Five days after the operation, Harry was constantly being told by smiling nurses that he was recuperating remarkably well. He had been moved from the Intensive Care Unit to a Paediatric ward where he occupied his own room, decorated with butterflies on the walls about three feet from the floor, supposedly to amuse toddlers, but Harry thought they were pretty, having never been allowed any adornments in his cupboard under the stairs at the Dursley’s. 

Harry was bewildered by all the attention he got. There were nurses everywhere sticking their heads in and asking how he was, offering this or that. In the hospital wing at Hogwarts, which Harry had visited a couple of times during his first year, there was only one Madam Pomfrey. A patient of hers could easily be left on his own for several hours in the big, echoing ward with stone walls, as she set monitoring charms on her pupils and did not, like the Muggles, need to come by, physically, to check the pulse, the temperature and whatever else they needed to monitor. But it was nice the Muggle way, Harry thought, because it was less lonely. There was a librarian who came by every other day and gave him books to read, and one day a clown in full rig-out popped her head in. 

”Don’t make him laugh, he has got stitches that need to heal,” came instantly from Snape, sitting in an armchair close to the bed. The clown, despite her jolly make-up, started and managed to make an incredible fearful grimace at Snape’s reprimand. The contrasting expressions made Harry laugh all the same, then wince with pain and look apologetically at Snape.

Harry was disconcerted by Snape - or Severus as he started to get used to calling his teacher. The man was as dark and as grave as he always appeared at Hogwarts, moving around stiffly in his black attire. Whether it was Muggle, or wizard clothing, it did not matter, he appeared just as intimidating. Severus never smiled, but neither did he berate Harry like Harry had become used to in Potions class. After that first grating explanation about posing as Harry’s father - a brusqueness brought on by the precarious situation in the Intensive Care Unit - Severus had not said a harsh word to Harry during the stay in the hospital. The professor could be stern, yes, but not mean and hurting, and he was always ridiculously careful and afraid that Harry would be in pain when moving, scolding him for not keeping still. 

The plastic tube that drained the abscess in Harry’s abdomen had scared Harry the first few days, just as much as it seemed to disquiet Snape, but Harry soon forgot about it and became so accustomed to the tube that he almost regarded it as a part of his own body. Apparently Snape - Severus - did not agree with the medical device, though, and was very careful that the tube should not be dislodged, constantly entreating Harry to keep as still as possible in bed. 

Harry did not have many memories from his first hours at the hospital, but he recalled perceiving a presence - a particular scent, or was it magic that he detected? - a something, at any rate, that reminded him of Hogwarts and that made him feel safe. He understood later that it was Snape’s presence he had perceived. He had been too ill at the time to be embarrassed by the fact that the teacher who seemed to hate him was the one found at his side. He had been completely dumbstruck when the nurse referred to Snape as Harry’s father, and even more so when he overheard Snape’s story about Lily. For one moment - for one short moment - there had been the least little bit of doubt arising in Harry’s mind… It was too brief a moment, however, to be coloured by an emotion, before Snape had quelled the uncertainty with his whispered disclaimer. It was a disguise, it was only pretence, but it was funny how quickly Harry could get used to it.

The strange thing was that Sn- Severus still stayed with him. Harry had thought that  his teacher would disappear once the crisis was over and Harry had his surgery. But this new, peculiar Severus Snape made up the sofa bed in Harry’s sick room every night, slept and remade it every morning, and seemed determined to stay until Harry was discharged. The low-voiced, almost-nice Severus explained to him that everyone else was on a holiday, that Professor Dumbledore was on a conference with Minerva McGonagall and that they were expected home at the end of the week. 

Harry thought that it was unfair that Severus alone would have to give up his holidays just because of Harry’s appendicitis and said so much to his teacher. Snape waved Harry’s concern away impatiently, and almost seemed offended by Harry’s polite offer that Snape should leave him at the ward, since he was out of danger and reckoned that he could manage by himself. 

”I’m supposed to be your father,” said Severus. ”And I’m pretty sure that responsible fathers don’t leave their sons alone in the hospital! So I won’t, as it would ruin the pretence.” Harry had not known what to answer to that. He supposed that Snape was an extremely loyal and dedicated employee of Dumbledore’s to go the whole hog like this in his acting - for Harry of all people - Harry who he had seemed to despise so much the past year at Hogwarts. But then Harry already knew that he had misjudged the stern professor when he and his friends wrongly figured it was him who wanted to steal the Philosopher’s stone. Harry had discovered his blunder and blushed in retrospect at his foolishness. It had turned out that Snape had in reality tried to protect Harry and now Severus Snape proved himself willing to stay at Harry’s side day after day in the hospital.

