Eleven-year-old Harry Potter let his quill glide slowly down his palm to land on the scratched, once white-painted surface in front of him. He let out a slow, controlled sigh. How could writing a few lines tire him to this extent? His other hand was clamped over his stomach and he was sitting very still on a pin chair in front of the small desk in his bedroom at Number four, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey, avoiding all unnecessary movement while he stared at the letter he just finished. It read thus:

Dear Madam Pomfrey,

I am very sorry to disturb you, because you are probably on a vacation. I have told Hedwig, my owl, to deliver the letter at Hogwarts, preferably to you, or if you are not there, to Professor Dumbledore or any other Professor who might still be residing in the castle.

My aunt gave me permission to write to you because I have been ill since I came back from Hogwarts and my aunt, who is a Muggle, says that she cannot possibly be expected to take responsibility for my health, as she thinks that children of my kind might need magical treatment, and therefore she is reluctant to take me to a Muggle doctor. This is what she says, and it struck me that she might be right, because when I stayed at the hospital wing after what happened with Professor Quirrel, you treated me with spells and potions that I suppose the Muggle hospitals wouldn’t know of. Anyway, if that is not true, and I should just go and see a Muggle doctor or something for my stomach ache, then I apologise for disturbing you and I will try to persuade my aunt to take me to one. Please just let me know which way it is.

I have waited three days to see if the pain wouldn’t get better on its own, but I’m afraid it has only got worse and I honestly don’t think it will disappear unless I get some potion or something. I have difficulties eating and I cannot keep myself straight because if I do, something tears inside my stomach. No one has hurt me and it still aches. Do you please have an idea what kind of illness it could be, Madam Pomfrey, and how I should treat it?

I want to stress that this is not a childish attempt to try to avoid staying with my relatives, or to get attention or anything like that. Professor Dumbledore already told me that I had to go back to Surrey during the summer and I was quite resigned to do so, when this came up.

Yours respectfully, 

Harry Potter

Harry stared at his own words, rereading the text repeatedly a few times. He had added the last part when he realised that Madam Pomfrey might in fact already have left Hogwarts and that the letter might fall into the hands of someone like Snape, his professor in Potions at Hogwarts who had shown his disdain for Harry plainly during the past year and who was obviously reliable to question Harry Potter’s motives for writing such a letter. 

Harry hesitated - was it clear enough? Without sounding pitiful? He did not want to give away too much, and yet if he wanted some help, he realised that he needed to be frank about his symptoms. It was so embarrassing to need to contact Hogwarts less than a week after he had left! He felt torn between his awkwardness and a daunting feeling that his stomach ache might be more than a mere trifle. Why wouldn’t Aunt Petunia take him to see a doctor of her own accord? They could try the Muggle way first and if it did not work, they could contact Hogwarts later. Harry was sure that Aunt Petunia’s stubborn refusal stemmed less from concern that Harry needed magical treatment than from fear that a Muggle doctor might find something amiss with him as that would be embarrassing to her. She had always been afraid that Harry’s ’freakiness’ would reflect badly on her own family.

Harry had started to feel unwell already on the Hogwarts Express on his way back to London. He had bought, but then declined to eat, the Chocolate Frogs, the Pumpkin Pasties and the Bertie Bott’s Beans that the lady with the trolley on the train offered, and left them all to Ron and Hermione. He had agreed with his friends when they attributed his queasiness to the train ride and perhaps, Harry had thought secretly, to a tiny amount of anxiety for going back to the Dursleys. He found it hard to figure out what to expect from his relatives after being gone for almost a whole year. 

The return to Privet Drive had been uneventful, however. It was strange, Harry thought, because everything felt so dull and yet so familiar. The year at Hogwarts suddenly faded into a far, unreal memory. His relatives did not ask any questions and Harry found himself doubting whether the castle, the magic, all the people, the troll and his confrontation with Voldemort at the end of the year had happened at all. He had literally fallen into bed that evening, hoping to feel better the next day.

The first morning at Privet Drive started poorly, however, as Harry had been unable to have much for breakfast and Aunt Petunia, who was in a bad mood, had accused him of being ungrateful, and was not their food good enough for him compared to what they had at that ridiculous school of his? Harry tried to defend himself and explain that he felt a bit nauseous, but his uncle had snorted and praised Dudley for his sound appetite, and his aunt had declared in a shrill voice that if their food was so distasteful to Harry, he could simply skip lunch as well. Harry performed his chores in a barely acceptable way that day. His aunt accused him of being lazy and of having laid off during the school year. He reluctantly forced himself to swallow some bread and cheese that evening before going to bed. He was sick in the middle of the night, but managed not to wake anyone up when using the bathroom, judging it unwise to disrupt his relatives’ sleep, however wretched he felt.

During the following two days, the vague feeling of illness progressed to show in a more precise way, in the form of a dull pain to the right in his stomach. He had to move slowly, avoiding every sudden movement as it would provoke a searing sensation in the lower part of his abdomen. He started to walk slightly bent forward, putting his feet down with care as the slightest bounce made him wince with pain. It was increasingly hard to perform his chores. Weeding the flower beds was easiest to do, because when he was on his knees and bent over, his stomach didn’t hurt so much, but when Aunt Petunia asked him to help her clean the windows and he needed to stand on tip toes and stretch all his length to wipe the glass, he had simply been forced to abandon his task, hyperventilating and having shivers of pain traverse his body, doubling over in agony. 

That was probably the first time since his return, that it occurred to his aunt that there might truly be something wrong with him. She had allowed him to retreat to his bedroom with a snort, instructing him harshly to rest and make sure that he got better soon because - and here came the threat that had been rather more maliciously expressed than Harry let show in his letter - she didn’t want to waste any time or money on Harry by taking him to a doctor, and she declined all responsibility for figuring out what kind of diseases people of his kind could succumb to. He would simply have to beg some of his new acquaintances to come and sort it out, she said. If they care to, she added.

Thus the letter. Harry sighed. It was terribly embarrassing. He didn’t really know any of those people at Hogwarts, did he - not after only one year? And they were not on duty. They were not supposed to care for their pupils during the summer. Harry had considered writing to Ron and have him ask his family for advice, but then he remembered that Ron had said that they would be visiting Ron’s cousins at the beginning of the holidays and Harry had concluded that the best way would be to ask someone professional with a healing knowledge.

Harry grimaced after reading the letter one last time and glanced at Hedwig in her cage. What if the teachers were still at Hogwarts - they might have a teachers’ conference or something at the end or the year - and what if Madam Pomfrey showed them the letter and they all got mad at him - it was not as if they would jump with joy at a pupil contacting them and trying to disrupt their holidays, was it? Or, even worse, what if they all laughed at him for believing that a simple disease needed magical intervention? Harry decided to wait until the morning before sending the letter. Maybe he would get better during the night after all, and how embarrassing would not that be, if they came to his rescue and he was suddenly well and restored to normal health? 

Harry rose carefully and began shuffling his way back to his bed. He stopped suddenly and stared at the empty floor. He had forgotten to bring a glass of water with him when he mounted. He was actually quite thirsty but, he thought grimly, there was no way he would adventure himself down the stairs. It would be torture moving so far and even if he made it to the ground floor, he was not sure he would be able to climb back again. He didn’t even have the strength to move into the bathroom that was at the other end of the hall outside his room, to drink from the tap. All he wanted was to lie down. And it was futile to call for someone to fetch him a glass of water. Aunt Petunia would not respond and she would make sure that Uncle Vernon and Dudley stayed out of his room. 

During the past days, Harry had noticed Uncle Vernon casting increasingly worried glances at him during breakfast, but as always his uncle did not intervene, but rose to walk away to work and left Harry’s wellbeing in the hands of Aunt Petunia. Harry had stopped expecting anything of him. 

At one time, when he was little, Harry had had hopes of finding an alley in his uncle. He had vague memories of sitting on his uncle’s lap being read to, and of sandwiches being sticked to him through the chink of the door to his cupboard when his aunt had sent him to bed without dinner. On several instances, he remembered overhearing his uncle secretly trying to persuade Aunt Petunia to go easier on Harry, at which Aunt Petunia would invariably sneer threateningly that it was her business how to treat her nephew and dare Vernon not interfere. 

A few years ago, when Harry was nine, a huge row had broken out between his aunt and uncle where Aunt Petunia had raged and accused her husband of neglecting his own son in favour of Harry. This was brought on because Uncle Vernon had offered Harry to inherit his cousin’s bike when Dudley had received a new mountain-bike for his tenth birthday. Dudley had protested that he needed his old bike, and Uncle Vernon had retracted his offer to Harry immediately, but the damage was already done. 

Dudley, who had a hard time handling the high expectations of a boosted birthday, grasped the opportunity to let out some frustration and had refused to let himself be comforted, but stayed cross with his father and cried his eyes out sitting on his mother’s lap, accusing Uncle Vernon of caring more for Harry than for him, even though it was Dudley’s birthday. It had rendered Aunt Petunia so upset that she had threatened Uncle Vernon with a divorce if he did not get his priorities sorted and behaved as a loving father to his son, leaving her to deal with her nephew. She had cried and trembled in agitation and shouted at her husband who initially, in his equal frustration over the unrealistic demands of a perfect birthday, attempted to defend himself, making the unwise and inopportune decision to attempt hammering some gratefulness into his son’s mind by pointing out that Harry did not even have a proper bedroom and that they never bought him anything first hand, while he, as the head of the household, spent all his wages on new toys for Dudley and how could that possibly mean that he was favouring Harry? 

But his outburst had only fuelled Aunt Petunia’s indignation. She gestured vehemently at their sniffling, puff-faced son as if he was the living proof of Uncle Vernon’s cruelty and the justification of her accusations. Uncle Vernon had resisted for a few hours, not really finding himself at fault, but then Aunt Petunia had plunged into a cupboard and sorted, brandishing a huge suitcase, threatening to move out at once and bring Dudley with her, since Vernon did not value their company in the least, but only cared for Harry. Uncle Vernon had followed her into the bedroom, bewildered, and watched her pack. He had started to plead with her that she had misunderstood him, clearly, and would she please listen? She had turned a deaf ear to him and moved on to Dudley’s bedroom to get their son’s things thrown into the suitcase as well and it was at that moment that Uncle Vernon had started to cry.

Uncle Vernon was a close to obese man who held a rather insecure position just a little bit up in the hierarchy of his company where he had to prove himself constantly. He had few friends, a fact which, to a great part, stemmed from his wife’s critical eye whenever he brought colleagues home for dinner, and where he seldom seemed to be invited back. Aunt Petunia was the trophy of his life, his family was his worth. He lived under the impression that he would be absolutely nothing without them. The threat of being left alone crushed him and he sank to his knees in front of Aunt Petunia, crying pathetically and pleading heart-brokenly with her to stay.

During this drama, although it seemed to circle around him, Harry barely received one glance, from neither of his aunt or uncle. Only Dudley sniffed an occasional ’It’s all your fault’ in Harry’s direction, but strangely - because Dudley was used to being in the middle of all attention - even Dudley seemed to back off during the formidable conjugal row. Harry observed with alarm his aunt’s successive dismantling of his uncle. Rationally, Harry knew that he was not to blame for the argument, yet he could not help feeling dreadful and guilty because of his uncle’s misery, almost regretting that his uncle had offered him that bicycle.

The row had ended with Aunt Petunia soothing Uncle Vernon like a small child and when the big man finally stopped crying and rose from the floor, Uncle Vernon had looked hard at Harry and asked him to go to his cupboard and stay there, because his wife and he wanted to celebrate their son’s birthday in peace.

It was not as if his uncle had ever taken much notice of Harry, but there had been some sympathy and some understanding over the years, small actions of humanity that had kept Harry slightly hopeful of secretly having someone on his side. Harry did not expect anyone to openly thwart Aunt Petunia. No, he perfectly understood that such behaviour would be far too hazardous.

After this episode, however, Harry had completely given up on Uncle Vernon. It seemed like the dread of being abandoned that the fight had imprinted in him, spurred Uncle Vernon to compete with his wife in malice towards Harry. As if he had to prove to her, by surpassing her in cruelty, that he did not chose Harry over them. He always shouted at Harry as soon as he got the chance, always berated him, always lifted Dudley forth in comparison. Still, Harry never discerned, in his uncle’s eyes, that immediate, reflexive hatred that always appeared in Aunt Petunia’s face when she set her eyes on him.

And now, when he had shown increasing signs of illness, there had been that small glimmer of concern in his uncle’s eyes. But it did not matter, thought Harry bitterly. If his aunt was intent not to take him to a doctor, then there was nothing Uncle Vernon could do about it. It had surprised Harry, however, that Aunt Petunia had been so quick in allowing him to write to Hogwarts. Almost as if she wished someone from there to take charge of the situation - and to get rid of him. Harry shook his head as he lowered himself, slowly, down on his bed. If she wanted to return him to the wizard world, she would have done so long ago, wouldn’t she? And she would not have made that desperate attempt to keep him from going to Hogwarts last summer. It did not make sense. 

Harry lifted his legs over the edge into the bed, gripping and dragging one leg at a time with both hands to ease the way and minimise the painful stabs the movement sent through his stomach. Finally, with a sigh of relief, he could lie down. Tomorrow, Harry thought exhausted, I will send the letter tomorrow. 

In the late afternoon the following day, the Entrance Hall of Hogwarts’ castle was filled with luggage and buzzing with voices. There had indeed been a teachers’ conference during the week that followed the pupils’ departure, but after a last meeting in the morning with the headmaster, rounded up by a fancy lunch - treat of the house-elves - it had come to an end, and the majority of the staff immediately took the first opportunity to set off on their holidays. 

It was lucky, Severus Snape thought sarcastically to himself as he stood observing the scene from where the stairs from the dungeons emerged into the hall, that there were no children left to witness the muddle and the unchecked exhilaration of the adults who, during the school year, were so keen to keep up appearances and to serve as role models for their pupils. With a little aid from the wine served at lunch and from the intoxicating feeling of freedom because the vacations were finally going to commence, the teachers were chit-chatting and laughing loudly together as they stood waiting for the thestral carriages to drive up to the castle. In one corner of the hall, Professor Sprout was on her knees on the floor in front of three open suitcases, rummaging about their contents in a desperate attempt to find something that she was not sure to have packed. In the middle of the room, surrounded by interested colleagues, Professor Flitwick was demonstrating, in a rather boastful way, his acquisition of the newest brand of a wizard camera. In another corner of the room, Filch was making increasingly gross comments about Portuguese wine and women, causing Professor Hooch and Professor Vector to giggle and make grimaces of distaste at the same time. 

Not even Snape, however, could pretend to be entirely insensitive to the atmosphere, and he acknowledged feeling just a tingle of that relaxing freedom that his colleagues were drunken on. He still wore his teaching robes, however, because what, honestly, was the great hurry? They had seven weeks ahead of them, hadn’t they? He was pleased with himself for making the decision to stay behind an extra day before leaving and avoid being part of that ridiculous buzzing crowd. It would give him time to get his things in order, clean out his potions lab so that it need not be a mess when he returned to start anew in the autumn. 

Snape was perfectly aware of the fact that only a few years ago, he would have been the first among the teachers to leave. He would probably have excused himself, skipped the lunch, run down to the gates and Apparated from the castle as soon as Professor Dumbledore pronounced the school year closed. 

He remembered so well his first summer after Lily’s death and Voldemort’s disappearance. He had not known what to expect, nor was he in the mental state to imagine what to do with himself during the vacations that towered aloft, more like a threat than a promise that particular year. He had been numb from the events of the year, having escaped Azkaban by a hair’s breadth, sentenced to twelve years of probation - a punishment that was nothing to his own violent self-reproaches and strangling grief over the loss of Lily. 

Careless of his own comfort, ignorant of his own needs and ready to submit to anything his saviour and benefactor would propose, the twenty-one-year-old Severus Snape humbly obeyed the summons to Professor Dumbledore’s office a few days before the start of his first vacations as a teacher. His defender at the trials, equally his employer, was also the wizard appointed by the Ministry to supervise his probation.

Snape had been greatly surprised when Dumbledore gently and persuasively proposed that he go away to see the world. ”Bu… But the probation?” he had asked. ”The confinement, the control? The Ministry would never allow me to…” Snape had supposed that Dumbledore would have chosen to keep him close at hand at Hogwarts during the summer, having him do some archiving, or making himself useful in any other way.

”I am in charge of your supervision, Severus, and I see that you need… an opening… a distraction, if you want… or an inspiration… otherwise you will be engulfed by your grief, succumb to your depression… And if you do, you will not be able to help me in the future, like you have promised, will you?” Dumbledore had added the last words lightly at the moment Snape, in a surge of overwhelming humility and self-condemnation, felt tears of gratitude mount in his eyes. Snape had quickly fought them back. Except the night Lily Potter died, Snape had not allowed himself to let a single emotion show on the outside, not one complaint come over his lips, even when rough and revengeful Aurors had tried to tear him to pieces and throw him to the Dementors of Azkaban. Snape was surprised by his own reaction and display of emotions - he had not realised himself to be so… weary… so at the end of the rope… Obviously the headmaster had, though. 

”So it is in my interest, as well as in yours, that you are allowed some freedom,” Dumbledore continued firmly. ”I suggest that you travel, make the most of it during the summers. You are a very young teacher - I’m aware of the fact that with the rumours around your person, the pupils don’t treat you kindly. And I’m afraid the prejudices of your colleagues after the trials also leaves something to wish for. But this has been an extreme year, Severus, and I believe that it will get better. Get it out of your system this summer. Allow yourself to forget, if only a bit. I only ask two things of you: first that you give me your travel schedule, with the exact places you want to visit, secondly that you wear this magical bracelet that will allow me to call you back should I need to. Rest assured that I will not use that possibility unless strictly necessary.” 

After that first summer - that had turned out a mind-boggling experience, being the first time he visited a foreign country - Snape had travelled broadly and widely, during in total ten summers. There was nothing compared to travelling in order to soothe a grieving heart and to distract a rummaging mind. He travelled under the disguise of a Muggle back packer, because luxury was not what he sought or allowed himself, and the under-cover made it possible not to stick out among the tourists, and to avoid magical communities, as he was still unsure if the Ministry would take kindly to his being let loose like this by Dumbledore.

He used to live for these summers, submitting his travel schedule to Dumbledore already in April, enduring lazy, incompetent or malicious pupils all year thanks to the prospect of the freedom the summer would allow him. Dumbledore’s need to know about his whereabouts limited his itinerary somewhat, inhibiting that unplanned, capricious kind of travelling that he had come to understand many Muggle youths indulged in. It did not bother Snape, as he was a structured person who enjoyed to keep to his plans. He had another advantage on the Muggle travellers in that he did not need to spend hours or days travelling from one place to another on trains or buses, but Apparated cleanly from one place on the surface of the planet to another. 

He usually alternated one week in a big city with one week in the countryside. In that way he could visit the big libraries for research and indulge in cultural activities, alternated with treks - the more perilous the better - in beautiful sceneries combined with activities like fishing and botanising for his potion ingredients stocks.

As they did not cross paths on the means of transportation, it was his lodgings, mostly, that brought Snape together with the community of Muggle back packers. They all seemed to stay in the same youth hostels, or use the same bridges and waste areas in the cities to sleep outdoors, where ever in the world you went. They seemed to be drawn together like bees to honey, always finding means to gather up, for example on the parcels of beaches by the oceans where they knew they would not be chased away. Snape did not mind to move in the outskirts of these gangs, joining the occasional bonfire on the beaches, or camping fire in the forest, keeping to himself, but still seeking that peripheral human contact out voluntarily. 

Except that last year something had changed. He could not pinpoint any particular condition or circumstance that had been altered as to the travelling, so he finally concluded that the change must have occurred within himself. It was his tenth summer out in the world and he had just turned thirty-one. All of a sudden, his fellow back packers appeared so young to him. In a very irritating way, they had all started to resemble his pupils at Hogwarts - not first years, but fifth and sixth and seventh years. Muggles let their children out in the world way before wizard children were allowed to test their wings on their own. He seriously doubted that Muggle children were any more mature than magical teenagers and he seriously doubted their parents’ sensibility in allowing them that much freedom. 

The last summer he had needed to intervene and come to the aid of no less than three different, impossibly young and eerily lost, back packers. The first one was a girl who had been robbed of her passport and money in the middle of broad day-light on the crowded La Rambla in Barcelona and who did not know how to apply for a temporary identity card at her embassy. Her friends had looked like fools and Snape who had witnessed the scene and who knew how to keep his Muggle papers in order, had taken pity on them and guided them to the right places. They had been embarrassingly grateful. 

Only a week later, when Snape was on a solitary randonnée in the Pyrenees Mountains, he encountered a young boy who had taken a fall on a steep slope on the hillside and obviously broken his ankle, although his fellow travellers had not realised the seriousness of his injury and simply continued their journey, taking turns to carry the light boy between them, two by two. The ten or twenty young people did not know each other from before, but a hierarchy had formed among them where a tall Slovenian boy was the leader.  This young man, Snape found out, had a strong will and was determined to finish his trek according to his plans and at any price. At the same time he was social, charming and had this strange streak of misdirected protectiveness which made him ”collect” every stray walker they encountered and invite them to join the gang, which grew steadily and claimed themselves to be the best friends in the world, for ever and ever. It was this authoritative Slovenian who had decided to ignore the injury of the hurt boy who was very young indeed and could not speak up for himself and went along with his comrades’ ’help’ without complaining, despite quite substantial pain. When their paths crossed, the Slovenian boy had called Snape over to the gang, eager to recruit him to the group, especially since he instinctively seemed to realise that Snape, due to his mature age and experience, might be an asset. 

Snape had reluctantly let himself be talked into joining their camp for the evening, but when, the next morning before setting off again, he explained to the Slovenian leader that they had to interrupt their itinerary and take the wounded boy to the nearest village and transport him to a hospital, the Slovenian boy had not been so candid and charming as before. There had been a heated argument where no one but Snape dared contradict the tall young man who suddenly behaved quite threateningly and insisted in his primary assessment that the ankle was only sprained and not broken. Snape who had performed a diagnostic spell on the boy’s foot, was sure of his diagnosis and simply glared at the Slovenian, not bending an inch in his judgement of the situation. It had ended with the group splitting up, the Slovenian boy leaving with his most loyal friends, which proved to be a minority of the youngsters that had followed him. When given the chance, most of the young people chose to get away from him and helped Snape bring the boy back to civilisation, get medical assistance and call the unsuspicious parents. Again, several of the assisting young people were so grateful towards Snape that they nearly burst out crying. They had been worried for their young friend, but had not dared to question the dominating young Slovenian. When it was time to split up, Snape realised to his horror that several of the young back packers wanted to attach themselves to him instead, asking him where he was heading, not leaving his side until he told them bluntly to bugger off as he always travelled alone. There was no way those young people could find him a charming companion, he thought, and it was certainly not his looks that made those young girls want to follow him around. What was it then? Did it say ’trustworthy teacher’ in big letters on his forehead, he thought with irony, appalled that his profession might have rubbed off on him to that extent. They obviously felt safe around him somehow, he concluded, disgusted because he had no wish to take care of young people in his spare time, when he was busy doing just that during the school year. 

Snape Apparated to another continent altogether, all according to the planned itinerary, and ended up in Viet Nam. But somehow the travelling did not deliver the relief it used to do. Travelling alone was, Snape started to feel, indeed lonely. He surprised himself by recalling the summers of his childhood, invariably spent at Spinners End as his family had no money to go away for a holiday. He remembered the burning sun of July and the smell from the heated asphalt, recalled the bush wood next to the car park which had been the only place to find some shadow and cooling unless you became desperate enough to plunge into the filthy river that ran through the industrial parts of Spinners End. He was reminded of all this as the surroundings of the Youth Hostel in the outskirts of Ho Chi Minh City in Viet Nam, located by the Saigon river, was as dirty and in a state of tumbledown as the neighbourhood where he grew up had been. 

Several Europeans stayed at the same youth hostel and Snape could not help but notice three British Muggle girls in their eighteens who seemed to be rather inexperienced travellers. They had just started on a several months round-the-world-trip and one evening, Snape found the three of them in near hysteria. One of them was dissolved in tears, and the other two were debating fiercely. Reflexively, in his teacher’s voice, Snape demanded to know what was the matter. All too obediently the two girls who were not crying turned to him to explain that the third girl had been reached by the news that her father had died suddenly in a heart attack and that she needed to go back to Britain quickly. They had already decided beforehand that should something like this occur that forced one of them to abandon the voyage, the other two should be allowed to carry on. They had all worked hard during a whole year to earn the money for the trip that was already paid for to a large extent. The question now was how to get their friend back to her family in the best way, and that was where the two friends did not agree, panicking slightly over their grieving friend who seemed incapable of making decisions of her own at the moment.

In a way, Snape understood the two friends’ wish not to interrupt their adventure after so short a time, but with a sting of regret, he could not help thinking that had this been Lily, she would not have hesitated to give her friend all her support, interrupted her own journey and accompanied her friend all the way home. And he doubted that the three friends had seriously considered what it would truly feel like to travel alone and in shock from the sudden loss of a parent through foreign countries. He suddenly heard himself stating that he, too, needed to return to Britain and that he would take care of their friend. The grieving girl renewed her sobs, but they were now tinged with relief. 

Snape notified Dumbledore of his change of plans and guided the no longer crying, but pale and thanks to some Muggle tranquillising pills numb teenage girl through security controls at the Vietnamese airport, making sure that she ate and drank during the long flight to London Heathrow from where he took her to Paddington station and accompanied her on a five hour long train ride all the way back to the small village in Wales where her family lived and where he handed her over, rather stiffly because he was exhausted by the long travel, to a shocked widow. When the girl saw her mother, she crumpled up in sobs and tears in her arms and Snape was ready to leave the grieving family on the spot, but the widow gestured him inside because she wanted to thank the so kind and responsible teacher properly, relating, between her efforts to comfort her daughter, how her husband had gone from perfectly healthy one day to completely unexpectedly falling down on the lawn in a heart attack the next day. 

”My husband and our daughter were so close,” she said tenderly, tears mounting in her eyes. Snape made a new attempt to rise, but the widow, who in her grief seemed to cling to the decorum of politeness, would not let him leave, concerning herself over the fact that the last train back to Cardiff had already departed and insisting on Snape staying the night. It was impossible to enlighten her on magical ways of travelling, but Snape who had no wish to intrude on the family, declined the invitation with increasing determination and, at last, to appease her, he had to accept that she called a Muggle taxi for him so that he could be driven to a nearby larger city from where a night bus to London might be leaving. Snape found himself with clenched teeth in the backseat of a Muggle taxi, on bumpy roads for another hour before he finally could climb out of the blasted car, move into a deserted lane and Apparate away from Wales. 

