Harry sighed as he sank back into the chair, a glass of Firewhisky in his hand.

The chair. Always the chair. Even after 30 years, it never felt like his chair. Merlin, it didn’t even feel like his house, and he’d moved in to Spinner’s End as soon as the war was done.

Harry flicked a glance at the silver screen hanging in front of the far wall, then ran a considering finger around the edge of the stone bowl that sat in the place of honour beside the – his, Merlin blast it! – chair.

“What will you show me tonight?” he wondered out loud. “Is there one I haven’t seen yet?”

As if in answer, one of the pearly grey strands within the bowl began to glow softly, almost as if hoping Harry would overlook it.

He gently touched a fingertip to the strand, then flicked his fingers at the screen. A small dot appeared at the centre of it, slowly enlarging, and sound and colour – what there was of it – began to seep in.

Harry studied the small dark-haired boy, who was crouching in the far corner of this very room, a book almost bigger than he was cradled against his scabbed-over knees. The young Severus Snape appeared to be deeply engrossed in the book, but Harry saw the way the boy’s onyx eyes kept darting towards the doorway. Snatches of loud voices drifted in from somewhere deeper inside the house.

“Damn it, Eileen, I won’t have it, I tell ya!” One of the voices was suddenly getting louder and closer, and Severus dropped the book in a panic.

“BOY!” the voice roared from the darkened doorway. The bulky figure blocking the light put both fists to its hips. “What have I told ya about that rubbish?!”

“Not to go near it,” Severus whispered, biting his lower lip hard. “I’m sorry, Da, I –”

“Ya will be,” the shadow of Tobias Snape promised. Harry watched, horrified, as the man casually reached to unfasten and remove the thick leather strap from around his waist.

Severus – who couldn’t have been more than ten years old – tried to scramble away, but a swing of his father’s belt stopped his escape, and he retreated back into the corner, his face going whiter than Harry had ever seen it before.

“No, Da, please, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to,” Severus began to babble as his father advanced on him. Deep in the corner, he pressed back as though trying to melt into the wall. “No, please, Da, I won’t do it again, please, please!”

Harry felt rage explode in the pit of his stomach as Severus’ voice rose until it cracked. How dare that . . . that . . . that MUGGLE attack Severus, who had been one of the bravest men Harry had ever known.

The wall behind the screen seemed to darken as Tobias Snape raised his arm, the belt looped around his hand.

“NO!” Two screams mingled – one a shriek of terrified denial, the other a deep bellow of rage.

Harry shot to his feet and reached out instinctively towards the screen, at the same moment as the young Severus raised his arms to protect his head, knowing he couldn’t change anything but unable to halt the urge to try.

To Harry’s great surprise, his hand continued moving into the screen . . . and it connected with Tobias’ upraised arm.

“What the . . . ?” Tobias began, looking round to see what had happened. He tugged fruitlessly at his arm but couldn’t free himself from Harry’s implacable grip. He didn’t appear to be seeing the strange, disembodied hand floating in midair, but Harry wasn’t about to question that.

He sent a brief pulse of wordless magic into Tobias, not needing his wand at such close contact. Within seconds, Tobias’ eyes fluttered closed as he succumbed to Harry’s Imperious.

“You will go out and get drunk,” Harry thought hard at the man, disgusted by the slimy churning feeling of his mind, “and you will keep getting drunk, and you WILL. NOT. Lay a hand on Severus EVER AGAIN!”

Tobias flinched at the force of Harry’s thought then nodded dumbly as Harry released him. He looked around vaguely, then stumbled out of the room and obviously out of the house as well, if Eileen’s ignored questions were any indicator.

Severus cautiously lowered his arms once he realised the expected beating wasn’t going to arrive. He peered around the room before looking down at his hands in bewilderment.

He thought he’d done something, Harry realised. He went to run his hand over Severus’ hair, but instead found his fingers brushing against the screen, causing it to sway as Severus ran from the room, calling joyfully to his mother.

Harry smiled as he sank back down into his chair and groped for his abandoned glass of Firewhisky.

“I hope things were better for you after that, Snape,” he murmured, running his fingers around the outside of the stone pensieve.

There was a brief flash of light, and little silvery wisps rose from the bowl, their memories flickering across the screen.

The absence of Tobias Snape from the house for the next few days.

Two policemen at the door, informing Eileen her husband had died of alcohol poisoning.

A completely redecorated house, not quite so shabby and gloomy anymore.

Fun-filled days with Eileen teaching a young Severus about magic and how to brew potions.

Tentative friendships being offered, now that the household’s money wasn’t being wasted on drink.

Harry laughed and lifted his glass in salute. “Glad to have helped, Snape . . . Severus,” he said. “Just a bit of what you did for me for so long. Thank you.”

As he leaned back in his chair and took a sip, Harry realised that something had changed.

Finally – finally – he felt like he was home.