Confined to his sick room, Harry soon grew bored. Snape proposed to play a game with him where Snape, with an inscrutable expression, would draw small pictures where Harry was supposed to guess which potions ingredients they represented. Then Snape would remove one of the ingredients and Harry, having tried to memorise the list, would have to recall which one was missing. He found the game quite amusing and challenging.

”There’s nothing wrong with your memory, at least,” commented Snape. ”Nor with your perseverance.” Harry frowned - what did Snape mean, ’at least’? Was there something else wrong with him? Except for being confined to bed with stitches in his stomach, that was?

”This is a nice way to memorise potions,” said Harry. ”Why don’t we do that in class?” Snape scoffed.

”It would be a waste of time. You’re free to use the game when you do your homework. Memorising potions ingredients by heart is shallow and useless knowledge, though, if you don’t know the properties of each ingredient,” said Snape.

”But you quiz us on potions ingredients in your tests,” Harry said accusingly. ”You want us to learn the potions by heart.”

”No, I don’t. There are books and recipes for that. You don’t need to memorise everything by heart. But I do demand that you know the key ingredients by heart, because that shows that you understand how the potion works,” answered Snape.

”Oh,” said Harry and first widened, then narrowed his eyes. ”You did that just now,” he said accusingly. ”In our game.”

”Did I?” said Snape.

”Yes. I was beginning to find it too easy. Now I know why. Key ingredients. You removed the beetle wings from the shrinking potion and the moon stone from the shine-enhance potion and…”

”Yet, I did not remove the spider eyes from the night vision Potion,” said Snape cunningly.

”No, but you removed the bat saliva which is a necessary ingredient to poten… to po… you know, to make the effect of the spider eyes stronger,” said Harry.

”To potentiate its effect, yes you’re right. I’m glad to see that you’re learning something from our little game, Harry.” Snape, who used to mutter the properties of each ingredient and of the resulting potions during their play, arched his eyebrows.

”You’re tricking me into enjoying potions,” said Harry slightly annoyed, but yet not disappointed. He expected Snape to cheat and trick him, and Severus was doing it in such a nice way after all.

”Enjoying? You don’t say? It’s called tutoring, Harry. Wizard families of rang pay fortunes to offer their children the opportunity to revise their classes during the summer. I’m giving it to you for free,” said Snape. Harry suddenly looked unhappy.

”You should ask Professor Dumbledore to get some compen-… compensation for the time you’ve spent with me, Sir. It has almost been a week of your holidays now that you have wasted away in the hospital and… Aunt Petunia always insisted that Uncle Vernon ex-… exacted compensation when things didn’t turn out as they expected.”

”Don’t worry about it, Harry,” said Snape. He seemed annoyed and offended again, which disconcerted and silenced Harry. 

***

When the hospital clown came in that afternoon and unintentionally made Harry laugh, instead of retreating at Snape’s sharp warning, she gathered her courage to come into the room, raised a comprehending hand in signal to Snape not to worry and stepped up to Harry, completely serious. She sorted an elongated balloon that she blew up and asked Harry gravely which animal he wanted it to turn into. Harry realised that this treat might be a bit childish for his age, but wished for an owl at which she grimaced, but started to twist and fold the balloon in segments that finally formed a figure. ”Birdy!” she said with a wink and handed it over to Harry before leaving the room. Harry scrutinised the figure critically. It looked more like a gull or another straight-winged bird. He put it carefully at the side table with a little smile. It was nice of her anyway.

”How did you know what a Muggle clown is, Sir?” he asked Sn- Severus.

”I grew up in a Muggle neighbourhood,” said Severus, forthcoming. Harry let himself glide carefully between the sheets from half-sitting to lying, putting his head down on the pillow.

”Please tell me,” Harry said sleepily. He was still frequently overwhelmed by tiredness and drifted off to sleep now and then, often so on occasions when Severus spoke or read to him. Severus’ voice was low and pleasant. Harry could not conceive how waspish and strung it used to sound in class.

”There was a circus coming to the Muggle town where I grew up, every summer,” continued Severus. ”They had elephants, tigers and sea-lions - wild animals that are forbidden to keep in the context of a circus today. The children in the neighbourhood used to hang around all day to watch them pitch the marquee and we used to challenge each others to sneak as close as possible when they let the animals out in provisory paddocks. We teased the artists who would come out of their wagons half-dressed and with make-up only half-made, to yell at us. The circus usually stayed for three days. One day for rest and preparations, performing the following two days, afternoon and evening.”