This was how Snape ended up, at four in the morning, in front of the house where he grew up in Spinners End, because this was where he had reported to Dumbledore that he would go. He had not visited the place for ten years. Living at Hogwarts during the school year and travelling in the summers, having no good memories attached to the place, he had simply chosen to ignore it. Even in the darkness of the night, it was obvious what terrible state of decay it was in - a wreck of tumbledown, but Snape entered, found his old bed where he laid down with his clothes on and closed his eyes. He found himself thinking about the girl who had lost her father and wondering how she would view her friends in a few months when they returned from their journey and her grief had lessened. Would they continue to be friends? From there his thoughts wandered to his own father, who he did not know whether he was dead or alive. Did he want to know? Did he care? Snape turned in his bed. The Muggle way of travelling did not agree with him at all, he wearily concluded before finally drifting off to an agitated sleep.

Snape had not departed again, but stayed the remaining four weeks of the summer holidays at Spinners End, sinking into some kind of dazed apathy. He could not really account for what he did during those weeks. He tried half-heartedly to fix and mend some of the most obvious damage to the house, tidying up and making it possible to live at the place, but when he summed his work up before leaving for Hogwarts again, it appeared to be a poor achievement for all those weeks. 

His only social engagement during that time had been to make a customary appearance at the garden party in August at the Malfoy’s, like he always dutifully turned up for the yearly fox hunt in autumn, the New Year Eve party and the first garden party of the year in May. Socialising with the Malfoys was part of his agreement with Dumbledore in order to keep an eye on the former followers of Voldemort. 

This particular party served as an awakening for Snape, because this year Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were particularly welcoming towards him which surprised him greatly as he was merely a peripheral acquaintance, until he recalled that it was time for the couple’s only son to start at Hogwarts and he realised that his position as a professor would improve his status vis-a-vis the wealthy family. At the same time he was reminded of the fact that other than Draco and a couple of other Death Eaters’ children, like Goyle, Crabbe and Nott, this was the year that Harry Potter, the Boy-who-lived, would enter Hogwarts. He did not understand how it could have escaped him. If he was honest with himself, though, he recalled that Dumbledore had mentioned it at their meeting during the preceding spring and somehow, more or less unconsciously Snape must have put it out of his mind. 

At the Malfoy’s garden party it had been a matter of debate whether to let the pure-blood children approach and befriend Harry Potter, or whether to tell them to avoid him. The eleven-year-old, self-confident Draco Malfoy gathered a little audience around his person, explaining that he would probably attend the same class as Potter and that he would approach the Boy-who-lived and check him out, because, the aristocrat child lectured, it was easier to befriend someone first and then reject him, than the other way around. And as it was difficult to foresee what part this Potter was going to play in the future wizard society, it would be better to be on the safe side. Snape smirked to himself when listening. Those were, of course, Lucius’ words coming out of his son’s mouth. And - Snape added to himself - one had probably better stay away from Harry Potter as the child, being the son of James Potter, was bound to be a nuisance. Draco would probably be painfully aware of the fact in less than a week.

All those thoughts about past summers flew through Snape’s head as he observed his colleagues preparing for departure in the Entrance Hall. For the first time in ten years, after the fiasco the previous summer, he had decided to stay at home. Snape had finally got a grip on himself and reached the sensible decision to rebuild Spinners End to a proper house. It would take most part of the summer, but that did not matter. He needed to be alone and to have something do  - something meaningful, he repeated to himself, as if trying to convince himself of making the right decision, because he was still ambiguous about his childhood home. 

Snape needed to collect his thoughts, come to terms with the events during the year which had indeed been tumultuous, not to say alarming. Which in turn had to do with a certain eleven-year-old who Snape had stated from the beginning that he would be a problem, had he not? An eleven-year-old child, a Potter, who had thrown him completely off balance during the year, managing on the one hand to put him in a state of fury at regular intervals, and on the other hand at plunging him in a stupor, lost in regretful thoughts about the past, during his lonely evenings in the dungeons. Snape had been bewildered by himself, ashamed at times for his behaviour towards the child in class and irritated by the depressive thoughts that seemed to assail him whenever he was left alone, rendering him vulnerable, bitter and passive. He did not recognise himself. During this winter he had not once opened the Atlases and the travel guides that lined the shelves of his library, like he used to do when he prepared his summer trips. He had not even felt the temptation, by Merlin! Nothing but a Potter to put him in a state like that! But if he was honest with himself, that kind of floating, unreal and depressing feeling had started to assail him already when he returned home prematurely last summer, had it not? And by then, he had not even met the Potter child… So he should probably spend the summer to come to terms with his ambiguous feelings about Lily’s son as well. Or he might just try to put him out of his head altogether. Yes, that was probably the best. Have a rest from the terror, that was exactly what he needed.

The thestrals arrived in front of the castle and the bustle in the Entrance Hall climaxed as his colleagues collected their belongings to mount the carriages. Snape watched indulgently. The relationship with his fellow teachers had improved slowly over the years, even if this particular year might be a drawback, as many of them objected to his treatment of the Boy-who-lived. He finally caught Filius Flitwick’s attention and the small professor approached him. Snape handed over a thin pamphlet. 

”Here you are, Filius,” said Snape. ”The recipe to prepare your own developer. I have copied it from my book and simplified the procedure for you. It should be possible to set it up while you’re still travelling and develop your photos.” 

”Splendid! Thank you, Severus!” said Flitwick, beaming at him. 

The crowd thinned out as the first carriage left. Pomona Sprout had finally found what she was looking for.

”I searched that pouch five times before I got hold of my favourite self-patterning knitting sticks,” she told Professor Vector as they headed towards the door. ”What would I have done without them all summer? But they were in the suitcase all along.”

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey came running down the stairs with a trunk vacillating in the air as she levitated it impatiently. Last minute packing, Snape thought disdainfully. That’s a guaranteed spoiler for your vacation.

”Please, hold a carriage and wait for me,” panted Poppy Pomfrey. ”I must speak to Severus before I leave.”

Snape’s eyebrows hit the ceiling in surprise as he detached from the wall he had been leaning against. 

”Over here, Poppy,” he said. ”What could you possibly…”

The matron looked relieved as she approached him. 

”I was afraid that I would have to search the entire labyrinth of the dungeons to find you, Severus. I don’t have much time. Now, I’m afraid there is a spot of trouble. Such an inconvenient time for it to happen, too. It put me in a tight corner, it did, receiving that letter just after lunch. Only a few hours to pack and then this in the middle of everything!”

Snape looked at Poppy impatiently. Even if she was a competent nurse, she was easily stressed. And people like that, he emphasised to himself, should not pack their things in the last minute.

”Read this!” Pomfrey handed him a letter which, to Snape’s surprise, was written in a child’s handwriting, a sprawling one at that, which he thought he recognised. Snape narrowed his eyes and scoffed as he skimmed through the content. Rolling his eyes, he handed the letter back to the nurse. At the same moment he opened his mouth to protest the seriousness of the letter, Pomfrey said:

”I agree that Mr Potter’s appendicitis is extremely ill-timed.”

”Appendicitis? Isn’t that a bit late?” Snape answered surprised. ”Wizard children all get their appendicitis around the age of…”

”Between five and twelve with a peak at the age of seven years old,” Pomfrey filled in sententiously. ”I should have known, in Harry’s case, that the disease was bound to develop this summer. I interrogated him at the start of the year as to previous illnesses and he denied ever being sick, so I knew that he had not had his appendicitis and I should have prepared him when he left for the summer. But that terrible incident with Professor Quirrel and…” She lowered her voice. ”…and You-know-who, at the end of the year distracted me. And I forgot to warn him about the impending appendicitis. I admonished him about everything else but this! He turns twelve at the end of July after all - it was bound to happen.”

Snape sighed, but then he started to laugh. Pomfrey looked disapprovingly at him.

”I don’t think that Mr Potter would appreciate being laughed at, in the vulnerable and precarious situation he finds himself in,” she said sternly.

”I don’t care what Mr Potter would like or not. However, you must acknowledge that he is in the right place, is he not?” retorted Snape. ”As he is with his Muggle family, residing in the very middle of the Muggle world. But that’s just like Potter to be awkward and make difficulties about the single disease that cannot be treated by magic. What irony!”

”You’re right, it is the only time in a wizard’s life that he has to submit to Muggle surgery. I answered Potter in those exact words by return of owl, immediately after lunch. But to be sure about the measures to take, I mounted to the headmaster’s office and showed him the letter. When we reread it, we spotted certain disquieting elements,” said Madam Pomfrey, casting a look over her shoulder out through the entrance door. When Snape followed her gaze he saw the thestrals trampling impatiently.

Snape inclined his head inquiringly. What had Albus Dumbledore had to say about the Boy-who-lived going through a perfectly natural step of maturation towards adult wizardry? A necessary step, in fact. The removal of the appendix, in a witch or a wizard, liberated magical powers. It suddenly struck Snape that his initial assessment of Potter as a mediocre wizard might be a bit warped, if the child had not yet fulfilled his appendicitis rite.

”Look, Albus wants someone to check it out, just to be sure,” continued Pomfrey. ”Potter does not seem certain that he will be able to persuade his aunt to take him to a doctor - that is a bit strange, isn’t it? If he has had symptoms since the return from Hogwarts that appendix should be ready to be removed by now. It’s a simple enough procedure - for Muggle doctors - but there is a danger if the surgery is delayed.”

Snape furrowed his forehead.

”Petunia Evans… Dursley…  should know all this. Her sister went through the rite after all…” he said. Madam Pomfrey sighed.

”It’s not obvious. The Muggleborns often have their appendicitis early in childhood and from the magical community we are not very good at supervising and clarifying what happens, but as it only requires Muggle surgery, and the magic evolves on its own, it is not necessary to explain the procedure to Muggle parents or siblings. It is perfectly possible to just let the magic rite have its course. Therefore it’s not certain that Potter’s aunt knows what’s going on.” 

Snape frowned harder. There was something. Something that Lily might have told him long ago… Too long ago - he could not remember.

”There are people who are afraid of doctors and of hospitals and who will avoid them at any price. Mr Potter’s aunt may be one of them. It’s extremely irresponsible when those people let their fear impeach the care of their children, however,” Pomfrey said distractedly, looking over her shoulder again.

”There is an uncle as well,” Snape pointed out dryly. ”It is unlikely that he, too, should suffer from nosocomephobia. Therefore, I have no doubts that Potter will be taken care of.”

”Well, Albus wanted you to check it out, just to be sure that everything was in order and that Potter was brought to the hospital,” said Madam Pomfrey. ”I’m sorry Severus, I really need to be going. Our colleagues are waiting for me and the Hogwarts express is soon to leave…”

”Albus wants me to go and check on Potter?” Snape spat angrily. ”Why on Earth me? I’ve had nothing but trouble with that child in my class!”

”Albus has already left the castle with Minerva for that conference in Sicily on The Frontiers of Transfiguration. As you know, he is to make the inauguration speech. He must not be delayed. They Apparated from his office only thirty minutes ago. I was lucky to get hold of him before he left. He told me explicitly to ask you. And I really don’t see who else…” Madam Pomfrey looked around in the now empty Entrance Hall.

”I had planned to stay the night at Hogwarts before leaving in due order tomorrow. If I need to check on Potter tonight, I still have to lock up the castle and draw the wards because I’m the last one to leave. You realise that it will take me at least a couple of hours before I can go? Dumbledore entrusted me with the security measures. And now, on top of everything, he asks this of me! And I will either have to pack my things right now, in a hurry, or go back after checking on Potter, in which case I will have to first undo and then reset all the wards again, because naturally we cannot leave the castle unprotected! It will be a waste of time!” Snape raised his voice. 

”I’m so sorry for the inconvenience, Severus,” answered Madam Pomfrey, taking a step towards the exit. ”I suppose the best alternative would be to prepare your things tonight and shut the castle up for the summer before you leave for Little Whinging. I’m truly sorry for the haste. I hope it turns out all right. Have a nice summer, Severus… I must not miss the train…” And so she stepped out and mounted the waiting carriage from which Pomona Sprout waved at her with increasing desperation, leaving Severus Snape behind, swearing and scowling. 

The day Severus Snape was burdened with a commission he did not want to accept and was compelled to prematurely shut Hogwarts down for the summer, was one of the longest days in Harry’s life, as pain and thirst overshadowed the otherwise beautiful summer day. 

The weather was sunny and the temperature was high already in the morning. Harry woke up in his bed after a restless night and concluded within a fraction of a second that he was not better, rather worse, because he was sweating and having chills as if he had a fever. He rose and opened the window to let Hedwig out, the letter to Madam Pomfrey attached to her leg. The fresh air was soothing on his hot skin and a whiff of jasmine mounted from the garden.

As the day went by, however, Harry’s room became hotter and hotter as the sun wandered to shine straight through the window. Aunt Petunia only checked on him once as she opened a small chink of his door to peak inside. Harry turned painfully in his bed to meet her eyes. In answer to her question, he replied that he had sent a letter to his school nurse. It seemed to satisfy his aunt. 

When he shyly asked for a glass of water, Aunt Petunia sneered and told him roughly to drag himself to the bathroom and drink from the tap. Shortly thereafter, however, Dudley popped in and without looking at Harry, he handed him the toothpaste-stained plastic mug where Dudley kept his toothbrush. Harry gulped the water down gratefully, but the mug was torn abruptly from him when Aunt Petunia called sharply for Dudley to come down. Aunt Petunia seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to detecting anything concerning Harry. Dudley did not dare to reappear after that and Harry supposed that his cousin had got strict instructions not to go back to Harry’s bedroom.

In the afternoon, the room was as hot as an oven and Harry was panting and drifting in and out of sleep. When he was awake, he could think of nothing but water and about how fast a magical owl made it from Surrey to Scotland. He made an attempt to get out of bed to fetch some water, but almost fainted from pain and fell back down on the hard mattress.

For many hours he abstained from calling his aunt, because he knew that pleading for help would inevitably mean that what he wished for would be withheld from him. He had learnt this the hard way at an early age: don’t ask anything of Aunt Petunia, don’t wish for anything, because that was a certain way of not obtaining it. Enthusiasm must always be dampened and wishes subdued. Humbling oneself, waiting silently, indifferently, preferably pretending not to want anything at all was a better tactic, as the whims of his aunt sometimes made her offer him this or that at random. Towards the late afternoon, however, he could not stop himself from crying softly for water. He heard his aunt move about in the kitchen, but was not sure that his calls reached her. He perceived the heavy steps of Dudley on the top floor, though, and increased his pleading for something to drink. He heard Dudley stop outside in the hall for a moment before he continued downstairs. Harry hoped that his cousin would transmit Harry’s need to his mother, but the response from Petunia would depend on her mood, which apparently was foul this afternoon, as neither Dudley nor Aunt Petunia mounted again and no water was brought to Harry. 

It was not until late in the afternoon that Hedwig came back and it was not until Harry sat up in his bed to unfasten the letter attached to her leg, that Harry fully realised how ill he was. It was excruciatingly painful to move and when he touched his stomach, it was strangely taut, as if permanently frozen in the middle of the most strenuous phase of a sit-up. Falling back against the pillow after that small bit of exercise, Harry started to shiver violently and felt his temperature raising. It was as if something had burst inside his stomach to release all kinds of toxic substances into the body. 

With a sinking heart, Harry read Madam Pomfrey’s short answer. He needed to go to a Muggle hospital to have surgery. He was relieved and disappointed at the same time. It would have been easier, in a way, if he had been obliged to go to Hogwarts for magical treatment. He felt a surge of apprehension, because…. surgery… that meant that you cut into a person’s body, did it not? He pushed the thought aside and focused on how to get his aunt’s attention and how to convey Madam Pomfrey’s message in the best way. As if she had sensed his preoccupations, his aunt appeared at the door. It turned out that she must have kept a watch-out for Hedwig because she immediately asked for the letter. Harry showed her and she frowned, pressing her lips together as she read the note. Somehow, strangely, she did not seem surprised by the content, only incredibly angry, as if she had been insulted somehow.

”Well, they can just come and take you to a hospital themselves,” she spat. ”I’ll write them an answer.”

”But, Aunt Petunia, the school is closed in the summer. Madam Pomfrey is probably leaving on a vacation. And you see, it’s that appendi… appendi-something. A girl in my class at primary school caught that too and had surgery. It’s not a magical disease at all. I don’t need any special treatment, just the same as ordinary people.” Harry had to make an effort to speak and the words came out pantingly and weak as he carefully tried to persuade his aunt, endeavouring not to let his desperation show.

His aunt did not give him an answer, but sneered while she picked up a piece of paper from his desk and scribbled something on it before she ordered Harry to give it to Hedwig and send the owl away.

”She’s tired,” Harry tried to object. ”She’s made it all the way to Scotland and back within ten hours. She might not have the strength to…”

”I don’t care. Send her away!” ordered his aunt. ”I’m not responsible for your owl, nor for your school to have so deplorable ways of communication. Not even a phone number when you want to contact someone!”

Harry complied with a sinking heart, fumbling with Hedwig’s leg as his hands were shaking and his sight was blurred from dizziness. When his aunt turned to walk out of the room, he could not help himself from pleading.

”I need some water, Aunt Petunia, please… I’m so thirsty.”

”I’m sure your precious magical friends will attend to all your needs and whims when they arrive. In the meantime, I have other things to do than to run up and down the stairs. Vernon will be home soon and I have a dinner to prepare,” she snapped.

When she left, Harry lay curled up on his side, crying silently in hopelessness. He stopped soon because crying made his stomach hurt worse and his eyes stung from dryness. There was not enough liquid left in him to waste on tears. He drifted into unconsciousness again.

Uncle Vernon came back from work at seven o’clock as usual that evening. Harry woke from the front door slamming shut. A strong wind had risen outside, and dark clouds were rushing over the small piece of sky squared by Harry’s window. The heavy heat during the day was culminating in a thunderstorm. Harry heard murmuring voices from below that soon escalated. Startled, he realised that Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were having a row. And that was when it started to grow really ugly at Number four, Privet Drive.

***

At 8.30 pm Severus Snape strode through the empty streets of Little Whinging under a downpour of rain, his permeated wizard cloak flapping and plastering itself around his body from time to time. The wind was moody, increasing and decreasing randomly and seemed to come from different directions at once. As a consequence, Snape’s face was splashed with water, despite the hood he had drawn over his head. 

The Potions Master had spent the past three hours damning Poppy Pomfrey, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. His rage had empowered him to do his packing in record time, secure his potions lab in a provisory way and then to visit all the ward spots of the castle and of the grounds to strengthen the protections and prepare the premises for a long-term shut-down. Despite his efficacy, it had taken him three hours to complete the procedure and before he had Apparated his belongings to Spinners End, it was quite late in the evening and he was exhausted and magically depleted by his work. 

Snape moved on to cursing Muggle suburbs - they were so ugly and meaningless! - damning people in general and Muggles in particular. From there he started to swear over the weaknesses of the human body and its diseases - appendicitis in particular. What an utterly ridiculous disease! A small part of the bowel to no use, a cul-de-sac of the intestines that no one needed. Only, for wizards and witches, the organ was of paramount importance - in that it needed to be removed to liberate magical energy. The appendix was the only non-magical part of a wizard and it was not until it was removed that the wizard would have the possibility to develop his magical potential. If something went wrong and the appendicitis never blossomed out, the wizard’s or witch’s magical powers would regress and leave them as squibs. It was a dreaded occurrence, and in wizard families, parents awaited their children’s appendicitis with apprehension and joy, because it was truly a rite of passage into the magical world. 

The dependency on Muggle health care for the removal of the appendix caused trouble for the most secluded magical people and was a source of humiliation for the pure-blood families who despised the Muggle world. Snape knew subcultures of the pure-blood community who had educated their own surgeons in order to avoid the mortification of attending a Muggle hospital. The fact that wizards never needed surgery in any other context, however, made these wizard healers perform inferiorly to the Muggle surgeons, who had plenty of practise on operative procedures. So most magical families bowed to the dependency on Muggles, who at any rate were completely ignorant of their heroic contribution to the magical world. Every single wizard and witch in modern times had in fact gone through their hands and under their knife on the operation table. 

As Snape walked up the driveway to Number four, Privet Drive, he seemed to enter a particular angle where he found shelter from the wind. He stopped for a second to wipe his face with a handkerchief, before he stepped up to the door. He realised as he lifted his hand to knock, that he was probably about to meet Petunia Evans, who he had not seen for fifteen years. There was an unpleasant notch in his stomach that he tried to ignore and for some reason he cleared his throat repeatedly.

It took some time before the door opened. Snape had the time to move backwards on the lawn and check that light was shining out of several windows as a sign that someone was home, before the white-painted door was thrown open rather violently. Had he not stepped back a moment earlier, he might have received it plain in the face. 

Petunia Evans-Dursley stared at him for a few seconds before sniggering and jerking her head.

”How appropriate that it’s you, Severus!” she said. ”I told you one of them would turn up,” she continued in a hard voice to someone inside the house. Snape stepped forward and caught sight of a fat and pale man in the hallway, supposedly Petunia’s husband. Snape let his eyes search Petunia’s face. There was a slight resemblance, he thought with a pang of regret, but she was nothing like Lily. The features of this woman were taut and hard and her gaze was cold.

”Lily’s admirer,” said Petunia, adding sarcastically on her husband’s behalf: ”My sister’s rejected lover. How noble of him to come looking for her precious child.”

Snape could not help blushing slightly. This was more humiliating than he had expected and he felt a new surge of anger mount in him. 

”The boy has already been taken to the hospital,” Petunia hissed maliciously.

Snape felt the irritation prickle his skin. Just as he had expected. All his work, all his haste in vain. He pressed his lips together and prepared to swirl around. He realised that he had not pronounced one single word since the door opened. 

”Yes, that’s right, go away and never come back!” spat Petunia, suddenly hoarse and emotional, and slammed the door shut. Snape inhaled sharply, turned around and took a few steps on the lawn before he stopped to exhale and think. His instincts told him that something was wrong. It took him a few seconds, through the haze of vexation, to realise what it was. After a slight hesitation, he forced himself to walk back to the door, ready to repeat his knock, when it opened from the inside, slowly and carefully this time. The fleshy face of Petunia’s husband showed in the chink. Snape noticed that the man’s eyes were slightly puffy and red-rimmed.

”If you’re both here, who is with Mr Potter at the hospital?” asked Snape without preamble. Mr Dursley shot a quick glance over his shoulder back inside the house. 

”No one… No one is. I’m not even sure she drove him to the hospital - she was so adamantly against it at first and then when I tried to persuade her that we must go, she suddenly changed her mind in a fit of rage and dragged him down into the car and left with him. She came back twenty minutes later and said that she had dropped him off at the hospital.” Mr Dursley spoke so quietly that Snape had to bend forward to hear him. The fat man looked ridiculous, as he was hunching and clinging to the handle of the door, but there was true pain in his eyes and his whole countenance signalled how horrified the man was.

”Will you please check that Harry is okay?” Petunia’s husband whispered. ”She might have dumped him anywhere. I’m so sorry that I have to doubt my own wife, but she is so filled with… hatred towards that boy at times… I don’t understand… I really don’t understand… I’m not sure he reached the hospital and if he did, he is all alone. Please! Petunia will never forgive me if I go… She’s all I have. She’s a good person except when it comes to the boy. I could not stand to loose her. Yet I could not live with… I tried to explain to her… To reason with her… If the boy… If Harry was to…” The man drew his breath. ”He was so ill, you see… We had already waited too long… and he lost consciousness twice on the stairs… Please…” 

Snape had seen many ugly things during his days as a Death Eater, but this begging man with his huge body surface of cowardly wobbling flesh was one of the most distasteful scenes he had witnessed. Yet it was not the man’s appearance, but the implications of what he was saying that sent shivers of horror down Snape’s back. What had they done to the child?

”Which hospital did she say she left him at?” he asked. 

”St Paul’s… At the other end of the town. Thank you,” whispered Mr Dursley and started when he heard his wife’s sharp and impatient voice calling him from the living-room. With a last look at Snape he shut the door silently. Snape drew his cloak closer around himself, cast a look down the empty street and Apparated directly from the Dursley’s garden.

***

When Harry realised that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were quarrelling, he forced his foggy mind to stay awake and try to make out what was going on. Suddenly the door to his room was flown open and an upset Dudley appeared.

”They’re having a row again… because of you,” the boy said, distraught and resentful, but after that statement, he simply sat down on the edge of Harry’s bed and listened together with Harry to the rolling voices from the hall down-stairs.

”This letter says that we have to take him to the hospital.”

”I have sent a note to ask for them to come and fetch him.”

”Why? We are his guardians. I am perfectly able to drive him to the hospital, Petunia. It will take no time. If they are wrong and it is nothing, the doctor will send us home again, but if they’re right and he suffers from appendicitis, he clearly needs surgery, don’t you see?”

”You are not going anywhere with that boy, Vernon, I warn you!”

”Step out of my way, Petunia. I’m only mounting to check how he is. It’s our duty, don’t you understand? What would it say about us if we let him…?”

”Someone of his kind will come and collect him sooner or later. You don’t need to see him. Why are you always to damned concerned about him? I thought we had been through this already, Vernon! He’s my responsibility, he’s my nephew!”

Harry and Dudley heard rumbling steps on the stairs, a choked swearing coming from Uncle Vernon and shrill cries from Aunt Petunia as if she tried to prevent him from mounting and he tore away. At last Uncle Vernon showed up at the door to Harry’s room, red in the face and breathing heavily. 

”Good Heavens!” he exclaimed when he saw Harry on the bed. He was about to hurry to the bedside when Aunt Petunia gripped his arm forcefully from behind and somehow managed to swirl him around. How the thin woman had the strength to do so to a man more than twice her weight was a mystery. But she was livid with rage and hissed at her husband:

”Do… NOT… approach him!”

”Petunia… He is so ill. It’s a catastrophe. We should have gone yesterday like I said. He’s running a fever. A very high temperature. Look at him - he’s barely conscious. I should have checked on him before leaving for work this morning, but you promised me, Petunia, you promised me.”

”Don’t go near him, I say. And Dudley come away from his bed!” commanded Petunia. 

”Appendicitis is not contagious, if that’s what you think, pet.” Uncle Vernon suddenly sounded relieved as if he had found a rational explanation to Aunt Petunia’s weird behaviour. But Aunt Petunia snorted.

”Of course it’s not. I know that,” she spat. Uncle Vernon looked at her in confusion. ”We need to wait for them to come,” she said stubbornly.

”But what if they’re not coming? We cannot risk it… Petunia… Petunia, darling, you know I love you. Dudley and you are everything to me, but I could not… I could not watch… a child… die… in my own house… right in front of me… I cannot…” Uncle Vernon’s voice broke and Harry noticed dazedly that Dudley had tears streaming down his face. Am I dying? Harry thought. He was too weak to react to the thought.

”He’s not dying. Don’t be daft,” Aunt Petunia snorted, but she cast Harry a cold, searching glance.

