wand.”  She laughed aloud, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in years.  “What he broke was the switch he used to use on your backside.”

“You were always canny, Mum.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Eileen said.  “Now go see to that boy of yours.  You’ve upset him enough for one day.”

&*&*&

Severus’ duties were done for the day, the boy was in the bath, and he was exhausted. 

They had made it to Hogwarts later than Snape had wanted, after Severus and his mother discussed what was to be done about the situation in which they found themselves.  They had both decided that Harry would remain in school unless his attendance was discovered by the press.  Severus would help Eileen in remedial wand work at least three times a week, and they would both let Albus deal with Skeeter’s dubious-style of reporting.  It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was what it was.

He and Harry had returned to Hogwarts and he had left the boy in Poppy’s care while he supervised the detention.  They had been too late for Severus to dine in the Great Hall, and so they had a light dinner in their quarters.  Harry had played whilst Severus did a good deal of marking that he had been unable to get to during the week.  Snape had finally told the boy to bathe whilst Severus straightened the room and took his medicine.

Severus was finally able to rest after the draining day.  He eased into his favourite chair situated next to the fire, his head and neck throbbing, his hands aching.  He closed his eyes for a moment’s rest and didn’t notice when Harry covered him with the duvet from his own bed, before the boy put himself to sleep for the night.