Harry yawned and blinked.

”Would your family go and watch the performance?” he asked.

”Not likely!” huffed Severus, but continued more calmly. ”My parents could not afford the tickets. I was out on my own with the other kids. We would hang around until the performance started and if it was not full, they would let us in and watch anyhow. Nothing but eager children to keep up the excited atmosphere. So, I have watched many shows and seen many clowns.”

Harry had closed his eyes and his respiration had become deep and regular, but Snape went on, leaning forward, elbows on his knees, muttering softly to himself. 

”The art of circus is crude, loud and vulgar and yet it stems from such a natural force that it is almost impossible not to be swept away and fascinated, if not seduced by the skills of the people and the danger they expose themselves to, by the quick tempo and the glittering colours. Once, I took a girl to watch a show - it was her first time at a circus. I was thirteen and spent all my savings to buy the tickets. It was the first time I was a paying spectator. Somehow it was not altogether the same as our sneak-ins. My friend was marvelled and repelled at the same time. It upset her to see the cornered animals and she told me that the risk the trapeze artists put themselves in was not worth the suspense it created. How would we react if one of them fell down and died, simply for our amusement? she asked me. I had never posed myself the question before. To me, that kind of risks were what those people lived for. It was their choice, their life-style. It never occurred to me that the economic incitement was perhaps as compelling as a wand brandished in their face. My friend always had an intuition for moral issues. She’s the one who taught me to note and consider such questions.” 

”Was your friend my mother?” asked Harry and Snape startled. He obviously wrongly supposed that Harry had gone to sleep. He hesitated before responding.

”Yes, Lily and I were childhood friends - so much is true,” he conceded, face hidden by his black hair. Harry nodded with a little smile and closed his eyes again.  

***

Snape was disconcerted by Potter - or Harry as he started to get used to calling his pupil. The first thing that hit him was that Harry never complained. No matter how many times the nurses scolded him, Harry never asked to have something for the pain. The first few times it happened, Snape invariably felt angry with the boy for his arrogant silence and at the same time unaccountably guilty for not noticing the child’s predicament. The behaviour puzzled him, but as the days got by, Snape learnt to notice the silence that fell and to discern the dullness in the boy’s eyes when Harry started to be affected by pain or by fever. Harry’s temperature fluctuated during the days that followed the surgery and in answer to Snape’s worried inquires, the doctors claimed that it was perfectly normal for the healing process of an abscess. When discerning the characteristic signs, Snape would ask Harry, before the nurses had time to do so, whether he was in pain, insisting sternly on an honest reply, and Harry would invariably answer reluctantly and shyly and would invariably look surprised and ridiculously grateful when Snape called the nurses to arrange for new doses of the drugs that kept the pain at bay.

As the days went by, Harry needed less painkillers and more entertainment, but in that domain, too, Snape was surprised, because Harry seemed so easily contented, so candid. Compared to wizard children that Snape had tutored long ago when he left Hogwarts and before he obtained a full time job, and compared to the innumerable Slytherins attained by minor ailments that Snape had observed and tended to in their dormitories, Harry was delighted by so little. Where other eleven-year-olds would have protested and thrown tantrums at being bored, cradled and treated like babies, Harry would at most blink and raise his eyebrows, but he would smile politely and receive with the utmost gratefulness whatever the personnel offered him, however inadequate for his age. Harry never whined and never complained about being bored. He grasped Snape’s simple tutor games quickly and seemed rapt and contented with so little. 

The tutor games held the purpose, for Snape, of assessing Harry’s grip of theoretical magic and in that domain, at least, he was reassured by Harry’s pretty shrewd performance. Otherwise Snape was secretly terrified and obsessed by the thought that the magical rite of the appendicitis would somehow have gone wrong due to the physical complications of the disease and the abscess formation. On his insistent demands, the surgeon tried to explain in detail what it had looked like within Harry’s abdomen when they operated. It was more than Snape had bargained for, because although he dealt with various animal entrails in his work with potions on an almost daily basis, Snape drew a sharp dividing line between everything non-human and human. It might have to do with things he had been forced to witness long ago and that he could not, or did not want, to recall today, but the truth was that he always felt queasy when speaking of anatomical details of a human body. But the surgeon had assured him that he had ”removed as much of identifiable tissue and inflammatory material that was left of the appendix.” 