”I’ll take him. Right now. There’s no other way. I’m going to carry you downstairs, Harry. Prepare yourself to…” His uncle was interrupted by Aunt Petunia, who walked so close up to him with clenched fists that Uncle Vernon actually backed off. Was she really going to hit her husband? Harry thought bewildered. Dudley shrieked weakly and sniffed repeatedly. 

”I won’t allow you to go. You don’t realise what you’re doing. You cannot once again choose that boy over your own family. It will be devastating. Don’t you care about Dudley? How he’ll feel if you do it?” shouted Aunt Petunia.

”Mum, Harry’s ill. He needs to go to the hospital. It’s okay. I don’t mind,” said Dudley in a trembling voice. Uncle Vernon looked with a mixture of hope and dread at his wife.

”You don’t understand!” she exploded. ”Neither of you do. Do you think that it is an ordinary appendicitis? Do you think that anything about him is ordinary? I know. I grew up with a sister of the same kind as he. I know the consequences - so just you let me handle it!” Aunt Petunia looked ready to fight both her son and husband if necessary and Harry noticed with dread the determined and almost insane glow in her face. For the second time in his life, subsequent to Aunt Petunia’s words, Harry witnessed his uncle break down as the huge man started to cry. 

”We can’t let him die… Petunia, please, we cannot,” his uncle stuttered dejectedly. ”What will become of us if we do? Don’t you see? My grandfather died from appendicitis. He was elderly, but still, he caught it, went to the hospital too late, because it burst and caused a generalised infection in his abdomen and even if they tried to save him and he had surgery, he died two days later. Please, I cannot have this on my conscience. We cannot live together after this, Petunia - it does not matter how much I love you, it will be impossible to…”

Aunt Petunia stared at her husband mutely as he sobbed, shoulders slumped, head bent. He did not intend to fight her physically, but contented himself with this sniffling plea. Suddenly Aunt Petunia swirled around and approached Harry’s bed, jaws set grimly, eyes flashing. 

”Get up, boy!” she said and jerked the sheet covering Harry’s still pyjama-clad body away. She grabbed him by one arm and pulled him roughly on his feet. Harry let out a cry at the stabbing pain in his stomach on standing up so abruptly. Everything around him went black and he must have passed out for a short while, for the next moment he found himself in the hall outside his bedroom, dragged by his aunt. From this point, Harry only heard bribes of words as he slipped in and out of consciousness, pain and dizziness intermingling. He desperately tried to keep on his legs not to fall down the stairs towards which his aunt dragged him without hesitation. Had not Aunt Petunia maintained her grip of iron around his arm, he would have fallen over. She acted as if possessed and was surprisingly strong.

”… fainting. Careful, you’ll fall, both of you!”

”Let go!”

”Where are you going?”

”… hospital. Are you happy now?”

”… carry him.”

”Don’t touch him.”

”… call an ambulance?”

”…ridiculous…”

”You haven’t driven in fifteen years, Petunia. Why don’t you…?”

”… you make me…”

”…insane. Why can’t I…?”

”You stay away, Vernon, for your own and Dudley’s sake. I’ll drive him to the hospital. Satisfied?”

The next time he came to his senses, they were outside and she was dragging him through the rain towards the car. Harry opened his mouth to try to catch some raindrops in his mouth. Absurdly, the craving for water seemed to rule out the fear and the pain for a short while until he was shoved into the backseat of the car. Through the not yet closed door he watched his aunt and uncle fight over the car keys. His uncle’s fat fingers were closed around his aunt’s small hand. In the shine of a lightning it looked like he was towering over her and was about to murder her, if not the distraught expression on his face had contradicted the staging.

”Petunia, it’s dangerous. What are you doing? You might have an accident.”

”There is no one out on the streets in this storm. I have my license, give me some credit, Vernon. And I’m doing this for you, remember. Let go!”

Harry heard the doors slam, the motor ignite and the car started to move in small jumps that made Harry groan as it sent stabs of pain through his stomach. 

Even if he was not fully conscious all the time during the ride that followed, it was an experience that Harry would not soon forget. Aunt Petunia drove fast and jerkily, making Harry bounce on the backseat. Through the car window, the light of passing street lamps alternated with lightnings from the thunderstorm. As they rolled further and further away from Privet Drive on unknown roads, Harry felt the apprehension rise inside him. Where were they going? Had Aunt Petunia really lost her mind? Was she actually driving to the hospital? Or would she dump him in an empty backstreet, on a field or in a forest? Harry cried tearlessly, shaking with chills and from fear. He felt that it was futile to beg for his life. His instincts told him that his aunt was beyond reasoning and pleading. Was this it? Was he going to die?

St Paul’s hospital in Little Whinging classified as a middle-sized hospital with the smallest marginal possible, and yet it took Snape an inordinate amount of time to jog around the building from the Apparition point, searching for the entrance to the Emergency. He was angry and contrite at the same time, but the feeling of urgency had overruled his irritation from before and his only focus now was to find Harry Potter. He hoped by Merlin that Petunia had indeed driven the boy to the hospital and not, like her husband feared, dumped him on the way. What was the matter with Lily’s sister, anyway, was she insane?

Snape removed his dripping cloak in one swift movement as he entered through the sliding doors of the main entrance to the hospital. He had made sure, before leaving to Little Whinging, to change into Muggle clothing, all in black. After scanning the hall and the signboards, he headed towards what seemed to be a short-cut to the waiting room of Emergencies. 

The quick surge of relief when he spotted a characteristic mop of black hair and a pair of round glasses on a small form curled up across two seats, was replaced by a sharp intake of breath as he noticed the grey colour of the boy’s skin, the unnaturally slack mouth and the child’s shallow, erratic breathing. There was a small crowd gathered around the boy already where people murmured, incensed, among each others.

”He was left here by a woman nearly an hour ago.”

”He called her ’aunt’. He thanked her - in a weirdly sincere and relieved kind of way. But he has not spoken since.”

”I thought he was asleep, and you know how you don’t want to interfere with someone else’s child…”

”…so I alerted the receptionist and finally a nurse came and tried to wake him up. She seemed quite concerned and rushed off to fetch someone.”

”He’s so pale!”

”The aunt never came back. I heard her say that she would be right back after putting money into the parking meter.”

Snape pushed his way through the crowd and crouched beside the still form.

”Potter? Harry!” Snape shook the boy’s shoulder and Harry’s head rolled back. The fear for the child’s condition prompted Snape to be rougher than he intended. ”Do you hear me?” There was no reaction what-so-ever.

”Don’t touch him, Sir. We don’t know what’s the matter with him. It might be contagious. He clearly has a fever. The nurse should be back soon,” someone said. 

Snape only scoffed and lifted Harry up. Why was the child not inside the ward with the nurses and the doctors, being cared for? What were they waiting for? Potter was clearly unconscious and that kind of breathing must be an aggravating sign? Now, where to go? Snape looked wildly around. A door opened at the other end of the room where a nurse and a doctor appeared.

”Someone just left the child in the waiting room and…” the nurse was explaining to the young doctor when she caught sight of Snape. ”Oh, good, Sir, please bring him over here.”

Snape moved as fast as he dared with Harry in his arms towards the white-clad people and was ushered through the door and down a corridor. The doctor ran beside him, touching Potter’s forehead and the side of his neck. 

”Quick! Into the Emergency room. He’s in shock. Push the alarm button - we need more people. Call Dr Florence - I might need some help with this one,” the young doctor shouted to the nurse. 

After having put Potter down on a stretcher, Snape backed off against a wall, observing the chaotic scene. The room was soon crowded with more nurses and someone in green who said he was from the Intensive Care Unit. Potter received a plastic mug over his nose and mouth - Snape supposed it was to ease the breathing, giving him oxygen, perhaps? - and they put a wired item on his finger that blinked with a small red light. 

”I can’t manage the cannulation. There’s no way we’re going to get an access in these arms. The veins are completely collapsed,” said a nurse who had been working for a while by the crook of Potter’s left elbow, but who had abandoned it to inspect the right arm, with a negative result.

”The blood pressure is so low that it is barely measurable. If you do not succeed the venipuncture, then no one else will, Helen. We’ll have to think of another solution. The boy’s severely dehydrated. Look at his lips!”

Potter’s lips were so dry that there were crusts and dried blood on them, and his eyes looked sunken in his orbits somehow, Snape thought.

”Haven’t they given him anything to drink in this heat? And with that fever on top of it?” The nurse sounded angry.

”We imperatively need an access to rehydrate him. Bring the intraosseous set out for me, Helen, and Tom, check the jugular vein.” 

The green-clad doctor started to inspect the neck, grimacing at the disappointing result, while the blond young doctor who had met Snape in the waiting room worked on Potter’s leg. At that moment a sturdy, middle-aged woman in a white, short-sleeved, dress-like coat walked calmly into room. She glanced over the shoulders of two nurses at the patient, but did not take her hands out of the big pockets of her coat.

”What have we here, then?” she asked dryly. The young doctor looked up from his preparations and answered her. 

”A young boy - ten years old perhaps. He was left alone in the waiting room and other patients had to draw our attention to his poor condition. He’s in shock, whether from dehydration or from a sepsis, I don’t know. He has a high temperature. He needs fluids first of all to stabilise the circulation. I’m going to insert an intraosseous needle.”

The senior physician nodded and her gaze travelled to Snape.

”Who is that man?” she asked a nurse and added sternly: ”I’m sorry, Sir, only relatives are authorised to be present.”

”We’ll have to ask you to return to the waiting room, Sir. Thank you for your kind and determined assistance,”  a nurse said, approaching him, touching his arm gently to guide him out of the room. Snape tried to think quickly, but the adrenaline rushing through his body made him frustratingly empty-headed. His instincts, however, told him that he needed to stay to supervise what happened to the boy. Surely Dumbledore would not want him to leave at this stage? He spoke before his mind had formulated a distinct plan.

”B-but… I’m the father,” Snape blurted out. ”I’m Harry’s biological father,” he added more firmly. The nurse stared at him and let go of his arm. 

”Harry, is that his name?” she said a bit stiffly.

”Harry Potter. He will be twelve in a month. I had no idea he was in this state. They didn’t alert me. H-Harry lives with his aunt and uncle. They’re the ones who dumped him here.” Snape’s voice barely contained the anger he felt as he gave in to the need to vindicate himself, because he suddenly found himself the object of frosty stares and reproachful glares.

”I’m in! I’ll just draw a small syringe for culture and then we give him as much fluid we dare until his blood volume expands and you can put an intravenous access in him,” said the young doctor. 

”Well done, Victor!” said the sturdy woman doctor and Snape got the impression that the whole room drew a collective breath of relief. Snape who continued to observe the young doctor’s actions, suddenly found himself light-headed and swaying, because out of the front of Potter’s lower limb a metallic needle stuck out. It must go straight into the bone, Snape thought dimly. The young doctor was aspirating with a syringe that slowly filled with a dark red liquid.

”Give the father a chair before he swoons,” said the sturdy doctor curtly. She did not seem to miss anything going on in the room. ”Unless he wants to leave.”

Snape muttered defensively, but sat down on the pin chair that was offered to him and leant forward, letting his long hair fall in front of his face. His heart was pounding and there was a weird sound in his ears that slowly abated.

”Does your son have a medical history?” the sturdy doctor asked.

”Not that I’m aware of.” Snape frowned. Potter had told Poppy that he had never been ill before, had he not? ”A concussion when he was little - you can still see a scar on his forehead,” said Snape, thinking that they were bound to ask about that. ”And a couple of sports accidents last year, but nothing serious,” he added, thinking of Potter’s hazardous quidditch playing. He quickly decided that Harry’s near death experience with Quirrel and Voldemort a few weeks ago could not be explained in Muggle terms and should not be of importance in this case.

”I suppose we need to do a lumbar puncture to rule out meningitis?” the young doctor said interrogatively to his senior colleague. ”His neck does not appear very stiff to me, but it can be tricky.” 

Snape frowned.

”It’s an appendicitis. He needs surgery,” he blurted out. The sturdy woman raised an eyebrow.

”Are you a doctor, Sir? How would you know?”

”No, I’m not, but Po… he… Harry wrote to me yesterday. I received the letter today. That’s why I came to their house tonight. I immediately thought of an appendicitis when I read the description of his symptoms.”

”Which were?”

Snape closed his eyes to remember. He had not read that note very thoroughly. 

”Loss of appetite, stomach ache that worsened on moving or straightening up,” he said. 

”Dr Florence!” the young doctor called. ”He’s right. The boy has clear signs of a peritonitis. The abdomen is board-like. I’m sorry we missed it at first. We were thinking more in the line of infection. We need to call a surgeon.”

”They won’t want to operate until he’s stabilised. Continue with the fluid infusions and start him on antibiotics. Let’s move him to the Intensive Care Unit.”

*** 

Five hours later, at two o’clock am, in the Intensive Care Unit, Snape was growing impatient. The doctors had not yet reached a decision whether or not to operate Potter, nor when to do so. The surgery must be of paramount importance, must it not? The sooner the better. How else was the boy supposed to heal? The surgery was the whole point of the procedure, was it not? 

Where Snape had started off quiet and humble, shocked and subdued by Potter’s - Harry’s - threatening condition, he had become more and more grumpy towards the nurses who did not bring him any answers to his questions. The only thing that happened was that Potter - Harry - he must remember to use the boy’s first name if he wanted to pose as his father - Harry, then, had been connected to even more wires and that additional plastic tubes had been introduced into his body. That was a sickening practise that Snape found most difficult to tolerate. He was convinced that a magical healer would never resort to such barbaric procedures. If he did not know beforehand that the appendicitis rite must depend only on Muggle health care, he would have protested and ripped those things out long ago. It would have been so much better if Poppy had attended to Potter herself, Snape thought bitterly. Snape, who had never been to a Muggle hospital since he had his own appendix removed at the age of six - which he did not remember much of - felt lost, appalled and helpless at once.

One long tube had been introduced through Harry’s nose and down into the stomach to drain the gastric juice that kept being produced, but did not transport away, because the entire bowel system was in a paralysis from the inflammation in the abdomen and the acid fluid that accumulated in the ventricle, constituted a risk for vomiting and aspirating into the lungs, a red-headed nurse explained to Snape. She was okay, that one, Snape reluctantly admitted - she actually took her time to speak to him. Another plastic tube was draining the urinary bladder - Snape had thankfully been sent out of the room when they put it in place. He was equally grateful for the fact that the needle in the leg had been removed and replaced by a cannula entering a vessel at the crook of Harry’s neck. 

Snape had made repeated demands to speak to a surgeon. Instead, a young, taciturn female doctor - the radiologist on duty, the red-haired nurse whispered in Snape’s ear - had turned up with a grotesque, huge machine where blurred black-and-white images floated on a screen when the concentrated young woman scanned Harry’s abdomen with an ultrasound giver. The red-haired nurse explained the technique to Snape, because the young doctor did not betray anything, neither with words, nor facial expressions. ”I will report the result to the surgeon,” she said curtly before she left Snape exasperated. 

Subsequent to the ultrasound examination, he started to pace back and fro by Harry’s bed, partly to give an outlet to his frustration, partly in order to keep himself awake. He realised that it would not be appropriate to start yelling, because there were other patients in the room - four of them counting Harry - and Snape did not want to risk being expelled from the ward. He realised that the personnel let him stay out of pure good will, because whether he was the biological father or not, it must be clear to them that he was not the boy’s legal guardian. Instead of yelling, as soon as a nurse came within earshot, Snape hissed at him or her, asking when the surgeon was expected. 

”The surgeon is occupied by an emergency operation,” was the invariable answer. Well, that was surprising, Snape thought sarcastically and exasperated. What about Po- Harry, then? If his state was not an emergency, then what was? Why did they not call in another surgeon if the first one was occupied? They could not let people die while waiting for their turn, could they now? 

Snape felt a shiver of dread travel down his spine. What if the boy died? What if this was some particularly inept Muggle hospital? Maybe he was supposed to pay, to bribe someone to make things happen? He did not know of Muggle practises. Maybe he should demand that Potter was taken to another hospital? Or maybe he should intervene magically in some way? What would Albus say if he let Harry die? What would the Ministry say, with him being on his tenth year of probation? Merlin, what would Lily have said, if she knew that the son she sacrificed her life for was to succumb during his appendicitis rite due to her sister’s malice, to Muggle incompetence and to Severus Snape’s indecision? Snape made up his mind: If that surgeon did not turn up within five minutes, he would walk into the operation room and fetch him forcibly. Dare they try to prevent him, Snape thought desperately.

Luckily for everybody involved, the surgeon did arrive within those five minutes. It was a fine-boned, thin man of Snape’s age with a sympathetic face, although wrought by tiredness. The surgeon spoke quietly to the red-haired nurse who showed him the charts. She also gestured at Snape, and the surgeon lifted his eyes to scrutinise the stiff, black figure. Snape did not know if he succeeded in maintaining the inscrutable facade he tried to impose on himself. He had no wish to antagonise the surgeon, but it was difficult to hide the boiling impatience inside him. Subsequent to the quick scrutiny, the surgeon walked up to Harry and palpated the abdomen. The examination was brief, subsequent to which the surgeon drew up a chair for himself and gestured for Snape to sit down. 

”The result of the ultrasound supports the diagnosis of an inflamed and  ruptured appendix.” The surgeon spoke in a quiet, calm voice. ”However, your son was severely dehydrated on arriving at the hospital, also suffering from the effects of the spread infection in the abdomen. He is only starting to stabilise due to fluid infusions and to antibiotic treatment. He is in no condition to endure surgery at the moment.”

Snape made an irritated gesture and opened his mouth to speak. 

”Hear me out,” the surgeon interrupted calmly. ”It is an advantage to have the antibiotic treatment calm the infection before opening him up.”

Snape paled at the crude implication of the words.

”In some instances, with a ruptured appendix like this, it might even be an alternative to abstain from surgery altogether and only go with the antibiotic treatment. It will be longer to heal, but it might be the better alternative because surgery might contribute to spread the infection further,” continued the surgeon.

”That’s not an alternative for Harry,” Snape responded reflexively. ”He must have the surgery.” Why, if they did not operate, that would leave Potter a squib! That was not a satisfying alternative! What were they thinking of? He felt his anger mount again. The surgeon made a defensive gesture.

”I’m not saying that we will choose to abstain from surgery in your son’s case. I only want to point out to you that your son is currently under treatment and that there is no risk in waiting a few hours or a day, quite on the contrary.” His gaze bore calmly through Snape who frowned. 

”Will you operate tomorrow then? I want you to promise me that you will,” said Snape.

”You must leave the medical decisions with us, Sir. We will do what is best for your son.”

”You must remove his appendix.”

”It’s not much left of it as it is. The ultrasound shows that it is only a big inflammatory mass. You waited too long to come.” 

”I did not… I did as fast as I could…” Snape whispered, his voice suddenly faltering. Could he have come sooner? Had he loitered, in his irritation? But he needed to close Hogwarts, did he not? Should he have left the castle unprotected to check on Harry helter-skelter? And what did the doctor mean that there was not much left of the appendix to remove? What implications would that have on the magical side? Oh, if only Albus and Poppy were here. He must have looked lost, because the surgeon’s expression softened and he said:

”I did not mean to put the blame on you, Sir. I was told that it was the boy’s aunt who abandoned him. You are clearly concerned. I simply ask you to have confidence in us. I believe that you are right and that we will indeed operate within the next few days, because the ultrasound showed the beginnings of an abscess - which is proof that this has been going on for far too long, and we usually need to drain those.” 

Snape looked puzzled, so the surgeon explained:

”A pool of infected fluid, pus, forms and we need to put a plastic tube inside it to drain the infection away.”

Snape paled again. Another tube, inside the abdomen this time. 

”And you leave it there for how long?” he asked cautiously.

”As long as necessary, usually for a few days,” the surgeon answered. ”But we are moving ahead of events. We will repeat an ultrasound tomorrow morning and decide what to do. Until then, please be patient.” 

***

Intensive care specialist nurse Laura was supposed to leave her shift in ten minutes, but she was aware that so would not be the case. The night had been long and tumultuous, especially with the child arriving in the evening. It was not until early morning that he had been reasonably stabilised regarding fluid balance and circulation. The hard work had been to calm the father, though. It was natural for parents to go mad when their children were ill, Nurse Laura reminded herself. She actually preferred boiling anger to emotional withdrawal or hysterical breakdowns, as it often translated in true concern for the child.

The black-clad man had a particularly menacing countenance and several of her colleagues had taken an instinctual dislike against him and were afraid of him. Nurse Laura had interpreted his behaviour as fear for the child, though, and endeavoured to explain things to him, to which he responded well, only to immediately react to something else. He was clearly not used to hospitals and despite the efforts to hide his ignorance and his bewilderment behind that stern air, Nurse Laura saw through his disguise and recognised the typical parental reaction of anger and desperation. She had to acknowledge that the man had behaved within limits, nearly decently, but she had observed how close he had been to snap on several occasions. It was not until the surgeon had spoken to him that he had finally resigned to sit down in an armchair by his son’s bed and slumbered off a bit.

When Nurse Laura lifted her head from the chart where she was scribbling down her documentation and cast a glance towards the child’s bed, she let out a small exclamation. The boy was awake! The colleagues who had relayed her were both occupied with the fellow patients and the child was completely quiet. Sister Laura rose and approached. The child - Harry was his name, she reminded herself - Harry’s eyes were riveted on the sleeping, black-haired man whose head was tilted to the side in an uncomfortable position. They tore away to meet hers as she stepped up to the bed. 

”He came,” the boy whispered. Sister Laura felt a pang of tenderness, mixed with sadness when perceiving the incredulity in the child’s voice. She had deduced so much from tonight that the boy did not live with his father and that they might not even see much of each others. 

”Your father has been very worried about you. He stayed up most part of the night,” she said.

The child’s green eyes widened further before they fluttered closed and he drifted off in unconsciousness again.

***

It was not until noon the next day that Snape was approached by an elderly nurse who told him that the surgeons had decided to operate on Harry in the late afternoon. Snape received the news with a sigh of relief and muttered: ”Not a minute too early.”

”He had to be stabilised first,” the nurse said noncommittally. ”Sir, please, I need some information for the records. You understand that given the circumstances in which the boy was admitted to the hospital, we need to file a report to the social services on suspicion that he is not adequately taken care of by his legal guardians. We have tried to contact Mr and Mrs Dursley by phone, both last night and this morning, but we have not succeeded. Please tell me, how come that Harry lives with his aunt and uncle?” 

Snape tried to think quickly. The Muggle authorities were going to get involved, that was inevitable. What to say, then? Keep as close to the truth as possible - that was what his year of spying for Dumbledore on Voldemort during the end of the war had taught him. The fact that Snape had only slept a few hours in combination with the relief that the Muggles had finally decided in favour of an operation, probably made Snape more outspoken than had he been his usual guarded self.

”His mother and I…” Snape started and drew a deep breath. ”… were childhood friends. It changed into romantic feelings… on my behalf at least. Lily… Lily was probably only… er… experimenting. We were both very young when she got pregnant. For different reasons she… she did not want me to be involved with the child. She met someone else that she married. Unfortunately they both died in a car crash when Harry was only a year old. I was already resigned to giving up on him… and there were other things… I might as well tell you: I was on probation at that time and no one would have given me custody of the child, so I never claimed him and he was placed with his aunt and uncle.”

The nurse scribbled notes and gave him gentle, non-condemning glances that prompted him to continue.

”I have not seen him until last year when he started a school which brought him closer to where I live. I’m afraid we don’t know each other particularly well. I had no idea that he was so badly treated by Lily’s relatives.” 

The nurse was suddenly called away to an emergency with another patient. She gave Snape a hurried apology and added: ”Harry just woke up. See if you can keep him awake for a little longer. We need to explain to him what’s going to happen.”

Snape turned around to meet feverish green eyes riveted on him, in a grave face that, without the glasses, did not look so much like James Potter as Snape had thought all year long. The boy looked very small in the big bed, with his bared thin chest overlaid with wires and the plastic tube sorting out of his nostril and fastened with tape against his cheek. There was a shocked questioning in the gaze Harry gave him and Snape cursed himself silently for not being more careful. He leant down towards the child and in his embarrassment his whisper came out rather waspishly.

”You realise that I made that story up, don’t you, Potter? It was a show because in Muggle hospitals, they only allow relatives to stay with a child. Therefore I’m pretending to be, not your teacher, but your father. You need to play along or they will chuck me out of here.” Snape paused to think that maybe Harry did, after all, not care for the assistance of his least favourite teacher. Well - Snape shuffled the objection aside - that did not matter, because Harry needed an adult by his side and apparently there was no one else at the moment. Snape continued in a softer tone of voice. ”I will call you Harry and you might call me… Severus… We’re not very close as father and son after all, not even as the Muggles are concerned. I never claimed my legal right to you - my fictive legal right that is. Do you understand?” Snape felt as if he had entangled things further, but Harry turned his head away, with slightly heightened colour on his cheeks and nodded. 

”Are they going to operate - to cut into my stomach with a knife?” whispered Harry after a pause. Snape suddenly felt stupid for being so defensive and clumsy, going on about their disguise when there was clearly more serious things preoccupying Harry. He drew his chair closer to the bedside and sat back down.

”The removal of the appendix is an operation that every wizard and witch has to submit to. Everyone goes through it, so it’s perfectly natural, as Madam Pomfrey wrote to you, to catch the disease when you are a wizard,” Snape stated.

”Everyone? Ron and Hermione too?” asked Harry. Snape rolled his eyes. Did Potter imagine that he learnt the medical history of his pupils by heart? But he forced himself to answer patiently.

”I suppose so. Twelve is the upper limit of age. Most magical children have their appendicitis earlier in childhood.”

”Oh, I’m sorry, I’m having it so late,” said Harry weakly. Snape looked confused for a moment.

”There is nothing to apologise about,” he said finally with a streak of irritation. ”Those kind of things are not within your control. It’s about magical maturation and there’s nothing saying that it is preferable to have it early or late on in life.”

”And it always turns out okay?” asked Harry carefully. Snape hesitated for a fraction of a second and Harry immediately turned apprehensive. Merlin, the boy was perceptive, Snape thought. 

”I have not heard of any cases gone wrong among my acquaintance,” Snape hastened to say stiffly, thinking that as his acquaintance was minuscule that did not say much, but Harry did not know that. ”You have some complications, though, I won’t lie to you… due to your late arrival to the hospital…”

”I’m sorry I didn’t…”

”Stop being sorry for what you had no means to influence, Po- Harry!” Snape exclaimed loudly, upset by the eleven-year-old’s absurd propensity towards self-reproach. ”You did what you could, writing to Hogwarts. The complications arose because your aunt did not monitor or care for you properly!” 

”Aunt Petunia…” Harry’s eyes filled with tears as he choked on the words and drew a shuddering breath, which elicited a wince of pain. Snape immediately looked alarmed and was on the point of calling a nurse when Harry went on. ”First Aunt Petunia refused all day to take me to a doctor,” Harry whispered. ”Then she changed her mind when Uncle Vernon got scared. But she didn’t say anything during the ride in the car and I had no idea where she was driving me. I didn’t even know that she had a driving li-license. When at last we arrived and I realised that we were at a ho-hospital, I was so grateful. I thanked her, but she only sneered at me, tore away and hissed at me not to p-pull any tricks.”