Snape could not explain to himself in any intelligible way why the thought of Lily’s son turning into a squib horrified him to the point it did. There was the fact that the boy had once defeated the Dark Lord, and, to only a few people’s knowledge, partially repeated the deed only a few weeks ago when he fought Quirrel and prevented Voldemort from appropriating the Philosopher’s stone. There was something downright unfair and dejected in that the Boy-who-lived would perhaps loose his powers, especially since Voldemort, demonstrably, was not dead. But that was the kind of sentimental, worshipping drivel that Potter’s admirers would put forward. To Snape it was, perhaps, more the fact that Lily had been such a finely tuned magical person and that he had a distinct intuition that her son, who had so recently been introduced into the magical world - and maybe saved by it, like Snape himself had been long ago when he was sent to Hogwarts - would be cruelly disappointed if he were rejected from that same world so soon after being accepted into it. Snape was conflicted by his feelings, because only a few weeks ago, he might have found it fitting for the son of James Potter to be punished by loosing his magical powers. But not this boy, not Harry - Severus Snape’s heart ached for this particular boy to have to experience something like that.

Another thing that both the nurses and Snape noticed about Harry was his reluctance to speak about the Dursleys. When the nurses and the social worker asked prodding questions, Harry would squirm and try to change the subject of the conversation. Snape was impressed by the child’s ability to swiftly call the nurses attention away to other things. More than one of them were tricked by Harry’s charm and enthusiasm and found themselves leaving the room with a smile on their lips, but with a vague sense of not having obtained what they came in for. There were others who insisted, gravely, with their questions, to which Harry would respond - with mutism. Harry’s answers would grow monosyllabic and when asked to describe something, he would usually not be able to produce a single word, but only squirm and look so unhappy that the adult would, eventually, leave him alone. Mostly, Harry seemed to put unpleasant things out of his mind and concentrate on what was here and now. 

A few times, when it was obvious that the nurses spoke about Harry’s future after he was going to be discharged, Snape would discern a glint of apprehension in Harry’s eyes. Harry had asked Snape one single question on the subject, which was whether he was going back to the Dursleys or not and Snape had answered him that Professor Dumbledore was notified and worked together with the Ministry on finding a solution. Whatever decision the Muggle social workers reached, it would invariably be overruled, so there was no point in worrying until the Ministry told them what to do. To Snape’s surprise, Harry did not insist on the matter. He obviously adhered to the idea that he would have no say about his future lodgings, which was, in Snape’s mind, a bit unnerving as it told him something about the level of influence the boy was used to.

Inadvertently, Snape did glean some insight into Harry’s life with the Dursleys. It happened when Harry overheard a conversation where one of the nurses asked Snape about his plans for the summer holidays. Snape told her about his project with restoring his parents’ house to decent living conditions. She sympathised with all the work it implied and wished him good luck. Snape realised that Harry had once again woken up in the middle of a conversation and obviously heard part of it. 

”I’m good at cleaning and fixing things in a Muggle house,” Harry suddenly said. 

Snape raised his eyebrows, letting the boy talk.

”I’ve been helping Aunt Petunia since I was… well, for as long as I can remember, actually and… I can do a lot of things on my own. I like gardening best, but… I can mend things, and when Aunt Petunia was in a good mood, she used to say that when I assisted her with the cleaning, it went at least twice as fast.”

Snape kept his face inscrutable.

”But you probably use magic to fix your house,” Harry suddenly realised. ”Do you?” he added.

”Some things need to be done the Muggle way, but a lot can be done with spells,” Snape replied evenly.

Snape did not understand the significance of this conversation until later, nor did he realise how many advanced thoughts that were actually in machination in that tousled little head who seemingly was so intent on ignoring unpleasant memories and future plans. A few days later, Snape would become aware that Harry secretly had been preoccupied by other things than playing with balloons and choosing the red or the yellow juice from the snack tray.

The day started with Harry inadvertently pulling his drain out. It did not hurt a bit, but suddenly the tube was lying on the sheet beside him. Harry jolted upright in his bed and stared terrified at Snape without daring to open his mouth. Snape darted the few steps to the bed to look with equal horror on the solitary, slightly blood-tinged plastic tube. Then he pushed the alarm button, and soon enough there were three nurses in the room and Harry scrambled backwards in his bed, clutching to the sheets with tears of apprehension in his eyes. 

”I… I’m so sorry… I d-didn’t do it on purpose…” he stammered, eyes darting from a panicking, pretending-to-be-his-father Severus Snape, and the concerned, but calm nurses. 