”And she left you alone in an anonymous waiting-room without notifying anyone,” Snape spat angrily. He drew a deep breath to calm himself. ”You should not think about that right now. First thing first. You need to have your surgery and recover.”

”Are those complications you told me about bad?” asked Harry in a small voice. Snape opened his mouth and shut it again to think. He realised that Harry needed to be reassured, yet he had no idea what to say to him. Again he opted for keeping as close to the truth as possible.

”The Muggle doctors say that it will be a little longer and more complicated to perform the surgery because of the complications, but I have not perceived any doubts in their demeanour as to whether you will survive or not… Not since last night when you arrived, at which point… er… I must say there was some alarm.” Snape swallowed at the memory of the unconscious Potter surrounded by desperately busy doctors. ”So I am confident that you will survive the surgery. They will, however, have to put… er… one of these… er… plastic tubes… er… into your abdomen… and…” Snape was so uncomfortable with speaking about the abscess drain that the surgeon had explained about, that he felt downright dizzy. The situation was saved by the elderly nurse who approached the bed. 

”Harry, really,” she said with mild reproach, ”you have to tell us directly that you are in pain. Your heart is ticking very fast and you are tense and sweating - you are obviously in pain and yet you say nothing.”

Snape fidgeted and flew up from his chair, but started to sway so he sat down again.

”Maybe I spoke too crudely when I tried to explain about the surgery,” he said contritely. ”I might have scared him.” Harry looked with surprise at Snape who seemed genuinely remorseful.

”He has a generalised peritonitis - that hurts, and his last dose of morphine is waning. Don’t put unnecessary blame on yourself,” the nurse corrected Snape. ”I’m simply going to give him a new dose. And you, Sir, should get something to eat. If you don’t want to leave the room, I can bring you some sandwiches. All you need is to ask for it, you know?” She arched an eyebrow and disappeared. 

Instead of continuing to explain about the plastic tubes, Snape went on in a whispering tone to tell Harry about the magical implications from the removal of the appendix. He made it sound like a highly desirable event, one to celebrate in every wizard’s home and Harry listened raptly. 

”It might liberate a substantial amount of magical energy once you’ve healed,” concluded Snape. ”So it will be interesting during your second year at Hogwarts to observe if any of that will rub off on your Potions work, for example.” Snape spoke dryly, but Harry who was starting to drift off into sleep again due to the effect of the morphine, smiled.

”Well done!” the nurse whispered to Snape as she approached to observe the sleeping Harry.

Snape sighed. He did not like to deceive. But he had not lied, he tried to tell himself, simply glossed it over a bit. In the best case scenario, Harry would have his magical powers boosted. In the worst case… In the worst case… would Harry become a squib? After suffering all this? That would be cruel, reflected Snape. He put his head in his hands. He simply did not know anything about healing matters. He wished Albus was here. Or Poppy for that matter. He had notified both of them, but had received no answer yet. 

***

The surgery did go well, although it was the longest hours in Snape’s life. He had no explanation as to why he wandered the corridors outside the operation ward. There was nothing he could do. He was not allowed inside and they had explained to him that it would take some time, what with the preparations and all. He should take the opportunity to rest, to clean up and eat a proper meal. He might even have the time to Apparate back and fro to Spinners End, while Harry had the surgery. Snape could not explain why he could not leave, why he seemed to be unable to tear away from the naked, impersonal hospital corridors. But it felt utterly impossible to take one step outside that corridor. He could not even sit for long. Laura, the red-haired nurse from the previous night was back on duty, because the operation had been delayed into the evening, and she eyed Snape with curiosity, approaching him a few times. She launched him short, humorous, peppery remarks that had the merit of disconcerting and distracting him for short intervals of time and so he got by until he could draw a sigh of relief at the sight of a still sleeping, but breathing and alive Harry Potter and sit down by his side for another night’s vigil.

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.

Neither Snape, nor Harry had much sleep the night before the meeting with the social services, and it was two pale and drawn faces, behind overgrown black hair, that glared and peaked pitifully, at the nurses the next day. The meeting was not scheduled until the afternoon and Snape and Harry waited in almost absolute silence, both of them ignoring most of their food. Harry spotted a bit of fever at noon, but the nurse thought that he was tense and that he had not drunk enough and that it was probably nothing to worry about. Harry who briefly regained a hopeful sparkle in the eyes, as if it would have pleased him to stay longer in the hospital, sank back with a dull face when she did not seem alarmed.

The time for the meeting finally came. Harry who was surprised to find out that he would actually be allowed to be present during the session was carefully helped into a wheel-chair and rolled down the corridor into a huge conference room at the end of the Paediatric ward. There were five Muggles present of different professions, from both the Paediatric ward and from the Intensive Care Unit, as it was them, originally, who had filed the report of suspected child abuse to the social services. 

Snape expected some intervention from the Ministry of Magic, but was yet startled when the elegant officer from the Muggle social services turned out to be a carefully disguised witch. She was not even an impostor, she confided in Snape who was brought to the side for a confidential talk. Mrs Trench had infiltrated the Muggle social services, with complete qualifications and was thus able to handle the kind of social problems that might arise in mixed Muggle and magical families. She told Snape that Professor Dumbledore had put her into the picture and that she was convinced that they had found a preliminary solution that would probably work out fine. 

”I will be vague when I speak about your status as the biological father,” she whispered to Snape. ”Considering that there are no papers confirming such a relationship between Mr Potter and yourself. Manifestly - since you made it all up. I don’t blame you, because you were in difficult situation - necessity has no law. I will be careful with what I say, since all these people still believe you to be the father. What I wanted to stress, however, is that I don’t want you to protest in any way. I won’t confirm the status, nor will I deny it.” 

Snape nodded in understanding before going back to Harry who was sitting in his oversized wheel-chair by a huge table. He leant over to hiss in Harry’s ear that this was the real thing. The social lady was from the Ministry. Harry jerked his head up to stare at her.

Mrs Trench turned around to open the meeting, addressing the whole room and giving them a summary of the situation.

”Mr Potter is known to the social services since he was one year old, when his parents died in an accident,” she explained. ”He was left with his closest relatives, his aunt Petunia Dursley and her husband Vernon Dursley. We’ve been checking up on the family regularly once a year. Do you recall such visits from the social services, Mr Potter?”

Harry looked confused and shook his head. Mrs Trench frowned. 

”They made home visits and spoke to your aunt, and it says here that they made observations of you in the household that turned out satisfactory,” the social worker insisted.

”Aunt Petunia would usually be nicer to me when we had visitors,” mumbled Harry and shrugged. Really, what did they imagine? Aunt Petunia wouldn’t show herself at her worst in front of other people, would she? 

Mrs Trench rustled the pages of her file and muttered to herself about naive co-workers and when would they learn to speak directly to the children? She finally cleared her voice and continued in an authoritative voice.

”The recent incident when you were apparently abandoned alone in a waiting room of the Emergency at this hospital, and the ensuing report of child abuse, has led us to open up a new investigation as to the suitability of the Dursleys as Mr Potter’s guardians. I have personally spoken to Mr Potter’s aunt and uncle who say that they regret the events preceding Mr Potter’s admittance.”

Harry widened his eyes.

”They claim that a misunderstanding between themselves and Mr Snape accounts for the unfortunate way Mr Potter was delivered to the hospital.”

Snape sneered loudly and several nurses pulled incredulous faces. 

”And the severe dehydration that spoke of the lack of care for many hours prior to the admittance…?” said the red-haired nurse called Laura from the Intensive Care Unit. 

”Apparently, they did not realise,” said Mrs Trench. 

”I asked…” Harry blurted out, but turned his head away abashedly.

”Yes, Mr Potter?”

Harry only shook his head, stubbornly looking at the floor.

”Mr and Mrs Dursley will be subjected to a more thorough investigation from the social services. We always collaborate closely with the police and we have in fact discussed the case with them, considering the severity of Mr Potter’s condition when he arrived at the hospital. I take it that it was a close shave?”

Specialist nurse Laura nodded angrily.

”The police say that it will be difficult to demonstrate a crime in this affair. It is hard to prove an intention to hurt. And it is questionable whether even an extreme case of neglect will end up being a punishable offence. The Dursleys’ statement will be pitted against Mr Snape’s when it comes to the agreement about who was to attend Mr Potter at the hospital. Even with Mr Potter’s testimony of the events - and I understand that he has not been forthcoming with any details on the matter - with or without it, however, the Dursleys most probably will not be incriminated. Which is not the same as to say that they will qualify as suitable guardians from the social services’ point of view,” concluded Mrs Trench.

”But they are not out of the running yet, then?” It was Snape, this time, who asked, a mixture of sarcasm and anger that he could not hold back vibrating in his voice. Nurse Laura shot him a sympathising look, whereas Mrs Trench stared reprovingly at him. Snape tensed and glared back at her: What? Was he not supposed to say a word? Just obey and stay mute, like Harry?

”Mr Potter will be removed, temporarily, from the care of Mr and Mrs Dursley. Whether he will return to them at a later stage, will depend on the extended investigation,” said Mrs Trench. 

”Why, when the boy has a father who obviously cares for him?” said Nurse Laura impatiently.

Mrs Trench drew a deep breath and turned to face the nurse, forcing herself to speak calmly.

”Mr Snape has done a good job in assisting Mr Potter. The health care staff give him high commendations. However, I believe that Mr Snape himself is aware of… a certain darkness… in his past… that naturally make us question his suitability as a guardian.”

Snape bowed his head in silence, but Nurse Laura did not let go.

”For heavens’ sake,” she exclaimed. ”The past cannot rule the present. Everyone should get a second chance. Believe me, after a week in a hospital, most parents show their true faces and I’ve rarely seen someone as patient and as dedicated to their child as Mr Snape has proven to be. Come on, he’s the father! The boy needs him! Let them stay together.”

Snape coloured at her passionate speech and Harry looked at her under the black fringe with a curious expression on his face - was it a mixture of bashfulness and hope? - his knuckles whitening as he gripped the handles of his wheel-chair harder.

”In case Mr Snape would like to assume the responsibility of parenthood vis-a-vis Mr Potter, he should start with filing an official demand for guardianship. We have yet to see it.” Mrs Trench raised a daring eyebrow in Snape’s direction. ”Such a demand would, of course, lead to a thorough and fair investigation, but considering the complicated past of Mr Snape, it would take some time and we are here today to find an intermediary solution to Mr Potter’s problem,” said Mrs Trench.

”Unbelievable!” muttered Nurse Laura, throwing an incensed glance at Snape. Why was he not protesting? He did not look easily intimidated. Why did he not stand up for his rights as a parent? 

”We have found a foster family that is willing to receive Mr Potter without delay,” Mrs Trench said briskly. 

Harry looked gloomily at her, shrinking into the worn leather back of his wheel-chair. 

”This respectable family has a spotless record and they have several children of their own,” she continued while Harry deliberately turned his head away from her.

”The Weasleys live in the countryside, close to a small village called Ottery St Catchpole…” she rambled on, but Harry did not listen any longer. He had jerked his head back to stare at Mrs Trench and bolted upright in his wheel-chair. Was it possible? Mrs Trench lifted an eye-brow at him.

”Would… would that be Ron Weasley’s family, Madam?” Harry blurted out. Snape, who was sitting at his side, put a calming hand on his arm, but Harry was so eager that he did not notice.

”One of their children is called Ronald Weasley, I believe, and is about your age.” The disguised witch smiled conspiratorially at him.

”But… but… He’s my best friend at school! His twin brothers are in the year above, and I’ve met his mother twice. She’s really friendly. And he’s got a little sister. I have not met his father, but I think that he’s okay, too. Are you sure they want me to come? That’s really, really brilliant. Thank you, Mrs Trench. Thank you so much! Severus! They are going to let me live with the Weasleys!” 

Harry was exultant and the nurses around him could not help but smile at his excitement. Snape patted his arm with an inscrutable face, but inwardly he was relieved. He should have known that Albus would find a suitable solution. He only wished that the social worker witch had told them right away and spared them all the preceding drivel. It clouded the happy ending somehow when Snape’s joy for Harry’s sake was stained with the least little bit of selfish regret.

***

A good twenty-four hours later, Ron Weasley popped his head inside the living-room at the Burrow where Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting together with his least favourite teacher, Severus Snape.

”Dad,” he said.

It was almost eight o’clock and Ron’s parents were beginning to wonder how come the sour Potions master of Hogwarts did not bid his farewell and leave them. He had accompanied Harry from the hospital in the morning to get him settled in, then stayed for lunch, then stayed for tea, and they were now beginning to wonder if they would have to offer him dinner as well. Their guest did not particularly seem to enjoy himself, not saying much, remaining grave and taciturn whichever subject they tried to broach. They were starting to feel that he had outstayed his welcome.

”Yes, Ronald?” said Mr Weasley.

”Harry’s asleep,” said Ron. 

”He’s probably just taking a nap, dear. We should wake him up for dinner, or he will not be able to sleep tonight,” said Mrs Weasley.

”Um… I think he went to sleep about an hour ago in the middle of a game and not even Fred and George could wake him up with their Exploding snap cards, so Bill just levitated him over to his bed and if you ask me, Harry’s turned in for the night. I just thought that you should know,” said Ron.

”Well, that’s a new record,” snorted Snape. ”Falling asleep at six thirty. But I’m not surprised, because of all the excitement today, with moving him here and with all the attention you’ve given him.”

Snape’s nonchalant words contrasted with the worried look on his face when he stood up. Molly Weasley followed his example and rose. 

”Let’s check on him,” she said.

Mounting the narrow stairs and entering the room that Harry shared with Ron, Snape and Molly Weasley met the twins who had collected their Exploding snap cards and were retreating from the room. Harry’s glasses lay on the side table of the bed and Bill had tucked him in neatly under a thin cover, because it was still warm outside. Snape stepped up to the sleeping form on the bed and touched Harry’s forehead. Molly Weasley followed his example and repeated the gesture.

”He’s a tad hot,” she commented and frowned.

Snape drew his wand and performed a simple temperature spell. 

”38.3 degrees,” he said.

”Surely that’s a bit high so many days after the surgery? Should we call the hospital?” Molly asked with preoccupation in her voice. Snape furrowed his eyebrows. This was so much harder without the Muggle nurses to back him up.

”No, I don’t think it is necessary quite yet. I’ve seen him like this before. Especially when he is tense or excited,” responded Snape.

”None of our children were affected to such a degree after their appendicitis. All of them have gone through it, you know. Ginny had hers when she was seven,” said Mrs Weasley.

”Well, none of their appendixes burst, did they? Nor did they have a generalised peritonitis,” Snape retorted sharply. ”The doctors explained to me that because of the spread and the large area of tissue involved in the infection, Harry will take longer to heal. They also said that the healing involves a lot of inflammatory markers being released into his system and that it may cause a fever, and that, in turn, is what causes his tiredness. So it would be a perfectly natural part of the healing to have a low-grade, fluctuating fever. If he rises above 38.5 degrees, or persistently stays above 38 degrees, I was told to contact them, however, because there is still a small risk that he develops a new abscess, and those… er… need to be drained. Antibiotics alone do not work against them.” Snape drew his breath.

”So we monitor his temperature…” Molly Weasley started to say only to be interrupted by Snape.

”Yes, three times a day until it reaches normal levels - below 37.5 that is, I asked specifically - and twice a day for three more days after that.”

”So if his temperature is still above 38 degrees tomorrow…”

”Then I would call the hospital. Ask for Nurse Samantha or Nurse Maria Helena as they are the most sensible ones.” 

”I realise that I should have been present at the discharge, to receive the doctor’s directions. But it was so practical for you and Arthur to bring him here and I thought that since I’ve already handled seven children with the appendicitis, I would manage. I’m not sure whether Arthur caught a word of what the doctor said.” Mrs Weasley made a disapproving grimace. ”I’m glad you were there, though. You’ve done a thorough job, Severus.”

Snape nodded in acknowledgment, without responding.

”I will check his temperature again this evening to make sure it does not rise above 38.5,” said Mrs Weasley, ushering Snape out of the room. ”For now, I will just let him sleep. I suppose he needs it to heal. It bothers me that he had nothing to eat before going to bed, though.”

”You’ll have to make it up to him tomorrow,” answered Snape. ”He has had trouble keeping up with his energy intake as he has not regained his appetite quite yet. The solution is to give him numerous small meals. And you don’t need to withhold sweets and cookies just right now - he only nibbles at whatever you give him anyway. Maybe with your cooking skills, Molly, you’ll be able to stimulate his appetite. You made a very nice lunch, thank you, and… and I guess I should be going…” Snape finished sheepishly as Mrs Weasley had ushered him all the way to the exit.

”Thank you so much for your help, Severus. You’re welcome to pop by to check on Harry any time. Have a nice evening.” Molly Weasley shut the door and leant against it. ”Did I just say that he could pop by any time?” she groaned in a whisper to her husband who raised an amused eyebrow. 

”He has entered on your domains, Molly, and that frustrates you. You realise that he is concerned for Harry, don’t you? That’s all.”

”It’s so strange! Ron told us how horrible Severus has been to Harry in class all year.” Molly shook her head in disbelief.

*** 

Snape walked slowly on the gravelled path leading from the Burrow to the nearest village, Ottery St Catchpole. Oblique rays of sun made the light dance over the soft hills in a captivating way, and an enveloping warmth stayed in the air from the hot summer day. Still, Snape felt strangely heavy-hearted. He should be happy to be free, at last, after being shut up in a hospital room for a whole week. He only needed to summon a little bit of determination and he could Apparate straight home. But as Snape continued walking, Spinners End felt far away and Apparating felt like an impossibility. 

Snape suddenly found himself in the middle of the village. He had been walking with a bent head, eyes riveted on the ground in front of him. When he lifted his head, a little lost, his attention was drawn to a small group of people who entered through a heavy oak door to his right. On an impulse, as if to find an excuse to delay his departure, Snape followed them inside the inn.

The pub was crowded and busy with a mixture of Muggles of different ages. Snape found himself a secluded corner at the counter and ordered a cold beer. The barman who was also the proprietor of the inn lifted an eyebrow.

”Foreigner?” he asked.

”No,” muttered Snape. ”I simply learnt to enjoy cold beer during my travels in Europe.” He had never agreed with the lukewarm English beer.

Two hours later, Snape was still sitting in his corner, staring in front of him, with the same beer-glass on the counter, still half-full.

”You’re not a heavy drinker,” the barman commented sarcastically. Snape startled out of his reverie.

”It got warm,” he said and shrugged. 

”Could have asked for another, then,” the barman muttered and added. ”You look dog-tired, mate, if you ask me. And you’re not from here. Maybe you’d like a room upstairs and turn in?” The man gestured at a rickety wooden stair-case at the other end of the hall. Snape shook his head automatically.

”I should probably be going,” he muttered and rose.

The thought of leaving the inn and Apparating away, however, made Snape’s  limbs suddenly feel heavy as lead. He frowned at himself. Was he not well? Why did it feel so utterly impossible to leave this place? The barman was right, though, he was exhausted, because he had not slept much the last night at the hospital, neither the night before, when they awaited the meeting with the social services.

”Changed my mind. I’ll take a room,” said Snape.

Snape woke with a racing heart, not recognising where he was at first, before remembering that he had rented a room at the village inn of Ottery St Catchpole the previous night. He did not recall his dream, but suddenly found himself extremely anxious to check on Harry. What if the boy’s temperature had not fallen? If he had a relapse, or a new abscess? Snape literally squirmed at the thought of having to bring Harry back to the hospital and let them introduce a new plastic tube into the abdomen. He was suddenly stricken by doubt. Had he explained everything properly to Molly and Arthur? Maybe he had forgotten some part of the instructions that the Muggle doctor had given? Or the Weasleys may not have grasped the importance of following them? They were a disorderly kind of family, with so many members to keep track of, although he was sure that Molly Weasley meant well, and he supposed she was more experienced than he was, considering that he had not raised one single child, but in this particular case, Snape thought firmly, in this particular case, he had more specific knowledge about Harry than Mrs Weasley did. Because I was there with him, he thought grimly. It does not matter, because I was there.

Snape was up and dressed before he checked the time and realised that it was only 5 am and that he could not possibly be bursting in at the Burrow at this hour. He glanced outside - he might opt for a long walk. It was a beautiful morning and the birds were chirping so loudly that he was surprised that he had been able to sleep at all. There must be a nest under the tiles somewhere close to his window.

Three hours later, Snape approached the Burrow cautiously to see if he could detect any signs of life. A rippling laughter pierced the peaceful, slightly hazy morning air in the garden and led Snape to find three of the Weasley children playing ghost tag, still in their nighties, among the trees. Snape’s appearance made Ginny drop the enchanted ghost ball she was trying to hit Fred and George with. The young girl approached him cautiously. Her brothers stayed a behind, happy to let their unsuspicious sister do the conversation with their dreaded teacher. Ginny who had no experience of her own yet from a Potions class with Professor Snape, but who had heard the stories about the dungeon bat teacher, dropped a quick curtsey and said cautiously:

”Harry’s inside with Ron. He’s not allowed out, because he had a fever yesterday and Mum thinks that he must stay in bed.”

”Are your parents up? Where are they?” Snape frowned slightly.

”They’re in the kitchen having an argument,” said Ginny forthcoming. Snape blinked a couple of times and shifted his feet almost imperceptibly as the slightest sign of uncertainty. It sufficed to make George gather his courage to say:

”They’re only having a discussion. Follow me, Professor, I’ll show you the way.”

Ginny and Fred ran ahead, shouting for their parents that there was a visitor. It was just as well, thought Snape, in case he was indeed interrupting something. Mr Weasley only lifted a hand in greeting in Snape’s direction before he darted off, up the stairs, supposedly to get dressed, because he was still in his pyjama. Mrs Weasley was dressed and received Snape gracefully, only the slightest bit of stiffness detectable in her features for those who knew her well.

”Welcome, Severus. You’re up early. Naturally, you’re here to check on Harry. Well that rise in temperature was a bit disquieting last night, wasn’t it?”

Snape nodded silently.

”I checked again, of course, before going to bed last night and it had increased to 38.6 degrees.”

Snape narrowed his eyes, but before he had time to say anything, Mrs Weasley cut him short.

”Don’t worry. I contacted the hospital at once. Arthur has one of those Muggle tele- what’s-it-called-again? - tele-object items installed in his private laboratory. The nurses explained about the healing process in roughly the same way as you did yesterday. They reassured me and told me to check the fever again in the morning. So, I was up early, and Harry’s temperature had fallen to 37.7. It was such a relief.”

Snape inclined his head in agreement, careful not to give any emotions away. He was satisfied in so much that Molly Weasley had proven to him that she was capable of following instructions and that she took Harry’s condition seriously.

”Harry woke at seven o’clock, having slept more than twelve hours. I have given him his first breakfast and you’re so right - he takes very small bites. But we are going to change that!” Molly Weasley said with determination, but then her expression changed. ”This has taught me that Harry is weaker than I expected, though. I had not taken the complicated course of his disease into account. Why, Arthur and I were having this discussion just now…”

Mr Weasley reappeared just then in the kitchen, dressed in a light wizard’s summer robe. He shook Snape’s hand.

”I apologise for intruding on you,” said Snape uncomfortably, but Arthur Weasley waved his excuse away as if it was an irksome fly. 

”Not to worry. Not to worry. We are up early in this family. Now, Molly, about the thing we discussed earlier, I honestly believe that we could all go. We don’t have to decide just now. Let’s see how Harry is doing today and we will determine before going tomorrow if someone should stay behind with him.”

”Now, listen, Arthur. We’d better decide today so that the person who is to stay behind is prepared tomorrow. We still need to agree upon who that person should be. I believe that it should fall on me. After all…” Molly was interrupted by her husband.

”After all, they are your relatives and you should go!” Mr Weasley turned to Snape to explain. ”We are going to the newly opened wizard amusement park north of London together with Molly’s brother and his family. The trip is scheduled for tomorrow and it’s only for the day. We will be back in the evening. We had planned to take Harry with us, in one of those floating chairs you know. He would not be allowed to try any of the attractions, but at least he would be able to come with us and watch. But now Molly is having second thoughts.”

”It’s unsuitable, Arthur. The boy is too weak. Ask Severus - he will agree with me. Don’t you, Professor?” said Molly.

”It would be irresponsible as it could compromise Harry’s rehabilitation!” spat Snape at Arthur Weasley who froze at the outburst. Snape tried to calm himself. What was the matter with him? It was not proportionate to react as if he was ready to challenge Arthur to a duel over something like this, was it? He continued in a less aggressive tone. ”Could the… er… excursion not be postponed to a later date?” he proposed.

”My brother is leaving for Italy for the rest of the holidays,” explained Molly Weasley. ”The thing is…” She checked that none of her children were nearby and leant closer to Snape, whispering in confidence, ”…the thing is that my brother’s family accommodated us for more than a week and in return we were supposed to invite them to one of the fancier restaurants in the amusement park. The food is said to be good. It’s a way for us to make up for the kindness they have shown us. My brother has helped us out a couple of times during the past years and inviting them would at least be a gesture, when we are not able to pay them back everything we owe. Therefore, we don’t feel that we could cancel tomorrow. But I’ll stay behind with Harry while the others go. His health is more important.”

”Victor’s your brother, Molly,” sighed Arthur. ”You should go. Perhaps we could ask Bill to stay. But then Ginny and Ron and the younger cousins want Bill to come, because he will accompany them on those neck-breaking spell courses and I can tell you that I won’t. I’m too old for that kind of thing. Being thrown about in the air, at the mercy of other people’s spellwork - no thank you! Maybe I had better stay, then, if Harry’s not in a better shape tomorrow. Children his age heal very quickly, you know…”

Snape, naturally, had never been to the wizard amusement park, but he had listened to a couple of his colleagues who had visited with their children and Snape reckoned that it must be a horrible place, loud and busy, not to say quaking and dangerous.

”Harry is not going,” Snape said firmly. ”I can come over and spend the day with him here.” As soon as he pronounced the words, Snape sensed how the preexisting anxiety that had been lurking since he woke up vanished into thin air and some sort of serenity filled his whole body. Molly and Arthur Weasley stared at him for a short while before a wide smile spread on Mr Weasley’s face.

”That would be a nice solution. If you are willing to sacrifice more of your time? When Albus wrote, asking us to step in as a foster family for Harry, he hinted that he was afraid that you might be… weary… and eager to be relayed, because of your past… er… difficulties… with Harry’s parents. I don’t mean to prod, but I seem to recall that at one time, Lily and you were…”

”There will be no problem,” said Snape with as much dignity he could master. ”I need to do some research before I proceed with the works on my house.” Snape had told the Weasleys all about his project at Spinners End the previous afternoon. ”I can bring some books and Harry and I will have a quiet day - just what he needs.”