As it happened, everything turned out okay. It was not a catastrophe. The surgeon that popped by later the same day explained that they had considered pulling the drain within twenty-four hours anyhow, and like this Harry was more likely to be discharged from the hospital within only a day or two. A nurse who was in the room at that moment said that it was timely because there was a scheduled meeting with a representative from the social services the next day. 

”They have conducted a small investigation, spoken to your aunt and uncle and gathered all the information needed to tell you tomorrow their plans for what will become of you,” said the nurse, who was not one of Harry’s favourites, insensitively. 

After the surgeon and the nurse had left and Snape and Harry were finally alone in the room again, Snape noticed that Harry did not seem to be able to keep his usual happy countenance up. 

”Are you in pain, Harry?” asked Snape. Harry’s head snapped up.

”What? No, no, I’m not. Honest,” said Harry and met Snape’s stern gaze. ”Sir, could I ask you something?” Harry said in a small voice as Snape continued to scrutinise him. 

Snape nodded. 

”You know, I wondered if I might be of some use to you when you fix up your house this summer. Maybe if we ask the Ministry, I might be allowed to go with you and I promise that I would work really hard…” Harry’s voice trailed off as he watched his teacher’s face darken.

”You don’t need to earn your pay, Mr Potter,” said Snape and the use of Harry’s surname was a sign that he was greatly annoyed, because he seldom pronounced it since a few days back. ”The Ministry, if they find your aunt and uncle unsuitable as guardians - which by Merlin I hope they do, because I cannot imagine how those two criminals could pass the Ministry’s scrutiny after what they did to you - the Ministry, then, will find you a suitable family to live with. It is called a foster family and…” Harry had heard the nurses and the social worker mention a foster family.

”But, they will be strangers to me,” whispered Harry. ”At least I know you and you’ve been really nice to me these past few days. We do get along better now, don’t we? I know that you didn’t approve of James Potter - Hagrid told me so, and I can see that I must remind you of him, and… I realise that you’ve already spent a lot of time taking care of me and that you have every right to be tired of me, but I thought that if I could make myself useful, it might work. I’ll be up and fit in no time, so the nurses say. Maybe I won’t be able to scrub and do the heavy work at once, but I know how to cook a few dishes and…”

”Harry!” exclaimed Snape, exasperated by the pleading tone that had inserted itself in Harry’s voice. He continued, speaking more softly. ”It’s not up to me - it’s up to the Ministry, and I’m afraid to say that they will not consider Severus Snape an alternative, not even as a transitory guardian for the Boy-who-lived. It has nothing to do with you, nor with my willingness to… er… house you. The Ministry does not forget certain things. Do you remember what I said to that nurse in the Intensive Care Unit when you woke up and overheard us?”

”That you were on pro-… pro-… something,” said Harry.

”On probation, yes. Do you know what it means?”

Harry shook his head. 

”Something bad,” he proposed, turning his head away. Snape arched an eyebrow.

”You could say so,” he replied dryly. ”It is when you’ve done an offence, something criminal, but they agree not to put you in prison on condition that you give your word to follow some rules. If you are caught with the smallest offence during that time, the tiniest step out of line, you risk being sent directly to prison,” explained Snape.

”That, too, was true then, when you told the nurse that you were on probation?” asked Harry.

”That, too, was true,” confirmed Snape.

”And now they won’t forget that you once did something bad and they would not allow you to be a foster parent?” Harry whispered desolately. 

”Hmm, something like that…” conceded Snape, embarrassed by the notion of himself as a foster parent. 

”But that was a long time ago,” protested Harry. ”Eleven years, if it happened after I was born. Don’t you think that the Ministry could see that you have changed by now? The nurses here seem to think that you’re a really… er… really good father and you do work as a teacher, handling children every day, and…”

”No, Harry, I’m sorry, but they won’t,” said Snape. He did not want to confide in Harry that there was still two and a half years left on his probation, nor did he feel like explaining what offence, precisely, had got him that lengthy probation. 

They both fell silent, Harry looking more and more miserable.

”Is the meeting tomorrow with someone form the Ministry, or is it the Muggle authorities coming?” asked Harry.

”I’m sorry, but I don’t know, Harry,” said Snape tiredly. ”The only message that I received from Dumbledore said that he had contacted the Ministry to sort it out and that he will be home on Sunday. Since that, nothing. We simply must wait and have faith in that he arranges things for the best. He always has done so for me in the past. You should trust the headmaster as well. It will work out okay.” 

Harry nodded subdued.