Arthur Weasley looked at his wife who seemed the least little bit conflicted, but who did not protest.

”That’s settled then,” said Mr Weasley. ”Now, you’d better mount and say hello to Harry, because he asked for you and was sorry that he missed your departure by falling asleep yesterday.” Mr Weasley gestured up the stairs. ”And we would be happy if you joined us for breakfast,” he added, grinning boyishly behind Snape’s back at his exasperated wife.

***

Next day was a saturday and it was a strange feeling, when the Weasleys left the Burrow after much muddle and the house finally fell silent. Harry felt a small pang of regret and pushed a prodding feeling of envy away, because a wizard amusement park must be something extraordinary, but he would not have been allowed to join in the activities anyway and now Severus was staying with him and somehow Harry found that he did not object to that at all. For form’s sake and because he was afraid of taking up even more of Severus’ time, Harry had tried to tell Mrs Weasley that he could manage on his own during the day, but she had only chuckled and said that she would like to see him persuade his professor of such an arrangement and who would spell his temperature in that case?

Harry was allowed up and to walk about in his and Ron’s room a few steps. He preferably sat in a comfortable armchair that Bill had transfigured especially for him. Severus had transfigured another armchair for himself and they spent the first few hours of the morning playing the tutor games from the hospital ward. Harry fell into his old pattern of calling his teacher by his first name. When the Weasleys were around he had gone back to call Snape by his title, like the other Weasley children did, but now everything was just like back in the hospital when Severus was supposed to be his father and… the name just slipped past his lips. He looked a bit apprehensively at his teacher who made an indulgent gesture, however, and said that it was fine with him if Harry continued to call him Severus when they were on their own, as long as Harry remembered to switch to a more formal address, especially at school. Harry smiled in relief and reassured Severus that he would.

After a couple of hours, Harry started to yawn, shaking his head repeatedly to clear it and focus on the game. 

”You’re tired. Its time for a nap,” said Severus and removed the parchments. Harry sighed in regret.

”I’m not a baby,” he muttered in vexation.

”No, but you’re recovering from a serious disease and need regular sleep to heal properly,” said Severus dryly. ”Back to bed now. I need to go down to prepare some lunch anyway. It will be ready when you wake up. Otherwise I will be in the library downstairs with my research. Let’s see now…”

Severus started to arrange things in the room around Harry. He did not quite fuss, because Severus did not fuss like Mrs Weasley did. Sitting in his bed, Harry watched in amazement the thoroughness the man nevertheless proceeded with. He transfigured one of Ron’s old toys into a bell and explained to Harry that he did simply have to touch it and Severus would know that Harry needed him even if he was downstairs and that he would mount immediately if Harry called. Severus arranged the small plate with crackers and fruit that both the professor and Mrs Weasley tried to press upon him at all times. They wanted him to eat constantly. Severus put an extra blanket at the foot of Harry’s bed, a handkerchief on the side table and brought one of Harry’s books within reach in case he would not feel like falling asleep after all. Finally, Severus did an Aguamenti spell on Harry’s glass that filled with water.

The sight was like pushing a button and Harry could do nothing but close his eyes on the tears that burned behind them. His chest constricted almost painfully and he quickly bent forward hoping that Severus would not notice his predicament.

Snape stilled immediately when he felt Harry go tense by his side.

”Harry?” he asked, but got no answer. ”Harry’s what’s the matter? Is something wrong?”

The boy shook his head, but turned his face away at the same time. The bony shoulders were squared and his back tense under the T-shirt. Snape put a careful hand between Harry’s shoulder blades, felt the taught muscles underneath the tissue and realised that Harry was struggling to breathe. 

”You need to tell me what’s wrong, Harry,” Snape repeated with rising alarm. What could have set the boy off like this? Was he suddenly in pain? When he got no answer, in his bewilderment, Snape sharpened his tone. ”If you don’t give me an answer I will have to contact the hospital to have you submitted to an examination right now,” he threatened. Harry squirmed.

”It’s nothing,” he exhaled. ”No pain, I promise.”

”Yet, you’re distressed,” said Snape, frowning, and continued gently. ”Just tell me. Did you remember something?” He felt instinctively that it was of paramount importance to get the boy to talk, to verbalise his feelings, if only a in few words. 

Snape stroked Harry’s back carefully, slowly, forcing himself to stay calm. Usually, he had no difficulties to separate other people’s anxiety from his own feelings, but in this instance it was as if Harry’s distress rubbed off on him as well.

”She… she didn’t give me any water when I asked for it…” Harry stuttered the words in a low wail. Snape closed his eyes and grimaced. He continued stroking Harry’s back, soothingly, encouragingly. ”I don’t understand,” whispered Harry. ”I don’t understand. Why was she so mean? I know she never liked me, but I was ill and she wouldn’t even…” His body shuddered with withheld sobs.

”You will not always understand things in life…” Snape said slowly to the silently crying Harry, ”You don’t always understand the motive people have for acting in such or such a way. The most important thing now is that you are out of her reach. You’re no longer at her mercy. Do you hear me?”

Harry nodded jerkily.

”Petunia was always jealous of Lily. Always. She was spiteful already as a child, as far as I can remember. I knew both of them. Lily was my friend and Petunia was my enemy.” Snape smiled cheerlessly to himself. ”You might simply be the recipient of an old and frowsy grudge that has persisted in your aunt’s mind. You have nothing to do with it. It’s not your fault, Harry, do you understand?” 

The cramp in his chest lessened, Harry stopped crying and started to relax at Severus’ words. They were oddly comforting. It was not his fault. The reasons for his aunt’s acts were beyond his understanding and that was okay. Harry awkwardly picked up the handkerchief on the side table and dried his face, avoiding to look at Severus who had removed the warm hand on his back and held it out impassively to accept the crumpled piece of cloth. Harry hesitated for a brief moment, then clumsily clasped Severus’ hand with his smaller hand and with the handkerchief rolled into a ball between their palms before surrendering it. Embarrassed, he glided down in his bed, turned on his side towards the wall, drew a shuddering breath and closed his eyes. He was so very tired. He dimly noticed Severus rise after a short while and listened to the soft footsteps as he walked out of the room. 

***

The Weasleys were back as suddenly as they had departed, invading, spreading and filling their house with noise and bustle within mere seconds, calling out at each other, chatting excitedly about the different spell courses and the spectacular charms on display in the amusement park. Ron and Ginny overwhelmed Harry with their tales. Cousin this had done that and cousin that had said so and they had done the giant spell course so and so many times. 

Snape sighed inwardly. It had been a comfortable day, but he realised that he had better leave the Weasleys to their commotion. Only that meant leaving Harry too, and he was embarrassingly aware of his reluctance to part with the boy. It was ridiculous. What was the matter with him? 

There had only been one more incident during the day and that was when Snape had heard a faint noise from up-stairs. It had made him fly up from his armchair where he was reading up on magical wall-building and spell-by-spell masonry. He had taken the stairs three steps at a time and managed to startle Harry in the hall outside his room. 

”What do you think you are doing? Why didn’t you activate the charmed bell?” panted Snape. Bewildered, Harry met the black gaze that bored through him with equal amounts of anger and concern. Severus was truly acting weird at times.

”I’m only on my way to the toilet,” said Harry, mastering his dignity. ”I’m allowed up on my own, so Mrs Weasley says. I’m not an invalid, you know. I can manage.” 

As Harry shot him a reproachful look and walked into the bathroom, only slightly bent over because of the stitches, and shut the door behind him, Snape leant against the balustrade of the landing, embarrassed by his foolish fright. The boy was correct in that he was not made of glass. Snape was not usually an easily alarmed man, but right now he was behaving as jumpily as a hippogriff. He definitely did not recognise himself. And the lost feeling only intensified at the Weasleys' return.

Ron paused his torrent of words, realising that his recount might cause Harry more regret over missing the amusement, than joy for his friend’s sake. Ron, having several older brothers, was particularly sensitive to various unfairnesses that arose at regular intervals between the siblings. He turned to his father with a serious expression on his face.

”Dad, I think that Harry should be allowed to go to the amusement park when he has got better.”

His father hummed noncommittally.

”But dad, he really should. He must have his appendicitis rite treat, anyhow. Everyone is offered something to celebrate the rite - I know that you and Mum told me so. You and I, we went to a Chudley Cannon match after I had my appendicitis. It was the first time I was allowed to attend a quidditch game, so I remember it mighty well,” insisted Ron. Arthur Weasley, who had spent a fortune on tickets for the amusement park for his seven children, as well as paying for a fifteen person lunch at the restaurant during the day, sighed and paused in his attempts to make a spot on his wizard robe go away with various cleansing spells.

”You’re right, Ron. But traditionally it is the person who brings the child to the hospital who is the one supposed to offer the child a treat. The magic involved in the appendicitis rite affects not only the child, but also the adult attending to the child, whether it is a wizard or a witch, or a Muggle parent. In Harry’s case, I suppose it would be his Aunt Petunia, who drove him to the hospital, but maybe, since she behaved in the way she did, the magic did not work. The magic is supposed to unite the child and the caregiver face to the ordeal the child has to meet.”

Snape stared at Mr Weasley. A mounting suspicion rose in him.

”I have to go,” he said suddenly.

”Thank you, Severus, for today, and welcome back tomorrow,” said Arthur Weasley. ”Did you get Albus’ message? He’ll be here at three pm. See you then.”

Snape nodded stiffly and swirled around.

”Good-bye, Professor,” launched Harry after the fleeing black figure, but Snape was already out of the door with a determined look in his eyes. 

There was no hesitation this time when Snape walked up to Number four, Privet Drive and knocked on the door, only fury pounding his veins. When Petunia opened, he put a foot against the door, preventing her to shut it in his face. 

”Let me inside,” he hissed. ”You don’t want to have this conversation on your porch with the neighbours listening in on us.”

Petunia Dursley made no attempt to fight him, but let Snape past, lifting her chin haughtily. In the living-room, Vernon Dursley rose from the sofa, embarrassed and bewildered at the sight of the furious wizard.

”Vernon, sit down. Don’t interfere. Let me handle this,” said Petunia curtly. Snape slung her a dark look full of contempt. What kind of relationship was this? But he was not surprised. It was so like Petunia Evans to boss people around.

”About Harry,” Snape begun. ”Tell me the truth, Petunia. You knew everything about the magical appendicitis rite from the start, didn’t you? And you tried to manipulate your way to have nothing to do with it. Answer me - didn’t you?” Snape roared the last words in a bout of rage. Petunia was silent at first, but under Snape’s threatening look she shrugged and said:

”You already know that. I grew up with Lily. My sister had her appendicitis when she was six years old. I was nine. Of course I remember. And Lily explained about the appendicitis rite magic later, when she was older and had read about the it at Hogwarts. As if the unnatural stuff involved would ameliorate things! She was trying to make me comprehend. All I understand is that it ruined my life.” Petunia’s voice was cold and dispatching.

Snape started to pace back and fro the length of the room, muttering almost to himself.

”I remember vaguely Lily telling me about it. Christine and Roger were such kind and compassionate parents while I knew them. Both were supporting and proud of Lily. But I remember now that she told me that it had not always been that way…”

Petunia snorted.

”Your father had been afraid at first when Lily showed the - to the uninitiated Muggle - unnatural signs of accidental magic,” continued Snape. ”Roger was distant and disapproving and punished her repeatedly in order to make her stop whatever she was doing. I remember how desolate Lily was when she told me - and a little ashamed of her father for behaving in that way in the past.”

”He should never have accepted the freakiness my sister showed. As it was, both our parents ended up applauding every gesture she made, every step she took,” spat Petunia. 

”Everything changed when she had her appendicitis. I remember now. That’s what she told me. She didn’t have a name for it at the time. We were only eleven and were going to start Hogwarts when she confided in me. She described how her father had brought her to the hospital and tended to her during the whole stay and how it had changed their relationship. Lily explained to you later about the magical bond that forms between the caregiver and the child, then?”

Petunia stayed silent - she had already answered that question. She looked haughtily at Snape whose anger ignited again. 

”Tell me Petunia, did you feel the strings of magic pull at you when you brought Harry to the hospital, but deliberately rejected them, and returned home?” He raised his voice.

”I realised that it would be a catastrophe if either of us brought that child to the hospital. Especially Vernon. I had to stop him. And I, for my part, did not want to take part in any magical rite. That was my choice - it was my right to decline,” said Petunia harshly.

”At the prize of almost killing your nephew? Merlin! What kind of person are you? There’s nothing compelling in that bond. It’s Ancient magic and there is nothing dark in it. I’m sure Lily explained that to you. She knew everything about Ancient magic.” Snape made a pause, a surge of sadness constricting his throat. It was Lily’s perfect understanding of Ancient magic that had made it possible for her to save her son from Voldemort. And at what cost. Snape swallowed. ”Ancient magic only strengthens what is good, unite what needs to be united. By Merlin, Petunia, it was your chance to bond with the boy. Why in heaven’s name did you not go through with it? If you had had trouble accepting your nephew, this was your chance of having a less - spiteful- relationship with him. How could you reject it - on purpose?!”

”How could I reject it? How could I reject it?” shrieked Petunia. ”I was defending my family, that is all. I was not going to let Dudley go through what I had been forced to endure.”

”Petunia, I’ve been trying to explain to you that you can love two children at the same time,” intervened Vernon. Although his huge body occupied more than half the small sofa, Snape and Petunia had all but forgotten his existence. ”Our love for Dudley would not lessen if we took better care of Harry. That’s all I’ve been trying to persuade you of. You must have misunderstood this…”

”I did not misunderstand! I lived this! I saw it with my own eyes!” Petunia burst out. ”Before Lily had her appendicitis, Father was mine. Mine! He was on my side. Lily already had Mother who always defended her. But after Lily had her appendicitis, Father’s attitude changed and he loved her more than he loved me. It crushed my heart, it did.” Petunia’s voice crackled. ”It wasn’t fair. Father no longer saw any faults with Lily, and I was left all on my own. Both my parents loved my little sister better. Do you understand what that feels like, Vernon? To have no one on your side? How can you imagine that I wanted to put Dudley through that? What if you had brought Harry to the hospital and come back adoring the boy? I’ve seen your tendencies to take pity on him, to defend him. I had to quell that sympathy. That’s the least I could do, to spare my own son the suffering I stood myself as a child.”

Snape and Vernon stared at her. 

”Now, Petunia. Christine and Roger loved you and tried to show it to you in every possible way…” Vernon tried to say.

Petunia answered something in a shrill voice, but Snape no longer paid attention. It felt like he had run out of steam. What was there to say to this bitter woman, who had not been able to process her jealousy for her sister in thirty years and who had deliberately put her nephew’s life in danger only because she was determined that her husband should have one single loyalty, which was to her and her son and who could include no one else into that claustrophobic little clan?

All of a sudden, it felt like the walls of the living-room were narrowing in on him. Snape muttered something inaudible, stumbled out of the room and found his way to the exit. The Dursley couple barely noticed his departure and he still heard the quarrelling voices as he shut the door.

It was not until Snape was outside, breathing the slightly perfumed air that found its way into the street from the well-kept gardens of Privet Drive, that he realised that if Petunia Dursley had managed to escape the magical bond of Harry’s appendicitis rite, it was not unlikely that the magic had rebounded on his person instead. 

I carried the boy through the door to the Emergency Room, Snape said to himself. I remained during the whole stay in the hospital. I posed as his father. 

Snape almost stumbled over a small tricycle that some child had abandoned in the middle of the pavement. Merlin, thought Snape conflicted, as he stopped to stare at the innocent object that had hit him on the small of the leg. I’m ensnared in a magical bond with James Potter’s son!

***

When Snape left his room at the inn of Ottery St Catchpole the next afternoon, in order to set off for the Burrow and the scheduled meeting with Albus Dumbledore, he had read up thoroughly on the appendicitis rite and its implications. Snape had still not spent a single night at Spinners End since the start of the summer. Instead, he had transferred a substantial part of his library to the small room at the inn. 

Snape’s first impulse of panic over realising the existence of the bond had disappeared, and he felt more informed and calmer after his research. 

Firstly, the magical bond formed during the appendicitis rite was not a particularly strong one, and just as he had told Petunia Dursley, there were no compelling elements. In the books it said that most wizard parents did not even feel a difference in the relationships with their children, since they had already bonded naturally at birth. The most discussed examples in the books were those of Muggle families with a magical child. Just like in Lily’s case, it was not unusual for Muggle parents to be wary of their children’s divergent behaviour, and in those cases in particular the bond was of importance to rectify the - for the child so harmful - suspiciousness on the parent’s side. The bond would quell any possible animosity and resolve all ambiguity of a parent towards the child and help create a harmonious relationship.

The books also mentioned that since it was not uncommon for children to develop their appendicitis acutely and during the school year, it often fell on the school nurse or a teacher to bring the child to the hospital, before the legal guardians were able to join the child. The bond would in that case persist mainly between the child and the professional representative and would simply show itself in the form of a mildly increased interest and a slight protectiveness towards that particular child on the professional’s part.

Secondly, although his first instinctual reaction had been that of horror, Snape had quickly reached the decision to let his grudge towards James Potter go. He was surprised at how easily he had been able to adhere to the idea of abandoning an animosity that had prevailed nearly twenty years. But he had compared his grudge towards James Potter to that of Petunia Evans towards Lily, and there was no way that he wanted to mimic her bitterness, warped into cruelty. Her behaviour towards Harry disgusted him. To deliberately reject a chance of reconciliation with an innocent child! Snape’s moral fibres vibrated with indignation, but more importantly, his heart bled for the boy he had learnt to know over the past week because he understood that, although the appendicitis had brought matters to a head, this was not an isolated event, but that Petunia’s conduct - her neglect, her abuse of her nephew - had been going on for many years. 

Now that Snape knew the particulars of the bond, he concluded that it was nothing to worry about. Nothing he could not handle. He had once promised Dumbledore to protect Lily’s child. The bond would only make that easier, that was all. Therefore, Snape believed himself calm and composed when he stepped inside the Burrow on the forth day in a row.

Snape was ushered directly into the living-room on the ground floor by Mrs Weasley. He cast an automatic look around the room, but there was no Albus Dumbledore. He raised an inquiring eyebrow at Mr Weasley who stood by the window. 

”Albus is already here. He arrived an hour ago and has been upstairs in company with Harry the entire time,” said Mr Weasley. 

Snape immediately knitted his eyebrows. He admired the great wizard that was Albus Dumbledore, he respected his headmaster and felt an immeasurable gratitude towards the man Albus Dumbledore for what he had done for his sake after the war, but he had always been wary of the old wizard’s propensity to penetrate your inner thoughts and pick up truths about yourself that you might not be ready to acknowledge. He was not sure that Harry was fit for that kind of heart-to-heart chat so soon after his ordeal. The boy’s mutism every time they approached emotional matters worried Snape, as it reminded him all too much of his own tendency to close off as a child.

”Don’t worry, Severus,” said Arthur Weasley as if he could read Snape’s thoughts. ”I’ve heard nothing but laughter from the room.” 

At that same moment, the door opened and Albus Dumbledore walked inside with a light hand on Harry’s shoulder. The boy’s eyes glittered merrily and the old man’s twinkled. 

”You made it down the stairs, Harry!” exclaimed Mrs Weasley.

”Only the first four steps,” grinned Harry. ”Then Professor Dumbledore levitated me down.” 

Snape made an expression that looked like something between a scowl and an almost-smile. 

”Hello, Professor Snape!” Harry’s eyes found his teacher at once. 

”Good day, Severus!” Dumbledore approached Snape eagerly and patted his shoulder in what was as close to a hug he knew the young man of high integrity would accept. Dumbledore appeared sincerely glad to see his Potions Master.

”I seem to arrive post festum,” said Dumbledore. ”I’m so sorry, Severus, to have left you impromptu to deal with that letter Harry sent us ten days ago. I had no idea of its implications at the time. Then, when I realised that you had remained at the hospital to look after Harry, I knew everything would work out for the best. I had complete confidence in you, my friend.” 

Well, that was a confidence that he himself could not pretend to have felt at the time, thought Snape with irony, recalling his frustration and indecision during the twenty-four hours at the hospital before Harry had his surgery, but he said nothing, only nodded at Dumbledore. 

”Well, everything has worked out for the best,” Dumbledore said briskly. ”Harry seems happy with his new foster family and will remain here until the start of term. What happens at the close of the next school year is far away and Harry and I agreed that we did not need to ponder upon that just right now.” 

Harry blinked quickly and gave an imperceptible shiver, that probably only Snape noticed, because the boy was smiling brightly at the same time. 

”As to the concerns that you wrote to me about, Severus, I am happy to announce that Harry’s magic is entirely intact. There are no tendencies what-so-ever that he should be waning into a squib,” continued Dumbledore.

Harry’s friend Neville had once explained to him what a squib was, and Harry cast a surprised look at Snape, who, however, drew a shuddering sigh of relief.

”Are you sure, Headmaster?” he asked.

”Call me Albus, please, Severus. We are among friends. You seem to have been especially worried about this. Yes, I’m sure, because I performed a little test with Harry just now during our chat. I don’t think that you noticed, Harry, but I tested your magical sensibility by sending magical energy to different parts of the room and you turned your head in the right direction every single time. Twenty out of twenty. I’m not sure that you are aware of it, but your instincts are there. As for your executive powers, it’s too early to test them so soon after your ordeal, but they usually go hand in hand with the sensibility,” explained Dumbledore. 

”You thought that I might become a squib?” Harry asked Snape with a frown. 

”I… did not know. Because of the abscess formation, the surgeon could not guarantee that he had been able to remove every part of the inflamed appendix - the tissue was so altered, and I simply… had not enough knowledge to say if that constituted a risk or not, for becoming… you know…” Snape spoke hesitantly. 

”Let me relate to you an interesting hypothesis that I have heard of,” said Dumbledore. ”It is not widely spread, but there are some historical evidence to support it. In the Ancient times, many millenaries ago, the wizard phenotype might have been the most prevalent in the human race. The researchers believe that almost every child was born with a magical potential. At that time, surgery had not been invented, or what was used was not safe, but there was no need for it, as the appendix dissociation rite - which is the correct appellation - would pass in a self-healing way. The appendix would simply shrivel and resorb on its own at the appropriate age of the child - which is individual - and the magical powers would be released. But then the historical paradigm of the domestication of animals altered the bacterial colonisation of the human gut drastically. Suddenly, appendicitis became a life-threatening condition and made the wizard population extremely vulnerable. The non-magical human phenotype who kept their appendix intact the entire life had an evolutionary advantage over the magical phenotype, and Muggles started to prevail. The magical community was, in fact, threatened by extinction. Magical children died in mass from appendicitis, or turned into squibs. Only the rare wizard or witch survived, by managing to self-heal and resorb their appendix the ancient way.”

”Merlin,” muttered Arthur Weasley, ”no wonder we have such an ambiguous relationship with the Muggle community.” 

”You’re right, Arthur. There is a strange co-dependency between our two kinds,” answered Dumbledore. ”But what I was getting at was that the apparent truth that an appendix has to be removed by surgery, is in fact a myth. The advances of Muggle technology did, however, ironically, help the wizard community to recover, as surgery became safer. Since the introduction of antibiotics at the beginning of the twentieth century, the wizard community has in fact steadily been growing.”

Harry, Snape, Mr and Mrs Weasley all listened politely to Professor Dumbledore’s history lesson.

”All that to say,” continued Dumbledore, ”that Harry did not imperatively have to have every ounce of his appendix removed by the surgery. Antibiotics might have been sufficient. He probably shrunk what was left of the organ, as has been done since the evolutionary beginnings of wizard life. I think that you could safely say that Harry has had - how do you phrase it in modern Muggle language? - one hell of an appendicitis,” said Dumbledore, smiling. ”And that we can conclude that it is now safely out of the way. It was just as well that you never told Harry about your worries, Severus.”

Harry nodded and smiled, but Snape could see that the smile did not quite reach his eyes.

”What’s the matter, Harry?” he asked, immediately on alert.

”Nothing,” the boy answered quickly.

”Don’t lie to me, Harry,” Snape entreated sternly. Harry turned his head away.

”I simply like to be told things as they are…” he mumbled. ”I don’t particularly like being kept in the dark about things that are about me, that’s all.”

”You had enough on your mind. I did not want to worry you with my - mere -  speculations when you were recuperating from such a serious condition. They proved to be unfounded anyway.” Snape sounded harsher and more defensive than he wanted to.

”I’m sure that Professor Snape had your best interest in mind, Harry,” said Dumbledore gently.

”You tricked me, too, with the test,” mumbled Harry, the least little bit resentful. Dumbledore raised an eyebrow. 

”So, I did,” he confessed. ”That test is designed to be performed without the subject’s knowledge. But I see what you mean, and I will try to remember in the future, that you like to be informed of things.”

”To the utmost possible extent, so will I,” said Snape gravely, sensing that when this boy - who had apparently been ordered around by his aunt all his life - for once managed to express some kind of wish or opinion, he needed to be met with respect from the adults around him. 

Harry suddenly smiled warmly and Snape felt himself catch his breath in a bewildering wave of - was it tenderness for the child? The boy is so like Lily, thought Snape with a pang of regret, he forgives so easily. Merlin help me if I loose his trust like I once lost his mother’s love. You must not abuse these easily trusting people’s candidness.

”So, Severus,” said Dumbledore scrutinising his teacher, probationer and protégé. ”Have you felt the strings of Ancient magic pulling at you, or not?”  Snape was prepared for the question.

”A tad,” he answered nonchalantly. ”I feel slightly more protective towards the boy.” 

Mr Weasley suddenly let out a muffled noise that sounded like something between a sneeze and a violent cough. Mrs Weasley glared disapprovingly at her husband.

”You were saying, Arthur?” Dumbledore turned towards the red-faced man who shook his head. 

”Nothing. Tickle in my throat. I might have caught something while I rode that spell course yesterday. My children made me go on the least horrendous one,” replied Arthur Weasley in a strangled voice. Dumbledore directed his gaze back towards Snape.

”So you feel a tad protective towards Harry?” 

Snape confirmed once again with a dignified nod. He noticed that Harry was staring at him with curiosity, but Snape diverted his gaze as he did not feel ready to answer any questions from the boy about Ancient magic and protective feelings.

”Well, that makes sense. As a professional you should only be the least little bit affected. Good,” said Dumbledore. ”Is this something we are going to notice in acts?” he pressed on, managing to keep the sarcasm out of his voice, but Snape understood all the same that he alluded to the deplorable way that Snape had treated Harry at Hogwarts during his first year. Snape opted to deliberately misunderstand the headmaster, however.

”I was thinking of offering to tutor the boy,” he said gravely. Dumbledore was not prepared for the suggestion - Snape could tell so from the sudden stillness of the old wizard’s body. Albus Dumbledore usually made small, gracious movements with his hands and imperceptible rocking movements with his trunk, as if he was at sea or as if his body hummed constantly from inside. 

Dumbledore froze for a few seconds only, before he raised an eyebrow questioningly.

”We already started to pass the time at the hospital with tutoring, and it struck me that Harry…” Snape deliberately used Harry’s first name, because there was no way he was going to revert to referring to the boy as ’Potter’ at this stage, and he also hoped by doing so to convince Albus of his sincerity in the matter. ”… It struck me that Harry has grown up in strict Muggle conditions, and that he might need a little guidance in the magical world. Also, I thought that Molly and Arthur have their hands full with supervising the work of their own children. And if I could contribute in some small way…”

Molly Weasley suddenly looked offended and was on her way of saying something when Mr Weasley put a hand on her arm. Dumbledore looked undecided. 

”Under condition, naturally, that Harry is himself well-inclined to accept the idea,” said Snape stiffly, reminding himself that the boy should be included and not manipulated, but dreading suddenly that Harry would decline the offer.

”I’d really like that,” the boy replied promptly and happily, to Snape’s surprise. This did not seem like an area that bothered or embarrassed Harry in the least, as no mutism was hitting him and he was his usual straight-forward self.

”Well,” said Dumbledore, relieved, but still slightly taken aback, ”that’s settled then. All is for the best.”

Snape looked smug, but Molly Weasley’s mouth quirked sourly. 

One week after the meeting with Albus Dumbledore, Molly Weasley was chopping onions and carefully brushing and slicing chanterelles that she had picked in the nearby forest during her morning stroll, when her husband sauntered into the kitchen. Arthur Weasley’s clothing habits had steadily deteriorated since the start of the vacations and Molly had no idea where he had got hold of that horrid, short-sleeved, brightly coloured and only waist-long Muggle robe that he was wearing to a traditional wizard summer kilt.

”What’s for lunch, Molly?” he asked, peaking over her shoulder.

”Toast with stew.” She gestured at the mushrooms and Arthur Weasley licked his lips greedily. ”Quiche and salad. When is Severus coming today?” she added. 

”Harry’s tutoring is at two pm as usual. Why do you ask?” 

”Because the other day, Severus turned up at eight am, took Harry fishing, stayed for lunch and then he did his tutoring session. I’m wondering what to expect today,” Molly retorted a bit sharply. Her husband sniggered. 

”Harry told us about the fishing session. Apparently Severus had scolded him non-stop, from the moment they sat feet in that boat until they were back on land. He was so afraid that Harry would fall into the lake. He even wanted to put a sticking charm on Harry so that he could make sure the boy would not suddenly stand up and make the boat capsize. Harry refused, of course, and so it went on…” 

Molly smiled reluctantly.

”I can’t fathom how Harry puts up with Severus’ stern bossing around. He’s so patient and candid. A wonderful boy,” she said.

”Oh, Harry knows how to bite back now and then,” Arthur Weasley corrected her. ”He’s no longer afraid of Severus. And despite everything, they both came back smiling… I guarantee you, Molly, that I almost saw Severus Snape smile - almost, because Harry was so excited about their catch and rambled on, describing in detail how he had caught that fish and how Severus had helped him land it into the boat. I think it was the first time that anyone took Harry out on an adventure like that. You can’t begrudge him…”

”Of course I don’t. It’s just a bit tiresome to have someone from outside the household roaming about, every single day of the vacations, in your own house.” Molly cracked some eggs for the quiche and huffed to herself when she had to remove a few pieces of shell from the batter.

”Now, now, Molly, don’t say that. Severus is tutoring the boy, and in families living in manors, those kind of activities goes without saying. Moreover, I think that we are witnessing something quite rare. I believe that the appendicitis rite bond hit Severus much worse that he would let on in front of Albus. ’A tad more protective’, my eye! The man is as fierce as a panther guarding his cub and as fussy as a grandmother with her only granddaughter at the same time. I wonder…”

”Who’s paying for Harry’s tutoring, anyhow? It’s not as if we can afford it, you know, Arthur,” Molly Weasley said sourly, not sharing the interest in her husband’s speculations about the magical bond. Mr Weasley looked taken aback.

”Er… I guess that Albus is paying… Although it would not surprise me if Severus is doing it for free. Maybe I had better ask just to make sure,” he said. 

”Why did not Severus offer to be a foster parent if he has taken such a liking to the boy?” Molly Weasley grunted irritated. ”I like Harry very much and he’s Ron’s friend and all, but we’re not a wealthy family, Arthur…”

”Hello, Harry!” Molly was interrupted by the cheerful greeting of her husband looking over her shoulder and when she turned around, she discovered Harry standing insecurely in the entrance to the kitchen, with a hand placed on the door case. Molly blushed faintly, dried her hands on a towel and approached him. 

”Hello, dear! What did you want?”

”I just came down to see if I could help out with anything? Set the table, maybe?” Harry suggested. Molly scrutinised his face, but he met her gaze steadily and did not betray whether or not he had overheard the conversation. 

”That’s so nice of you. I would be most grateful. Ask Ron and Ginny to help you, too.” 

She cast a last look at her husband who returned it with a shrug that seemed to say: ”No harm done, but we’d better be careful.”

***

It had taken Harry some time to understand that the fishing trip that Severus offered to take him on was in exchange for a visit to the wizard amusement park that Ron had been going on about. Severus made the suggestion with the most stern expression on his face and Harry, who first thought that it must somehow belong to his tutoring, answered:

”Of course. Whenever you want, Sir.”

Severus frowned and said stiffly:

”I’m asking if it would be to your liking to indulge in such an activity? I refuse to take you to that busy, soulless circus of a park that you missed out the other week, as I do not feel comfortable in such places.”

Harry shook his head defensively.

”I don’t expect you or the Weasleys to take me to the park… Ron insists in saying that I should be allowed to go… He thinks that I’m envious, because they got to go and I didn’t, but it really doesn’t matter to me. You don’t have to do anything, Sir,” he said. Snape drew a deep breath.

”I have decided that I am going to assume the responsibility of being part of the appendicitis rite and offer you the treat that should ensue when the ordeal is over,” he explained reluctantly.

”Oh!” Harry widened his eyes in realisation, but still could not make out whether Severus regarded it as an obligation or if it was something he wanted to do.

”I myself enjoy fishing and am in possession of the suitable equipment. I met a man at the inn who is willing to rent out his boat,” Severus went on.

It sounded like his teacher might really want to do this, after all, thought Harry, as he seemed to have planned and arranged for it. He knew that Fred and George desperately wanted their father to buy a little boat, but that the Weasleys could not afford it and that Mr Weasley was not particularly interested in fishing. Fred and George went angling for fish almost every day, by the nearest small lake in the forest. Harry had not yet been allowed to go with them because the walk was too long for him to undertake before he was completely healed. What the twins really wanted to do, though, was to go by boat in the big lake a few kilometres away.

”So would you like to go fishing?” Severus brusquely interrupted Harry’s thoughts.

”Er… I wouldn’t really know,” Harry answered nervously. ”Because I have never been on a fishing trip before. The Dursleys never brought me with them on their holidays. But the children in my primary school always seemed excited when their… when someone took them fishing and I would really like to try it, if you think that I won’t be in the way.” 

Severus furrowed his forehead and his lips twisted as if he wanted to scold Harry for his diffidence.

”I will teach you how to behave in a boat,” he said instead.

Afterwards it was a mystery to Harry how that trip turned out a success. It started most awkwardly with Severus picking him up at the Burrow, slinging dark glances at all the Weasley siblings who were gathered around them to see Harry off, as if daring them to make any comments on his fishing outfit, which consisted of a hat and a fishing vest covered with pockets, with trolling spoons and small utensils attached to it. Only the deeply ingrained cautiousness around their Potions master prevented the Weasley twins from stepping up and touching every item of the fishing tackle. 

Harry had been embarrassed, thinking the advanced equipment lost on someone as inexperienced as he was, but had followed his teacher obediently, carrying a couple of fishing rods for him. In order for Harry not to have to walk so far, Severus had Apparated the short distance to the lake with him, which had been a most unsettling experience and Severus had looked almost as contrite as Harry felt when he had gulped down his nausea. 

”Maybe this was not such a good idea,” Severus had murmured.

Getting into the boat had been a nightmare with Severus peppering him with instructions, resulting in Harry not knowing where to go, not daring to make one single movement. At last he was seated in the stem seat and Severus at the stern. 

”Are you sure your wound is sufficiently healed?” Severus asked repeatedly as if having second thoughts. ”Maybe I made a misjudgement. You might disrupt the wound if you make an unguarded movement or if you try to parry a rock of the boat. Maybe we should stay at shore and go angling instead?”

”Please, I’d really like to go out on the lake,” Harry whispered entreatingly. ”I’m fine, I promise.” 

Severus muttered and huffed, hesitated, but started the engine and steered out on the open water. Harry delighted in the feeling of the wind in his face and the amazing fact that he was on the water. First he looked at the view, but he soon fastened his gaze on the water surface, trying to penetrate its depths, but it simply looked bottomless black with hypnotising shining reflexions.

The next precarious moment had arisen when they arrived at the spot where Severus’ detection spell said that they had the greatest chance to catch some pikes and where it was necessary for them to change seats, because Severus was going to row and he wanted Harry in the stern of the boat. 

”Place your feet in the middle. One step out of the middle line will make the boat rock to the same side and you might loose your balance,” Severus explained sternly as Harry rose carefully, sliding towards the middle seat. Even if the manoeuvre had been successful so far, Severus suddenly thought it fit for Harry to remove his shoes and socks, ”in order to feel the movements of the boat better when you’re barefoot” and ”because some water will inevitably leak in when I row and you don’t have waterproof shoes.” Harry who wore his torn trainees obeyed without questioning his teacher, then rose to move towards the back seat. They needed to swap places and Severus gripped Harry by the arms firmly, coaxed his way lithely around Harry’s body, almost embracing him on the way, before he determinedly put Harry down, as if he were a two-year-old. Harry blinked in surprise and blushed in confusion. When Severus in the same breath proposed to put a sticking charm on him not to have him stand up in the boat, Harry scowled so fiercely at him that Severus repented, muttering to himself: ”As long as you don’t move.”

Severus had adjusted one of the rods especially for Harry, shortening it, making it easier to cast, but on the other hand Harry did not reach very far. Severus asked him at least a hundred times to go easy, not to make any movement that might hurt and not to rise in the boat. Harry watched Severus enviously when he made his casts expertly, far away. Severus caught a small pike that he threw back in the lake. It excited Harry very much that they finally had a fish biting, but the pleasure was spoilt by his teacher roaring ”sit” all the time while he landed the perch in the boat, disengaged the hook, showed the floundering fish briefly to Harry before throwing it back in the water. 

In the end, Harry swapped to the easier procedure of angling instead of casting and caught some small perches. He was delighted all the same. At least Severus taught him how to unhook them and he was able to touch the scales and the fins. Harry thought they were beautiful, but he did not like the eyes.

”Careful!” barked Severus as the perch raised its back fin and Harry jerked his finger away. It was a wonder that he did not drop the fish altogether. ”It’s cutting,” Severus explained in a calmer tone of voice.

When the sun started to go higher and get warmer, Severus finally declared:

”One last cast, then we need to go back. When it gets too hot, the fish stops biting. I’ll let you wind this one home.” He threw one of his forceful casts and gave the rod to Harry at the same time as he started to row slowly. 

”I think…” said Harry suddenly and tensed, winding a bit slower. ”…that there might be something… nibbling…” 

”Either it bites or it doesn’t,” said Severus. ”You might have caught some seaweed.”

Suddenly Harry gasped and gripped the rod harder. It was bending down considerably towards the water. 

”I’ve caught something!” shouted Harry, rising half-way to brace one knee against the seat. 

”Sit back down,” roared Severus, but for once Harry was oblivious

of his teacher’s orders. 

”It pulls so hard! It’s a really big fish! Help me, Severus!”

Severus finally caught what was happening and put the oars down.

”Keep the line stretched and tight. Don’t give it a chance to tear away,” he said urgently. 

”I think I might need some help,” groaned Harry, struggling to meet the fierce pulls and tears from the fish. Severus slid up behind him, imitating Harry by putting one knee on the seat. He gripped the rod over Harry’s shoulder with one hand, steadying it for Harry, so that Harry could start hauling the fish closer to the boat.  

”Easy, we don’t want the line to snap,” Severus warned, excitement replacing the guardedness in his voice for the first time since the morning. ”Give it a bit more line. We must tire it out. Let go and haul in, in turns, all the time a little closer. That’s it. Excellent, Harry. Excellent! See - a beautiful pike, three or four kilos - that’s my guess. Careful now. Keep it at the side. Don’t try to lift it into the boat. Let me get the net bag under it and it will not be able to escape.” 

Harry had been exhilarated to land the big fish in the boat, then horrified when he realised that they needed to kill the animal. In panic he proposed that they threw it back in the lake, but Severus brought out his wand and stunned the fish without ceremony. 

”Did you kill it?” squeaked Harry, staring at the one moment so forcefully floundering fish that was now completely still.

”No, I stunned it with a spell. It will die from asphyxiation, though, within a few minutes, but it won’t suffer,” answered Severus, adding promptly, ”How is your scar doing?”

”My scar?” Harry repeated distractedly, lifting one hand to touch his forehead, while staring at the splendid pike.

”Not that one!” exclaimed Severus. ”I mean your newly healed wound in your abdomen! You made the most unguarded moves when you stood up in the boat. It might have disrupted the wound.”

”Oh,” said Harry and moved his hand to the right of his stomach. ”No, it’s fine. Don’t feel anything. Do you think that Mrs Weasley will be happy when we bring the pike home?” 

And that’s how they had ended up returning to the Burrow, Harry chatting incessantly and Severus almost smiling.

***

Another week went by with regular visits to the Burrow and with Snape bringing Harry on more than one occasion on other fishing trips. The steady jog-trot of summer activities lulled everyone into a deceptive peacefulness of mind that was to be disrupted sooner than they suspected.

One morning, Arthur Weasley was reading in the shadow of an apple tree in the garden when he heard a savage roar coming from the hillside where the children had gone to play quidditch after breakfast. Startled, he put his book down and rose. What on earth…? He started to run towards the nearby clearing. Could a Muggle have found his way to the secluded patch and been surprised by a gang of broom-flying children?

But as he came out through the trees and got a full view over the hillside, he was just in time to witness a livid Severus Snape in the middle of a meadow with his wand sorted, magically hauling a wriggling Harry Potter on his broomstick, whisk first, backwards, down through the air to land him in an excess of protecting spells to finally dispel Harry’s broom several feet away. 

Oh, Merlin, Arthur thought to himself as he continued to run towards the assemblage of Snape, Harry and his children who had landed in a circle around the teacher and their newest addition of a sibling. Arthur Weasley had done exactly that manoeuvre once to bring Ginny down from the air, when she was eight, and she had not minced her words to tell her father how humiliating it had felt. Harry was to be twelve in a week and it must be mortifying to have it done in front of his best friend’s family - his foster family, Arthur corrected himself. 

”Are you out of your mind to play quidditch in your condition? There were strict instructions from the hospital that you should not do any sports for four weeks after the operation. Four weeks! Can you count, Harry?”

A red-cheeked, indignant Harry tried to say something.

”I was not… I can count…” But Snape raged on.

”How can you even risk it, I wonder? You could undo your healing, your whole rehabilitation, and had I not happened to come by and brought you down to safety, you could easily have sent yourself back to the hospital. Do you wish to stay there the entire vacations? Because I could see if I can reserve a room without you doing damage to yourself first!”

”Now, calm down everyone,” said Mr Weasley. ”Harry, please, explain to me. I did not know that you intended to play. You were aware of the restrictions regarding quidditch, were you not?”

”I - was not - playing!” Harry hissed between clenched teeth. His gaze was riveted at Snape, not at Mr Weasley. ”I was only flying a bit in the outskirts, watching the others. I allowed Bill to do a sticking charm on my broom for safety, because I knew how angry you would be if something happened.”

Mr Weasley looked over at his oldest son who nodded in confirmation, looking desolate. 

”I told Harry it was okay to fly at a slow speed and with the sticking charm applied,” the young man said. ”Really, what could happen? Harry’s been fine for weeks now.”

”You wouldn’t know, because you were not there when he had the surgery,” Snape said agitatedly to Bill. ”He had a severe infection in his abdomen and he could risk a ruptured spleen, or a disrupted scar and a hernia if he’s not careful. The doctors gave strict instructions to avoid rougher sport activities for at least four weeks.”

”Well, if he’ll be allowed to play quidditch in one week, surely a little bit of flying now could do no harm? I think that you’re overreacting, Professor,” said Bill.

”And you, young man, are irresponsible, because you did not care to find out the facts before condoning such dangerous behaviour,” retorted Snape. 

”Don’t speak like that to Bill. He’s really nice and… and… You had no right to bring me down like that! Mr and Mrs Weasley are in charge of me now. And Bill, because he’s an adult and they are my foster family. And you are NOT my father!” Harry shouted the last words as his eyes brimmed over from humiliation and fury and he started to run towards the Burrow. 

Ron cast a terrified and confused look at his father and ran after his friend. Ginny had tears of deeply felt sympathy for Harry in her eyes. Fred and George, who had kept out of the argument, walked away slowly, with their sister between them. Bill, Percy and Mr Weasley stayed silent, not knowing what to say, watching Snape apprehensively. Snape stared with a gaping mouth after Harry who was still running. When the boy disappeared out of sight, Snape turned to Mr Weasley and said roughly:

”The tutoring sessions are cancelled. In case you wonder, Arthur, I never had the intention of charging anything for it. Good-bye.” 

And Snape swirled around, only to take a few steps before he vanished in a crack of Apparition. 

When Molly Weasley thought back, Harry showed surprisingly little reaction to  Snape’s dramatic departure, during the days that followed. He played with Ron and the twins, and most often Ginny was allowed to go with them as well. The Weasley siblings showed Harry the secrets of the garden and of the nearby forest, being so physically active that Mrs Weasley had to schedule some quiet time, so that it would not become too much for Harry. 

The boy was all smiles and politeness, voluntarily helping out with the household, but Molly could not help wondering if he did so because he wanted to earn his stay and make sure they wanted to keep him. She tried to show him that they liked him just as he was and that he did not need to perform any particular chores, but that she appreciated his helpfulness nonetheless. There was a slight uncertainty in his eyes when she said so, and she did not really feel that she reached him. At times, when the boy did not know anyone to be near, Molly thought that he looked particularly lost and forlorn. If she tried to approach him in those instances, however, he would invariably assure her that everything was fine and he would jump up and say that he needed to go find Ron. 

And Severus - what was to be said about Severus? Molly could not make the young professor out. Only after he had left so abruptly, did Molly and her husband realise that the wizard had not Apparated between his home and the Burrow to give Harry his tutoring lessons, but had indeed been staying in the village the whole time. The gossip around the strange, black-clad man was buzzing in the Muggle village. When he was not at the Burrow, it seemed that he had spent his days fishing, or walking about the countryside for hours and his evenings were spent reading in his room. It was very strange indeed, thought Molly, because from what he had told them, Severus had seemed determined to work on his house this summer. Well, nothing could have come of that if he stayed at Ottery St Catchpole the whole time, could it?

No, there was something strange about Harry’s lack of reaction to the upsetting scene with Snape, thought Molly Weasley, something amiss. Going from spending several hours a day with the teacher who had participated in saving his life, to not mentioning him at all was clearly suspicious. Molly Weasley was determined to find out what went on in the mind of this obviously neglected and complex youth and protect him from further harm.

***

Snape was lifting heaps of terracotta tiles, five by five, onto the roof of his house at Spinners End, using an old-fashioned winch. He had been working relentlessly the past few days to make up for the time he had lost because of the work he had postponed hitherto during the summer. He had already removed the old grey concrete tiles from the roof, overrun with green lichen. It had been oddly satisfying to launch them over the edge and let them break on the ground in his small yard. There was now a big heap of fragmented tiles in front of his house that he planned to get rid of one night, when his neighbours were asleep, with one or several vanishing spells. The work that now awaited with repairing the roofing-felt and replacing the tiles was more delicate. It needed to be done in day-light and it needed to be done manually because in case Snape wanted to sell the house to a Muggle in the future, it could not depend on magical maintenance. Moreover, he could not be seen levitating tiles in the air in plain sight, nor did he have the patience to cover himself and every single piece of tile with disillusionment charms to be able to work magically - it was simply not worth it. And he did not mind the hard physical work. The sun was burning in his back as he laboured, completely exposed on the roof, from early morning to late at night. He would finish the day with pouring a shower of water on himself out of his wand in his yard with and Aguamenti spell, because naturally the plumbing did not work properly in his house, and then he would tumble into bed, too exhausted to think.

***

Harry was confused. His foster parents seemed to think that they needed to talk to him about what had happened with Severus - or Professor Snape as he should probably revert to calling his teacher. Harry was not used to those kind of conversations. What had happened had happened, right? He did not want to talk about it. He was not used to get help to sort things out and to understand things properly. Mr and Mrs Weasley, however, seemed to think that he needed explanations, because Mr Weasley spoke to him a lot about the magical bond of the appendicitis rite and how it might have affected Professor Snape and Mrs Weasley seemed to think that Harry was hiding something and tried to drag he knew not what out of him. 

They both said that they noticed that he seemed oppressed by something and wouldn’t he talk to them about it? Harry was not aware that he let show his disappointment and dejection. He thought that he was rather good at hiding things like that. But he supposed that he might be a bit quieter and might let his guard down now and then, and there would always be a Weasley around, wouldn’t there? There were so many of them! Harry felt slightly ambiguous about it. He really liked his new foster family. He did. And yet they tired him sometimes. 

A few days before his twelfth birthday, Mrs Weasley asked him insidiously if he wanted to invite Severus for the party she planned. Harry’s alarm systems immediately went on alert. Why did she ask? What was she angling for? She did not like Severus, Harry was sure of it. She had been happy when he stopped coming, because the tutoring had triggered the tiniest amount of resentment and jealousy on Mrs Weasley’s part, well-hidden, but clearly detectable to Harry’s expert instincts. She wanted to be the one in charge of everything concerning the children and her household, Harry was pretty sure of that, and she had not enjoyed what she saw as an intrusion in that area by Severus. 

Harry’s experience with his aunt had made him particularly wary of women, and he had an instinct for picking up when he was being manipulated. This was such an occasion and he only shook his head mutely when Mrs Weasley went on asking why he did not want to invite Severus. Harry did not reply, but thought to himself that it was obvious, was it not? He had shouted at his teacher, insulted him. Of course there was no way that Severus - Professor Snape - wanted to come. He probably hated Harry again. It was as simple as that. The thought made Harry more and more miserable and he shook his head with stronger vehemence as Molly Weasley tried to coax him into talking in all possible ways. 

Harry’s wretchedness seemed to bewilder her and at last she asked him with worried concern if something in particular had happened that made him not want to invite Severus. Harry cast her an incredulous look. She blushed and mumbled ’The quidditch incident, yes…’ and let him be. 

Harry new that Mrs Weasley was not as bad as Aunt Petunia, although at times she had the same manipulating tendencies. He could tell that Mrs Weasley was genuinely concerned about him and that there was real warmth behind her fuss. He was still conflicted by her behaviour. He preferred Mr Weasley’s more straightforward way of speaking to him. 

The difference from the Dursley household, however, was that Mr Weasley, although at times yielding to his wife’s whims, did not shrink from having an argument with her when there was something he did not agree with, and subsequent to this particular incident, Harry overheard the couple having a heated discussion again. The Burrow was not very soundproof as the different silencing charms outdated quickly. Although embarrassed, Harry could not avoid inadvertently stumbling upon his foster parents and had no choice but to listen, or to interrupt them, which he dared not do.

” Explain to me, Arthur, how that bond affects Harry.”

”The magic of the appendicitis rite simply liberates and consolidate magical energy, sealing the wizard’s magical identity,” Mr Weasley replied. 

”No, I mean explain to me how it affects the child’s feelings for the person who brought him to the hospital,” Mrs Weasley clarified.

”Oh, the child is not affected by that part of the magic - only the adult is,” replied Mr Weasley.

”Really - how come? Are you sure?” insisted Mrs Weasley. ”Because Harry is acting as if something is wrong.”

”The Ancient magic of the bond affects the adult exclusively, as children are so pliant that once the adult starts behaving differently, they will inevitably respond favourably to the change. The mending of a dysfunctional relationship between an adult and a child is solely the adult’s responsibility,” said Mr Weasley and Harry was not sure that he understood what he meant. The Weasley couple must have changed position because their voices became quieter and Harry only heard fragments of words.

”…boy behaves weirdly…”

”…Harry… not easy… misses his tutor…”

”…Severus… shaded past… Harry… don’t want to talk…”

”…not at all… on the contrary… should encourage…”

”…but if something inappropriate has happened…”

Then Mr Weasley raised his voice and Harry heard every word.

”Stop prodding, Molly, you’re confusing the boy. Just because you read about that teacher in the paper, it does not mean that every man is susceptible to… For Heaven’s sake, if Severus was after something like that he wouldn’t turn the boy against him by restricting him with his protective tendencies, would he? If he had egoistic motives, he would ingratiate himself with the boy and play along with letting Harry do whatever he please. He would not contradict the boy and be stern with him like a… like a concerned parent, now would he? I don’t want to hear you pestering Harry with that kind of questions. He’s been through enough without you projecting your worst fears on him, Molly. Of course nothing inappropriate has happened with Severus!”

Harry did not exactly understand what they meant by ’inappropriate’, but he was glad that Mr Weasley told Mrs Weasley to stop prodding. 

***

Snape, in the meantime, continued to numb himself with labour. He finished the tile roofing in three days and started to sand the wooden floor in the living-room and the bedrooms. That, too, was hard work, but as he was sheltered from his Muggle neighbours inside the house, in this case at least Snape could use magic to save himself from breathing in the dust. The major part of the job was done without magic, though, and Snape concentrated in moving the sanding instrument over the floor in slow, strong, even movements. The bright wood that emerged underneath the blackened tiles was surprisingly decorative. 

The monotonous work in the silent, empty house made his thoughts wander. This time of the day, in the late afternoon, the tutoring sessions with Harry used to be over and he would sometimes take a long walk back to the village. A couple of times, he had taken Harry with him to go fishing. Once in a while he had stayed for dinner at the Burrow. Well, that was over now. He was doing what he should have done from the beginning this summer. Something sensible. He was working for himself, finally arranging for a decent place to live at, permanently, like a responsible grown-up, instead of roaming about in the world like some lost globe trotter.

To think that it had felt almost impossible to leave that little village barely a week ago. In the end, it had not been so difficult to tear away, had it? Curse Ancient magic! The bond was nothing. He was free now. The Weasleys could play around as much as they wanted. They could make excursions to the moon and back on their broom-sticks for as much as he cared. And Harry, Harry could just… Harry could… Snape clenched his teeth and bent down to work a spot around a wood knag manually with a piece of sandpaper where the Muggle sanding floor machine that he had rented did not grip. 

***

Harry was conflicted about what he had learnt about the bond. Mr Weasley had tried to explain the magical bond of the appendicitis rite to Harry, attributing Severus’ misdirected protectiveness, as he called it, to the bond, trying to explain and find excuses for the teacher’s behaviour. Harry did understand that part, but the main thing that Harry derived from the conversation was that Severus - Professor Snape - had been obliged by some magic to become nicer to Harry and started to imagine that he needed to protect him. 

None of Severus’ attentions had probably been real. That bond, that magic - whatever - had made the old Snape act in an uncharacteristic way, and now it was over, because Harry had dispelled it by shouting at him and when they started school again, everything would be just as before. No doubt, Snape already hated him again. Severus was someone who had appeared briefly only to take Harry through everything that happened in the hospital related to the appendicitis. Severus no longer existed - only Professor Snape did.

Mr Weasley proposed that they speak to Severus - Professor Snape - over the floo. Harry who had never heard of the floo network was curious about it, so Mr Weasley and Ron had explained everything to him, how you could do fire-calls through the fireplaces and, if you had floo-powder, travel from one place to another, provided they were connected to the network. 

”Severus told me he had sent in an application to the Ministry to re-connect. Apparently his house’s fireplace has not been used for a long time,” Mr Weasley muttered. Ron got permission from his father to fire-call a cousin to demonstrate the procedure. But finally and all the same, Harry declined politely to try reaching Severus - Professor Snape, and the more Mr Weasley tried to convince him, the more silent Harry grew, shaking his head determinedly.

***

Snape was painting door cases in his house at Spinners End. He allowed himself this lighter work after six days of heavy labour. Again he used a mixture of Muggle and magical techniques where the actual paint was applied physically with a brush, but where Snape did not need to do all the surrounding work with applying painters tape, for example, because a simple repelling spell would do the work of protecting the surrounding wall and floor from stains.

This meditative occupation had the disadvantage of opening up his mind for more reflections. And they circled principally around one single event. He had humiliated Harry, Snape realised that. He understood that he had passed a line where the boy had snapped and wanted him gone. Harry was right - Snape had no business with him any longer. The boy was the charge of the Weasleys. Snape had no legal right, no prerogative. In fact, in the Ministry’s eyes, he probably had less precedence to taking part in what happened to the Boy-who-lived than even the lowest clerk in the most obscure department. He had thought… He had thought that there might be a role for him in Harry’s life. He had thought himself subtle and clever when he managed to influence Albus to assign him as the boy’s tutor. 

Snape vacillated between remnant anger, regrets and misgivings, one moment wondering whether there was anything he could do to change what had happened and the next moment wanting to forget the whole affair and going back to how things had been at the beginning of the summer. Pretend that Harry’s appendicitis had never occurred. 

Was there the least little chance that the boy might forgive him, though? Or was the confidence lost for ever, like it had turned out with Lily all those years ago? It was Harry’s birthday tomorrow. What if…?

Suddenly Snape heard a grind, followed by footsteps on gravel and a shuffling sound as someone mounted the masoned steps up to his front door. Inside the house, Snape made his way down the stairs soundlessly to apply a one-way transparent charm on his ridiculously thin door. What he saw made him lift his eye-brows. 

Petunia’s husband, Harry’s Uncle Vernon was standing on the landing, staring at a piece of paper, rubbing his sweaty hands on his trousers and lifting his head now and again to scrutinise the ramshackle building with a brand new roof in front of him, obviously wondering if he had found the right house. Finally he decided on raising a fist to knock on the door. On the inside, Snape remained crouched on the stairs without so much as batting an eye-lid. He had no wish to speak to that cowardly man and, anyhow, he had no business with Harry any longer. He was not going to open the door.

***

It was Harry’s birthday. He had withdrawn to Ron’s and his room, shortly before mid-day to gather his wits. It was the first time someone took pains to celebrate him properly, and Harry had been subjected to the Weasley family’s usual birthday ritual, as explained to him by Ron. It meant that Harry had received strict instructions to stay in bed in the morning and laid there, wide awake, listening to the commotion in the hall as all the family members gathered outside and then burst in, singing ’Happy birthday’ and filled his bed with presents. 

Harry had been excited despite himself - it was a bit childish to be frantic about your birthday at twelve, Ron and he had agreed upon, but still Harry could not help himself. He had always wondered what it would feel like to be on the recipient end of such lavish attention as the one you were supposed to receive on your birthday. At the same time he felt terribly self-conscious. He was simply not used to this. It tired him to smile at everyone, to keep his attention up in order to figure out what was going to happen next and endeavour to be prepared, show the right reactions and not disappoint anyone.

Harry walked aimlessly around the room and picked among a couple of school books that Severus had brought for the tutoring and that had been left behind when he so abruptly stopped the lessons.

Harry sighed. He did not know what to think. He was still angry and could still feel the humiliation burning inside him because of what Severus - Professor Snape - had subjected him to that day. He had assumed the worst of Harry and had hauled him down without any consideration for Harry’s dignity. He was always scolding and holding Harry back, and yet Harry had been patient until that one time, had he not? Because it had been kind of nice to have someone visit, just for him. The annoying protectiveness from Severus’ side had been counterbalanced by the fact that the strange wizard seemed to care, that he wanted to teach Harry things and that he wanted to spend time with him. No adult had ever done that before, and Harry knew that unlike the Weasleys who were very nice, but who had been asked by Dumbledore to be his foster family, unlike them, Severus had not been asked to do what he had been doing, but had volunteered for it. Dumbledore had assumed that Severus’ part in taking care of Harry was over when they came back from the hospital, but Severus seemed to have chosen to continue tutoring Harry only because he wished to. Or simply because of the bond, Harry reminded himself.

Harry sighed again. He supposed that his break was over and that he should make an appearance again so that no one would start missing the birthday child, as they insisted on addressing him today. He smiled to himself - it was kind of nice. There would be a party this afternoon and Hermione was invited over. Mrs Weasley had suggested that he invite everyone in his dorm - or why not all the Gryffindors of his year? - for the birthday party, but Harry had been horrified by the idea and quickly insisted on only wanting Hermione. Ron seemed content with a small party as well. 

Harry was not surprised when he heard someone mount the stairs and when he opened the door to forestall the entreaty to come down, he found Mrs Weasley on the landing. 

”Harry,” she panted, ”your uncle is here. I showed him into the living-room.”

Harry felt himself go rigid.

”Harry?” Mrs Weasley asked carefully. ”I thought that you said that your uncle was okay?”

Harry inclined his head to the side slowly, neither confirming, nor negating her question. 

”I thought that maybe he came to wish you a happy birthday. He must have travelled a fair distance to arrive here and I thought… But if you don’t wish to see him…”

”It’s okay, Mrs Weasley. I’ll be down,” Harry hastened to say as he steeled himself. What could Uncle Vernon possibly want to speak to him about?

Uncle Vernon was standing in the middle of the Weasley’s living-room with a fearful expression on his face as he watched the moving wizard photos, portraying different members of the Weasley family, inside several frames placed on the mantelpiece. Harry had to clear his throat to get his uncle’s attention.

”Harry,” the fat man exclaimed taking a few steps towards Harry as if he was going to embrace him. Harry backed off and Uncle Vernon halted. It was not as if he had ever shown Harry any marks of affection before and Harry did not understand why the man would want to start now. ”You’re well, I gather?” asked Uncle Vernon a bit uncertainly.

Harry nodded.

”I’m glad. Believe me, I really am,” said Vernon. 

Harry nodded again, noncommittally.

”Listen, Harry, I come here today because I want to explain some things to you. I don’t want you to think the worst of us.” When Harry looked sceptical, Uncle Vernon sighed. ”I know that you have no reason to trust me, but… but, I did my best, you have to believe me. I tried to support Petunia and help her become a better guardian for you. She’s so… She is… I will try to explain…” Uncle Vernon swallowed. ”It’s a pity, I tried to get hold of that… wizard… who came to look for you. He knew Petunia when they were children, so he might have been able to give you a better background as to the rivalry between the two sisters.” Harry frowned. Had Uncle Vernon tried to get hold of Severus?

”He told me a bit about it,” said Harry in a low voice. 

”He did, did he? Good. I wanted to give him a more nuanced picture than the one he must have gotten when he came to our house that night you went to the hospital. We must have appeared as monsters to him.”

Harry looked at Uncle Vernon in suspense. Had he spoken to Severus?

”Mr Snape was not at home. I drove past his town yesterday. Then I spent the night at my sister Marge’s. Petunia does not know that I’m here, she thinks I’m only visiting Marge.” 

Harry nearly rolled his eyes. Why was he not surprised? Of course Uncle Vernon would not do anything openly that would risk to upset Aunt Petunia. 

”It was a long drive, you know.” Vernon sounded slightly reproachful and Harry guessed that he owed the man to hear him out. He gestured awkwardly at the sofa and the armchairs to invite Uncle Vernon to sit down. When they were finally positioned face to face, Vernon deeply sunk down in the sofa and Harry upright on the edge of the seat of his armchair, Vernon started to explain.

”Petunia was always jealous of her sister - your mother - and she felt wronged by their parents who she thought supported Lily more than they supported her. It upset her and made her feel bad. When I met Petunia, she had had issued with her weight and her eating habits, bordering on anorexia for a couple of years.”

Harry blinked. He had heard of anorexia and it made sense since Aunt Petunia had always been thin and always nitpicking when it came to food. But he did not know Aunt Petunia to be sick. She had always looked and behaved the same.

”It was not a full-blown disease, just tendencies,” said Uncle Vernon as if he could read Harry’s thoughts. ”What I meant to say, is that it is very important for Petunia to be in control, whether it is about food, the household or her relationships.” Vernon swallowed. ”When Dudley was born, it was chaotic. Everything was turned upside down. She did not manage the breastfeeding. She was completely freaked-out by it. Before we had him bottle-feeding and gaining weight properly, she was a wreck. At the same time, she had these high expectations of motherhood. She was hoping to finally show her parents what a perfect daughter she was. I remember so well the first time after Dudley’s birth they were to come and visit. Petunia stayed up and cleaned the house the whole night. She was completely shut off during their visit. They admired their grand-son and complimented Petunia very kindly, but Christine made the mistake of asking whether she wanted any help and Petunia flew into a rage, mistaking it for criticism. When they left the house, Petunia cried non-stop for five hours.” 

Vernon drew a shaky breath and Harry stared wide-eyed at him.

”Your aunt was diagnosed by PPD - Postpartum Depression - and she was on medication and went to counselling for a whole year, because the condition also influenced the bonding process with the baby. Dudley had feeding difficulties and was a discontented child, maybe as a consequence to Petunia’s condition, maybe because of his own constitution, or both - so the doctors told me. It took a long time before Petunia could stop shutting herself off and start bonding with the baby. Once she did, though, she became fiercely protective of him.” 

Harry blinked. He had no idea that things had been so difficult for Dudley and his aunt when Dudley was a baby.

”Just when she started to get better, when Dudley was one-and-a-half year old, you were given to us,” continued his uncle. ”I realised that it might be too much for Petunia and, to be frank, she was furious for being laden with another baby. I tried to convince her of giving you back, or to ask her parents to take care of you. But she was feeling stronger and, once again, her anger and resentment made her determined to show her parents and show the world that she would not give in, that she could be the perfect mother. She decided to keep you. Only, she wasn’t exactly kind to you…”

Harry felt a lump in his throat. He had no memories from his earliest time with the Dursleys, only a vague feeling of discomfort, of sadness.

”She had this warped idea… I have tried to reason with her about it, but she seems to believe that one cannot love more than one child at a time. That what amount of affection is given to one child is taken from the other. I have tried to persuade her innumerable times of the opposite. Before this business with the appendicitis occurred, I was thinking that she was making a slow progress, that she was ameliorating her behaviour towards you, wasn’t she?”

Harry looked incredulous at his uncle. What did he mean that Aunt Petunia had got better over the years? He, Harry, had learnt to adapt to her demanding ways, learnt to parry her whims and how to get by her moods, that was all. Who was Uncle Vernon kidding? Harry cringed unhappily, but his uncle had more to say.

***

”Dad? Mum?” Ron peaked through the chink of the door at his parents who were sitting in the living-room together with Bill.

”Ron? It’s long past your bed time. What are you doing up this late?” Mrs Weasley said sternly. 

”Er… Harry’s awake and sitting all curled up on his bed, and I don’t think that he’s feeling very well. I’ve been trying to speak to him, but he’s gotten that way… you know… when he doesn’t want to speak at all and… maybe I should just leave him, but he is shaking all over and I think he would like to cry, but doesn’t allow himself to, if you know what I mean?” Ron’s voice was trembling just a little bit and Mrs Weasley understood that it was out of compassion for his friend, so she rose promptly. 

”I see, Ronald. I’ll come with you straight away.”

”There’s no need to, Mrs Weasley,” came a faint voice from the lower landing of the stairs where Harry was standing in the shadow. ”I’m so sorry, I didn’t realise that Ron would go and fetch you. It was not my intention to disturb you.” Harry sounded desolate, almost panicking. ”I’m sorry Ron - I didn’t mean to worry you, I just wanted you to go back to sleep and be left alone. I don’t know why… sometimes the words won’t come. I don’t want to cause trouble.” 

”You’re not causing trouble. Come here, Harry,” said Mr Weasley. He nodded at Bill who laid an arm around Ron.

”Want a cuppa, little brother? Let’s go to the kitchen. Harry’ll just join us later,” he said.

Mrs Weasley ushered Harry inside the living-room and led him to the sofa. After the visit from his uncle, Mrs Weasley had not detected any signs of distress in Harry even if he had been vague on why his uncle had turned up. He had participated with apparent joy in the festivities of the afternoon, appreciating the visit of Hermione. In the evening the children had been rather tired after all the excitement of the day. For a couple of hours they had quietly browsed a quidditch album that Bill had given Harry for his birthday, and not protested when it was time for bed. Mrs Weasley did not know what could have brought on this sudden anguish that she now discerned in Harry’s whole countenance and stiff body. Jointly, she and her husband tried to coax Harry into talking, and show him that whatever was the matter he could tell them, but Harry only looked more and more miserable.

”Was it the visit of your uncle, Harry? I should not have let him in. Perhaps, you felt obliged to talk to him. Maybe…?” 

Tears mounted in Harry’s eyes and he turned his head away.

”Harry?” asked Mr Weasley.

”Could I please speak to Severus?” whispered Harry. ”Could we fire-call him like you said, Mr Weasley?”

Relief and comprehension dawned on Arthur Weasley’s face while Mrs Weasley looked taken aback.

”Severus? You want to…?” she said, but collected herself quickly. She met her husband’s gaze with resignation. ”Of course, dear, I’m sure Arthur could give it a try. It’s a bit late, but Severus did say, in the beginning when you had just had your surgery that we could call him any time.”

”Of course, Harry,” said Mr Weasley. ”Get yourself a cup of tea with Molly and Ron in the kitchen while I give it a try. It might take a while since we’re not sure Severus is properly connected yet. I’ll let you know.” He locked eyes with his wife who nodded. What Arthur said about the floo was not entirely true - either it would work or it would not - but Molly gathered that her husband wanted to check if Severus was still upset with them because of the quidditch incident. Knowing that Severus Snape, notorious at Hogwarts for his sarcasm, was not a man to mince his words if he was in the wrong kind of mood, Arthur no doubt wanted to spare Harry such a dispute, should it come to that. 

Harry seemed to grasp what was going on and nodded subdued. He was far from sure that Severus would agree to come after all.

”Follow me, dear,” said Mrs Weasley kindly. 

***

”You wanted to speak with me, Harry?” Severus Snape suddenly appeared at the kitchen door and Harry bolted upright, almost knocking his mug with tea over. Shock overruled most other emotions on his face and had not Mrs Weasley’s usual sententious fuss saved him, he would have stayed staring at Severus with an open mouth for the rest of the evening. His teacher looked the same as always, clad in a wizard’s robe and with a non-committal expression on his face.

”Take your cup, Harry, and go with Severus to the living-room to have a little chat,” urged Mrs Weasley. ”I’ll make you a cup as well, Severus - black with lemon?”

Snape nodded. He was not as cool as he let show. He had been slumbering on the sofa in his living-room at Spinners End when a strange sound had waken him up. With a racing heart he had jumped up and drawn his wand, reflex from the war, ready to strike, until he discerned Arthur Weasley’s round face among the flames in his suddenly lit fireplace. It was too hot to have a fire going in the summer, especially after a day of hard work. Snape still had his working clothes on, dusty and sweaty - he had been too exhausted at the end of the day to do anything but lie down on his moth-eaten sofa.

Somehow, nothing much had needed to be said between the father of seven and the solitary teacher, because despite their differences there was an instinctual understanding between them. Snape had gestured for Arthur to come through and Arthur had in very few words explained the situation to him. Harry… in distress… Did not talk… Had a visit from his uncle… Asked for Severus… Snape’s black eyes pierced Arthur Weasley with such intensity that Arthur realised that this strange young man usually did not let show a fraction of his emotional depth.

”You… He wants me to come?” Snape had asked and Arthur had confirmed by nodding. Snape had disappeared quickly to clean up and change clothes and then, without a word, he had stepped after Arthur, through the floo, straight into the Burrow. 

Harry led the way into the living-room. They sat down and heard the door shut behind Mrs Weasley who had been giving Harry encouraging looks which only served to increase his nervousness. She expected something of him - he was at a loss to guess what precisely. Now when Severus was here, Harry did not know how to begin. He was thrilled, though, that his teacher had come, because that must mean that he had forgiven Harry, must it not? Most of all, Harry only wanted things to be like before, so he started to tell Snape, slightly incoherently, about his birthday, about the events of the day - skipping Uncle Vernon’s visit - and about his presents. Snape sipped his tea with an inscrutable expression and finally asked. 

”Why were you upset this evening, Harry?”

Harry immediately felt his throat constrict and realised that it would be the same as before. Severus would want to make him talk, and he could not, he just could not! 

Noticing the panic in Harry’s eyes, Snape frowned slightly, then he put his cup down on the table and leant back in his armchair, forcing himself to relax, He drew a deep breath, then said in a deliberately drawling tone of voice:

”That uncle of yours came by my house yesterday. I must acknowledge that I was curious as to what business he could have in that part of the country, but as I did not feel like speaking to a sweating giant amoeba, I did not open the door for the idiot protozoa. What did he want, then?”

Harry suddenly gave up a short, snorting laugh, almost choking on it.

”So did he come up with some deplorable attempt at excuse for almost letting you die, or did he just wish you a happy birthday?” asked Snape.

”No, he had no idea it was my birthday,” Harry answered distractedly. ”They never used to celebrate it after all. It kind of embarrassed him when it dawned on him on his way out, as Mrs Weasley asked him whether he wanted to stay for the party.”

”So, did he convey any message from your aunt? Had she sent a few well-chosen words along with him?” asked Snape lightly. Harry looked surprised.

”No, no, I think that he came of his own accord. I don’t even think that Aunt Petunia knew that he was here,” he answered. 

”I see,” said Snape. ”Tell me, Harry.” 

The cramp in his throat had lessened and Harry was able to recount to Snape everything that Uncle Vernon had told him. Snape listened attentively, noticing that Harry spoke more and more quietly, with lowered eyes.

”What else did he say?” Snape prompted Harry when he came to a halt. Harry drew a deep breath.

”He asked me to come back and live with them again,” he answered in a small voice. It was Snape’s turn to almost choke on his tea.

”He did what? Why on earth would he do that?” he exclaimed.

”Um… He said that he regretted very much what had happened, but that everyone deserved a second chance and that Aunt Petunia was not so bad and that she would be nicer to me now, because the social service’s investi-vestigation had made her realise that their behaviour towards me re-reflected on their whole family. Er… that is what Uncle Vernon had tried to convince her of for many years, it a-appears. So, Uncle Vernon was sure that she would make a real effort.” Harry did not look convinced and Snape knitted his eyebrows.

”What else?”

”He said that we were family and that family should take care of each other and not burden the society, or other people. He said that the social services had told him that the Weasleys are not well off and that there were some kind of issue with money concerning the expenses… for me…” Harry’s voice faltered and Snape looked grimmer and grimmer.

”What was your reply?” he asked in a dangerously quiet voice.

”First, I told him that I didn’t want to go back to them, but then he went on saying that the social services were investigating Aunt Petunia’s sui- suitability as a parent and that she was afraid that they would take Dudley away from her. That must really freak her out, and Uncle Vernon almost started to cry in front of me and said that I could save their family honour by coming back to them and they would be so grateful and kind to me if I did them that favour because it would prove their good intentions to the social services and then he repeated that I should not burden an already poor family and I said that I would think about it and… then he left.” Harry finished abruptly.

”And what did you think about all that?” asked Snape, struggling to sound even.

”First I put it all out of my head, because it was my birthday and I did not want to think about unpleasant things, but then when I tried to go to sleep tonight, it all replayed itself in my head and I thought that maybe I must go back to them. I overheard Mrs Weasley one day saying to Mr Weasley that it was hard for them to afford everything - and they already have enough children of their own, why would they spend the little money they have on me? And I felt really bad because they had gotten me presents, every single one of them, and I started to panic that they would realise they couldn’t keep me. And then I felt bad for Aunt Petunia…”

Snape raised his eyebrows in incredulity.

”Well, everyone deserves a second chance. You did something bad and Dumbledore arranged so that you would get a second chance, didn’t he?”

Snape made a grimace.

”And Aunt Petunia adores Dudley. She’s not mean to him and she would go completely mad if they took him away from her, and Uncle Vernon seems to think that it is all up to me and…”

”Well, it is NOT up to you!” Snape could not hold back any longer. Harry went silent. ”Harry, do you honestly believe your uncle when he says that she will be nicer to you?” asked Snape, forcing himself to lower his voice. 

Harry squirmed.

”It’s not as if she came here and asked for forgiveness in person to show you her regrets, is it? In my opinion she has none. That coward Vernon sneaked away in secret not to trigger her wrath, counting on talking you into complying with his plan and only then would he persuade her of taking you back with the same argument he gave you about Dudley. Don’t tell me that you believe him for one second?” 

”Not really,” whispered Harry. ”She might pretend for a while, maybe, but then she would go back to the same. She hates me.” Snape was both relieved and saddened by the unsentimental conviction in Harry’s voice. He knew by experience that it took many disappointments, many rejections for a naturally trusting child to reach the conclusion that the person who was supposed to be your parent hated you.

”And you know now that it has nothing to do with you, don’t you? It’s not about how you behave, not about who you are…” said Snape.

”I know that now. But… is she still sick from that post-something-depression? Is she really mad, or what?” Harry asked confused. ”I mean, she seems normal most of the time - just, you know, cross and bitter.”

”She was mad enough to almost let you die. She deliberately chose to leave you for fear of being ensnared by some magic that would make her start liking you. She sincerely believes that being nice to you will hurt her son. That is kind of delusional. Extremely unreasonable and strange at any rate and I can’t see how that could change all of a sudden,” said Snape.

”I don’t understand then why Uncle Vernon can’t see that? He seems to believe that she’ll be able to… improve… Why does he ask me to…” Harry was near tears again.

”I think that he’s willing himself into seeing her as a good person,” said Snape slowly. ”We have a tendency to blind ourselves to the faults of the ones we love. And somehow, he probably could not stand to see her as she is. He needs to persuade himself that she is a good person deep inside. You could say it’s a case of… co-dependency.”

Harry looked puzzled. Snape sighed.

”That’s what they call it. Or ’Folie à deux’ - that’s French and means approximately ’theatrics for two’.”

Harry looked even more confused. Snape tried to explain.

”In households where one person is alcoholic, it is not uncommon for the spouse to deny the disease and to protect the addict. Take my parents, for example. My father was a heavy drinker, and violent at that when he was intoxicated, but my mother always found excuses for him afterwards, when he was sobering up. She never left him. They had terrible rows - fantastic theatrics…” Snape shook his head with irony. ”They said hair-raising things to each others - as a child I thought they meant every word they said and was terrified by it all. They threatened to murder each others, after all…” he added dryly and Harry widened his eyes. ”But I understood later that it was just a ritual, a show that satisfied their co-dependency, because afterwards, they would make up, and I suppose that my mother felt needed and loved as she comforted him, only to await the havoc of the next intoxication.” 

Harry swallowed and peaked at Severus under the fringe, trying to picture him as a young boy, feeling sorry for his teacher.

”Being outside that co-dependency, excluded from the strange agreement between the two persons, is confusing. As your uncle, as well as my mother, appear to be perfectly sane, but at the same time pretend that there is nothing wrong with your delusional aunt and my alcoholic father, we start doubting our own minds, don’t we? You ask yourself whether Uncle Vernon is not right and whether you should not give Aunt Petunia a second chance, imagining, perhaps, that the fault is yours for not trying hard enough… Right?” 

Snape lifted an eyebrow and Harry nodded, embarrassed, in response. Severus was right on.

”I know about that… Well, let me tell you something, Harry - second chances don’t apply when you deal with chronic abuse within a household. By the time you realise what is truly going on, the perpetrators have already overtaxed their account of second chances. Second chances are to atone for one single, once-in-a-life-time, incredibly stupid action.” Snape’s face darkened with regret. ”And Merlin help you,” he murmured, ”If you don’t take that chance at heart and make the utmost of it. Unless you revise the fundaments of your moral incitements and learn to live - strictly! - by your newfound better rules, you’re not worth it.” 

Harry sighed. Severus was so stern with himself. He wondered what his teacher could have done in the past that was so terrible. He got Severus’ point, however, and felt better, but completely wrought out. 

”What about the Weasleys?” he asked.

”They would not have committed themselves to take you in if they had not considered all the aspects. They truly like you Harry. You are lucky to have a foster family like them,” said Snape.

”You’re no longer angry at them - or at me - for what happened when we were flying on our broomsticks that day?” asked Harry. Snape sighed.

”I realise that I overreacted and that I, in my eagerness to protect you, humiliated you in front of the Weasley siblings,” he said. 

”I’m so sorry that I yelled at you,” said Harry in a small voice. Snape shook his head.

”I was terrified when I saw you up in the air. But I went overboard when I brought you down like that. It’s because of the appendicitis rite bond. You heard Professor Dumbledore mention it - have you learnt anything about it?” He looked inquiringly at Harry who nodded. 

”Mr Weasley explained to me about it. I’m sorry that you feel obliged to be nice to me because of it,” said Harry and turned his head away. Snape’s eyes widened.

”Oh,” he said at a loss of words at first. ”The magic does not compel me to do anything I don’t want to,” he explained carefully. ”The magic can only bring out what is already there. I understand that the contrast to how I behaved to you during the school year is considerable, but let’s say that I was not happy with my own behaviour then. I’d… rather prefer… this to be my true self… It’s not as if I turned into some dancing and singing clown who’s trying to please you, no matter what, after all,” Snape ended with irony.

Harry snorted with laughter again. As it was impossible for him to picture Severus in anything other than black, and with that rigid countenance of his, he would make a pretty terrible clown.

”Speaking of which…” Snape reached into his pocket and drew out an envelope. It was slightly crumpled, but it said ’HARRY’ on it in neat capitals. ”Here you are. Happy birthday, Harry!”

Harry must be really tired because once again his mood changed as if someone had pushed a button, from amusement to something that risked to make his chest explode. His eyes brimmed with tears again, but he fought them back. He did not want to cry yet another time today. He opened the envelope carefully and sorted two tickets for a circus.

”Ah…” He looked at the date on the tickets. ”It’s for tomorrow night! We’re going to the circus tomorrow! Thank you so much, Severus!”

”You’re welcome, Harry. You don’t need to go with me, you know. You can invite Bill, or Mr Weasley, if you want. I’m sorry I could not afford to buy tickets for the whole Weasley family,” said Snape.

”I want to go with you,” said Harry firmly.

Severus gave him that almost-smile and nodded. 

”Let’s get you to bed then. So that you’ll be fit and restored for the adventure,” he said. 

Once again, Snape found himself at the inn of Ottery St Catchpole. He had rented the same room as before and sat on the edge of his bed, staring through the window at the starry sky. He tried to get a grasp on his feelings as they were an odd compound of contentment and melancholy. He was relieved that he had been able to reconcile so easily with Harry, but was at the same time drained of all motivation at the thought of going back to Spinners End. 

It felt so meaningless! What was the point? All that work for a house of murky memories, in a suffocatingly tight neighbourhood, in the asphalted part of an industrial city - it was simply not worth it. He didn’t want to live there. What was he doing? Who was he deceiving? The same kind of apathy and despair that had assailed him now and again during the past year, mounted in him with new force, but now there was a straw to cling to, and that was Harry. 

Snape sighed deeply - he was probably just overwrought from hard work and the taxing conversation with Harry. The nerve of Petunia’s husband to ask him to come back solely for their egoistical purposes! Snape shook his head as if to the get rid of the mounting anger. He should get some sleep and try to put things into perspective in the morning.

***

Breakfast was partaken downstairs in the pub and Snape had his favourite table in a dark corner, partly hidden by the bar counter. During his previous weeks of stay, there had been the scarce guest, mostly solitary tradesmen travelling through the county. Therefore Snape was surprised to be addressed by a female voice while he was having his morning coffee. 

”Mr Snape, how nice to see you again.” 

When Snape looked up, it took him a few seconds to identify the young woman as the red-headed nurse at the Intensive Care Unit who had tended to Harry those first, horrible days at the hospital in Little Whinging. She looked different in her private clothes and with her long red hair let down. Snape rose from his chair. 

”How are you Mrs? Miss? Laura. I’m sorry, I don’t recall your surname,” said Snape.

”I’m not surprised, because we only put our first names on the badges we wear at the hospital. I’m Laura Fanfers. And it’s Miss. But you can call me Laura. May I have a seat?”

Snape gestured for her to sit down at his table.

”I’m glad I ran into you, because I so wondered what happened to your son,” said Laura.

”Thankfully, he’s more or less completely restored to health. Harry’s foster family lives nearby. I’m here to visit, actually.”

”Oh, I think it’s a shame that he cannot live permanently with you. How many times have you visited? It must tax your energy to travel back and fro like that?”

”Mr Snape’s been staying here almost the entire summer,” intervened the proprietor who had been cleaning a nearby table and overheard the conversation. ”So that’s why you’ve been sneaking around?” The sturdy man scrutinised Snape. ”You’ve got a kid here? The boy who lives with the Weasley family, is it? I’ve heard about him. The Weasleys are nice enough, although they keep a bit to themselves. Why haven’t you said anything, mate? There are rumours about you. No one could figure out why you stayed for so long. The fishing is not bad around here, but perhaps not good enough to motivate a three week stay. And now you’re here again. The Weasleys let you see your lad, then?”

”Er…” said Snape, slightly embarrassed. ”Yes, they’ve been very forthcoming and patient with my visits.”

”Good for you, good for you. You should never give up on your kids. My wife got a divorce and moved far away when the kids were still little and I regret not insisting on seeing them more often, or moving closer to them.” The middle-aged man shook his head. ”How is your sister, by the way, Laura? Is she down with her family?”

”Yes, why, that’s the reason you got the honour of housing me, Fred. No room for me at the cottage when the whole gang is visiting.” Laura turned to Snape to explain. ”My parents live in the village. When my sister comes down with her five children and her husband, it gets a little crowded and it’s a blessing to be able to retire to the inn, while they muddle around.” Laura did not seem to feel the least slighted at not being able to stay in her parents’ house.

”When are you going to settle, then, Laura? Still with that guy in Surrey?” asked Fred.

”No, we split up two years ago,” said Laura a bit stiffly. ”I still live in Little Whinging, though.”

”That long ago, er? Years pass too fast,” muttered Fred and moved on to clean another part of the room.

”Seriously, Mr Snape, I don’t want to prod or anything, but it seemed to me that you might need a bit of encouragement to stand up for yourself. You should not let the authorities put you down. Have you filed that application for permanent custody of Harry?”

Snape did not quite have the time to school his features into blankness and Laura scowled at him. 

”You must make sure that you do. Why, if you’ve spent most of the summer here only to be near Harry, then you’re clearly ready to make a lot of sacrifices for your son. I don’t know what crime you’ve committed, but it belongs to the past and if the authorities cannot understand that, you must convince them. Why don’t you move here, to keep close to Harry and prove to them how important this is for you? Look, my parents’ neighbour passed away a month ago, and her children is selling her house and…” 

Snape looked at her with such incredulity that she stopped herself. 

”Sorry, I ramble. But listen, you cannot let go. Fight for it! The bond with a child cannot be undone, once it’s formed. Even if you were separated from him by the cruel circumstances of life, it’s still there, don’t you see? By the mere fact that he is your son and that you want him. Don’t underestimate it!”

Snape looked down at the table, embarrassed.

”Let me tell you something personal,” said Laura. ”I had a still-born child two and a half years ago. He only lived within my womb. I never saw him alive. I never got to know him. But the bond had formed while I carried him and he will always be my child. Always. I visit his grave. I speak to him. My partner did not understand my behaviour, that’s why we went separate ways. Despite everything, I’m glad that the love bond formed. It is the most natural and the most magical of human bonds, the one between a parent and a child. I’m glad that I got the opportunity to feel the strength of the love ties to a child. All the expectations, all the thoughts while I carried him…” Laura’s voice broke, but she quickly collected herself. ”It counts,” she continued firmly. ”Every thought, every expectation that you’ve had concerning Harry, it counts, and you’re bound to him, that’s just how it is.”

Snape stared at her. The unsuspecting nurse had no idea how right and how wrong she was at the same time. Snape suddenly felt guilty over the fact that Laura confessed a personal trauma to him under the false impression that Snape really was the unfairly treated father who longed for his son. She was a Muggle and had no conception of magical bonds like the Ancient bond of the appendicitis rite, yet she described something very similar, as a natural part of the bonding of love between a child and a parent. Snape felt strangely agitated, as if her words rang within him with an unexpected truth and clarity. He rose, mumbled an embarrassed thank you and an excuse and retreated to his room. There was something of a disappointment in Laura’s eyes as they followed him out.

***

In the evening, Snape collected Harry with a generous margin of time before the circus would start.

”Half of the pleasure resides in the hustle around the performance,” explained Snape. ”We should allow ourselves the time to walk around and observe, see if we can spot the animals, look at the people and buy you some treats.” 

Harry was excited, but he cast Severus a scrutinising gaze and asked timidly.

”You look tired, Sir.”

The boy was observant, Snape thought, not for the first time, and replied calmly:

”I’ve had a busy day. It will be nice to sit down with you and let the spectacle beguile us.”

”Did something unpleasant happen to you? Or did you just work hard at your house?” Harry still seemed concerned. Severus appeared even graver than usual, despite the amusement that awaited them. Maybe he needed to put a problem into words, like he had made Harry do the other night? It had helped a lot. Realising that Uncle Vernon’s request was only an egoistical manipulation had calmed Harry considerably. He had been able to sleep well and he had had a good day at the Burrow. Snape drew his breath.

”Neither, in fact. But I had a kind of… epiphany… And had to explore some…  possibilities. When you’ve been unsure about something for a long time, it is not unpleasant to suddenly find yourself convinced of the right action to take, even if it implies some… substantial changes.”

Harry looked intrigued and a little confused.

”Please, Harry, don’t worry. I will talk to you and explain some more after the performance. Now, don’t let that spoil your first experience of a circus. Come here.” They entered one end of the marquee into a sales section. Snape guided Harry over to a booth behind which an expressionless, busty woman towered. 

”Candy-floss,” stated Snape dryly. ”Have you ever tried it? No? I warn you, it’s very sticky, but it sort of goes with the circus. You should try it at least once in your life. Those glaring green and yellow blinking straps did not exist in my time, but by the way you’re eyeing them, I deduce that you’re tempted by them? No buts - this is your birthday present. I’m happy to offer it to you. Here you go.”

By the time they found their way to their seats, Harry was already overwhelmed by the atmosphere. Circus seemed to be a strange marriage between crude earthly elements - like the smell of sawdust, plastic tarpaulins and of animal bodies - and a striving towards extravagance, signalled by the thick velvet hangings in wine red, dresses in silver and gold and men and women with heavy make-up. The spectacle was just about to begin.

***

Harry lived each part of the show with great intensity, laughing, sighing in awe and hissing in fear as the Muggle artists enchanted their audience with their stunts. He loved every number that included animals, but whispered his concerns to Severus every time the keepers used their whips to right an animal that lacked in attention. There was no openly cruel treatment of the animals, but Harry still felt deep sympathy with them. 

Afterwards, Harry was too overwhelmed at first to talk much as he followed Severus through the crowd and out of the marquee. They retraced their steps, by a combination of Muggle and magical transport, to Ottery St Catchpole from where they continued by foot towards the Burrow. 

When they entered the spacious garden surrounding the house, Harry stopped because he noticed that Severus had halted to shut the gate behind them. Severus, clad in black as usual, was only a shadow in the dusk, but Harry still noticed that the wizard’s hands shook slightly. The teacher cleared his voice. 

”I would like to speak to you, Harry, before we go inside, if you please,” said Severus. There was the least little waver in his voice, but Harry picked it up instantly and his heart began to race and his imagination started to run riot, randomly exploring every possible and unlikely alternative. 

What could it be about? Severus had looked tired and spoken of substantial changes. What if he was ill? Maybe Severus needed to be admitted to a hospital? But no, the appendicitis was the only occasion in a wizard’s life that needed surgical intervention. Almost everything else could be fixed by magic, Harry reminded himself. But what if this couldn’t? Although, Severus did not look that ill, did he? Harry calmed himself. Right now, his teacher looked more nervous than anything. What then, if his teacher had decided to quit his job at Hogwarts? Maybe he wanted to move abroad? Harry had overheard Mr Weasley tell Mrs Weasley that Severus usually travelled a lot during the summers. Maybe the teacher was going to announce that he was leaving the country, and that Harry would not see him again? Just as they had reconciled after that stupid argument about the broom-flying. Harry forced himself not to panic, but he knew with certainty from the tone in Severus’ voice that it must be something serious.

”Don’t worry, Harry,” said Severus as if he sensed Harry’s apprehension. ”I simply want to… explain myself to you, that’s all…” The tone was still strained, but he patted Harry reassuringly on the shoulder as he led the way over to a bench placed under a pear tree. They sat down and Severus leant forward, elbows on his knees, so that his long black hair hid his face. Harry gripped the wooden tile he was sitting on with both hands on either side of his thighs. Severus stayed silent for a long while.

”I met Nurse Laura earlier today,” he finally said. ”Do you remember her from the hospital in Little Whinging? She only took care of you during the first few critical days of your stay, but she was at the meeting with the social services so you might have noticed her.”

”I remember,” Harry responded promptly. ”She has red hair and she defended you at the meeting. She thought that you should be given custody of me…” Harry blushed.

”Hmm… Yes, she did. Her parents live in Ottery St Catchpole. She inquired after you and I told her that you had healed well, without further complications… Although you did make a few attempts to disrupt your wound - by standing up in a fishing boat and by flying a broomstick too early…” Severus added with a sharp emphasis, turning towards Harry who drew his breath to retort, but Severus beat him to it, waving his hand indulgently. ”I know… sticking charms… We’ve been through that. I’m sorry, it was not my intention to bring it up again.” He was silent for a while again before stating. ”Naturally, she still thinks that you are my son.”

After that followed so long a silence that Harry began to wonder if that was all. A greeting from a nurse at the hospital. But then Severus cleared his voice yet again.

”Do you remember what I told that other nurse about myself and your mother?” asked Severus.

”That you were childhood friends and that you… fell in love with her…” Harry whispered hesitantly. Harry was not sure, but he thought that Severus nodded. ”Did you?” Harry chanced in a small voice.

”Yes, that, too, was true. I did fall in love with Lily. Or maybe I loved her from the first moment I saw her, I don’t know,” said Severus and cleared his throat again. ”I’m… I’m telling you this, so that you might understand what I want to do… And why I want to do it,” he continued, his words coming out quicker. ”I need you to understand, because you need to approve the changes that I want to set in motion as soon as possible.”

”You need my approval?” Harry asked uncertainly. Why would that be? How strange. Severus was an adult, a teacher, an authority - surely he did not need Harry’s approval? No one did. No one had ever asked him to approve of anything, not even things that concerned him.

”Yes,” Severus said firmly. ”If you don’t want it, I won’t go through with it. At the same time, I need you to keep what I am about to tell you a secret. Even if my… er… revelations and… intentions come to nothing, it must stay between us. Not even Professor Dumbledore must know, do you think you can promise me that?”

Harry hesitated. 

”It’s not a trick, Harry. It’s just very personal,” said Severus and swallowed hard. Harry could tell that his teacher was afraid to tell whatever it was he was about to tell Harry.

”I promise,” said Harry. 

”Good. Now, the bond - the appendicitis rite bond,” clarified Severus. ”I don’t know if you have guessed, but it has affected me more than is common for an outsider, or a professional teacher…”

”Er… I guess, but then you disappeared, and I thought that it had dissolved…” mumbled Harry.

”I only managed to stay away, because I was empowered by anger and humiliation. And the… er… strength of that reaction was, perhaps, in itself a proof of the staggering impact the bond has had on me,” Severus replied dryly. ”The effects of the bond came back with equal force as soon as I saw you again on the night of your birthday.” 

”Because you were in love with my mother?” inquired Harry shyly.

”Yes, that’s what I have thought hitherto, as well,” said Severus and drew his breath. ”And, truth be told, without rejecting the bond, I have nonetheless wriggled a bit under its tentacles, because I found it slightly ridiculous to feel so… so spirited away… by a child who was my rival’s.” Severus shook his head several times. ”However…” Severus drew a new deep breath. Harry could tell that it was becoming increasingly difficult for the man to speak. ”However, speaking to Miss Laura Fanfare this morning made me admit something… that I had buried deep down… out of shame, embarrassment, guilt - you name it…” Severus’ voice trailed off and Harry could feel how tense the wizard beside him was. Severus had placed both hands on his knees and his shoulders were drawn up to his ears. Instinctively, Harry put one hand on the taught arm that was nearest and stroked it soothingly. 

”It’s okay… It’s okay…”Harry whispered, near tears to feel Severus so wrought up. ”I won’t judge you for what happened long ago… Really, I won’t. I only care about what is now. No one has given up their time for me like you have this summer and… er… cared for me, in… er… in your own stern way, but still you have cared about me and I value that, no matter what! You must believe me.” Severus seemed to calm down somewhat, but he disengaged his arm gently from Harry’s hand and gazed out into the darkness. 

”I… worked for him… I was his servant… For nearly a year… Do you understand?” Severus turned to look straight at Harry who blinked and sat very still, meeting Severus’ deep-set eyes in the clear-featured face overlaid with shadows in the dusk. Severus continued hoarsely. ”I harboured a constant feeling of injustice when I was young, and I had always been fascinated by the branch of magic that is the Dark Arts. I was vaguely interested in Lord Voldemort’s ideals while I dated your mother - I was young and ignorant - mentioning to her at one time, unsuspiciously, that I might want to check it out. But she… Lily had a better understanding of contemporary politics than I, and was… rightly… abhorred by my tendencies. I stupidly defended my ill-founded point of view, not wanting to give in, out of pure, stubborn, principle.”

Snape sighed deeply with regret before he continued. Harry still sat frozen, eyes fastened on the struggling wizard.

”Lily had been talking about marriage, about forming a family. I think that I was afraid. I was too young, too insecure and too damaged to dare attempt such a thing. You could say that I inadvertently drove her away. She left me and my… my…” Severus’ voice almost strangled him. ”My immature reaction to being stood up by the woman I loved, was to go straight to the Dark Lord and offer my obedience.” He swallowed. ”I very soon realised my mistake but not until… not until…”

Severus had to make a pause. Harry’s heart was pounding mercilessly and he wiped his sweaty hands on the legs of his trousers. Thoughts were whirling in his head. Voldemort… his servant… Severus realised his mistake… but what? What was more to come? Harry turned an apprehensive face towards Severus again. 

”Please tell me, Sir,” Harry said in a choked voice. ”Now that you started you must tell me everything.”

”I will…” mumbled Severus. He sighed and it sounded almost like a low wail, before he continued. ”I learnt of Lily’s pregnancy - no, that’s not correct - I never knew that she was pregnant, because once she left me, she never kept in touch. I learnt that she had given birth to a boy. Someone mentioned it in passing. I reflexively inquired after the exact date and…” Severus paused again and hesitated. ”I’m sorry, you’re a bit young to know of these things, I guess, but there are ways of calculating… er… when a child is… er… conceived…” Severus coughed slightly in embarrassment.

Harry only frowned at him in confusion. 

”I… I thought that you were mine,” Severus managed to articulate. ”For a short while - or not so short - I don’t know… I actually thought that you might be mine. I was not sure, of course, but the date corresponded perfectly with… er… the time just before Lily left me. I did not know what to do. I was conflicted - indignant in the case she was withholding me the fact that I had a child, and scared to death to assume responsibility and take the step to actually contact her and demand a paternity test. I tried to steal upon her a few times to catch a look at you, but I only saw you from afar. She was cradling you, adoring you. Motherhood agreed with her. Lily was radiant and beautiful. I was regretful and insecure. I knew I was not worthy of her. And then… then… I made a fatal mistake…” Severus swallowed. ”I stumbled upon something that I did not think was significant, but… unknowingly, it turned out… that I participated in leading Voldemort to think that you were a threat to him… that he needed to kill you and… as a consequence he started to persecute you. It was my fault that Voldemort decided to kill you and Lily and James Potter. My fault…”

Harry stared out in the darkness, numb and confused. What was Severus saying? Harry had only known about the way Lily and James Potter died for barely a year. If he had not heard the voice of Voldemort from the back of Quirrel’s head and sensed the evil waves of magic emanating from the bodiless creature, it would have been completely unreal to him. He still did not understand why Voldemort had gone after him as a baby. Severus seemed to say that there was a reason, but it was too complicated to fathom. He did not want to think about it. Instead he asked in a small voice:

”What did you do?”

”I contacted Dumbledore,” Severus whispered in one exhalation. ”I asked him to warn Lily, to protect her and… I changed sides. There was no doubt in my mind once the decision was made. However, I continued to act as a Death Eater - that’s the name of Voldemort’s followers - but I was Dumbledore’s spy. I worked for him until the end of the war and that’s why he saved me from going to Azkaban. I was still sentenced to probation for my activities as a Death Eater.”

”You changed to the good side,” said Harry, quick to grasp the forgiving angle of Severus’ story.

”I did it… I did it for you,” said Severus in a strangled tone. ”Albus thinks that I did it only for Lily. He thought that I loved her from afar - he didn’t know that we had been involved in a relationship, that there was a possibility… He never suspected my qualms of uncertainty when it came to you. I was so horrified by what I had done, by my terrible mistake. The fact that I - inadvertently, but all the same - exposed what might be my own child to the cruelty of Voldemort and might have condemned my own son to death, was more than I could handle…” Severus lowered his head in his hands as his voice broke. 

Again Harry stroked his arm, awkwardly.

”The overpowering sense of guilt made me drop the speculations of you being my son at once. From the very day the shock of what I had done hit me, I considered you James’ son - out of some sense of self-preservation, I guess, or maybe as a self-inflicted punishment.” Severus lifted his head to look at Harry. ”The way the appendicitis rite bond affected me, has forced me to realise, however, that against all reason, a shade of doubt must have lingered in my subconscious mind. While speaking to Nurse Laura today, I was reminded that bonding with a child can be done in so many ways, also with mere thoughts and intentions and, basically, it made me realise that it did not so much matter whether in truth you are my son, biologically, or not, because the fact that I believed so at one time must have sufficed for the magic to treat me like a parent who needed to be reconciled with and rectified of his negative animosity towards his child. I acknowledge that I treated you abominably during the past school year and that the present benevolent and protective instincts that the bond has brought forth in me might be more in line with my true feelings for you.” 

Harry only stared at Severus who sighed.

”What I mean to say, Harry, is that I care about you more than I have been prepared to acknowledge. I realise that what I have told you of my crimes towards you and Lily and James, will probably repel you. You have every right to demand never to speak to me again after what I have revealed.” 

Harry had to make an effort to snap out of the tempest of thoughts in his head and the storm of feelings rummaging his body. It was all too much, too much to process, too much to understand. He grasped the only thread that seemed to make sense.

”Shouldn’t we… shouldn’t we… do a test or something? To know the truth, I mean?” he said uncertainly.

”Merlin forgive me, child!” exclaimed Severus.  ”You want to know…? Don’t you care that…?” Severus swallowed. ”I’m so sorry, Harry, I’m being egoistic… And you’re a wonder of forgiveness. I realise that with your family background and your uncertain future, I’m giving you hopes. I… You… most probably are James’ son - no one can deny that you look very much alike and… I’m sorry, I only wanted to explain to you why I’m acting so weird around you and… I didn’t think that you would seriously be interested in… exploring the possibility of my being your… your… Not after what you said to me subsequent to that quidditch incident. I’m not a good person, Harry - I would not be a good parent. I’m trying my best to atone for my sins, but I still have a long way to go. At any rate, even if… In the unlikely case that you were my son, biologically… and that we actually would want to try to… form a… a… er… family… Which is more than I can conceive of, in all honesty… I’m afraid that the Ministry would deny me the custody all the same, because… another thing that only Albus is fully aware of… I’m still on probation… two and a half years left… So until then, there is no purpose of doing a test. The chance is very slim, you know.” Severus spoke softly. 

”I understand.” Harry tried to sound indifferent, but the twisting hands in his lap betrayed his agitation. 

”I’m so sorry if I fail you… again…” whispered Severus. ”I want to try to make it up to you. I have made some plans that I’m ready to carry out, if only you approve of them. Let me tell you… It’s the best I can do…” Severus leant forward and started to explain in honest.

***

When they finally entered the Burrow, Snape and Harry found the Weasley family gathered around the kitchen table for evening tea. There were already two additional cups set waiting for them. Molly Weasley greeted Snape gracefully and smiled at Harry.

”How was your evening? You must tell us everything. Such a treat to be taken to a Muggle circus. I believe that Arthur was the most envious of us this time.”

”Mrs Weasley! M-Molly… and… and Arthur,” stuttered Harry, because his foster parents had asked him to call them by their first names and it still felt unaccustomed to do so. ”You know what?” Harry was excited. ”Severus is moving here… to the village, I mean… to Ottery St Catchpole… He’s going to live here. Isn’t that brilliant?” The entire Weasley family including Ron stared at Harry dumbfounded. ”I mean,” said Harry, attempting to dampen his enthusiasm somewhat, ”like that I can go to his place for the tutoring sessions and he will be at hand and… He has made certain that I’m not going back to the Dursleys. He already spoke to Professor Dumbledore about it…”

Snape cleared his throat. 

”That’s right - I spoke to Albus today since I wanted to make sure after Mr Dursley’s visit yesterday that there was no chance they could take Harry back. It turns out that the legal arrangement with the Ministry that has been a bit unclear until now because of the financial situation, is that Albus himself will be Harry’s guardian, but only on paper, because you, naturally, will be the foster family where Harry lives and thrives. Harry will not go back to the Dursleys in the future, so much is sure. Albus has charged me, however, with the task of managing all practical matters that might arise around Harry, which includes expenses, educational matters and - who knows what the future will reserve in terms of threats and ordeals - of security. In relation to the whole picture, my part will be a small, insignificant one. I’m only Albus’ humble servant after all, but the arrangement is to my liking as I have taken upon myself, for Harry’s sake and for his mother’s, who was a friend a long time ago…” 

Mr Weasley nodded knowingly as if Snape confirmed something he had long suspected, and Snape continued: 

”…I have taken upon myself to tutor Harry in all magical subjects as long as he agrees to it himself. We all know that that might end sooner than it started, but…” 

Several Weasleys twitched their lips into smiles.

”…but I will endeavour to check my… temper… when performing the task and… I do apologise for the incident the other week.” Snape inclined his head stiffly in Bill’s direction who made a disarming gesture.

”Don’t mention it, Severus. I was at fault as well. There are no hard feelings.”

Snape nodded gravely in response and continued.

”Because I declared my intention to move to the village, Albus thought it appropriate that I should assist him in those matters regarding Harry. He was going to appoint Minerva for the task otherwise, but since I would be living nearby, it was much more practical that I should help out.”

”But, Severus, are you really moving here? You were going to restore your house at Spinner’s End, wasn’t that your intention?” asked Molly Weasley.

”Restore it only in order to sell it to a better price,” answered Snape swiftly. ”That was the plan all along. I prefer to live in the countryside and so when I got the opportunity to explore this part of the country, I liked what I found and when an opportunity presented itself… The cottage next to the Fanfares is for sale, you know, and I have already put in an offer. It has been a busy day. If I’m lucky we’re going to sign the contract in only a few days.”

”Will you keep a boat in Lake Kennicky?” Fred and George asked jointly, earning a stern look from their father. 

”I most probably will,” answered Snape.

”You’re going to be our neighbour, Professor,” the twins continued without scruples. ”We will be honoured to show you around. We know the forests, where the rare plants grow…”

”Hmm… Valuable information indeed. That might earn you the possibility to borrow said boat.” Snape arched an eyebrow and the twins clamped their mouths shut to not betray their exhilaration in front of their parents. 

”So that was your plan all along, Severus? To get rid of your house at Spinner’s End?” repeated Mr Weasley, still a trace of incredulity in his voice.

”Certainly,” said Snape and met Harry’s eyes briefly.

Harry’s cheeks were flushed from the agitation during the long talk earlier. He met Severus’ gaze and an understanding passed between them. Severus did not speak the strict truth, but that was a secret that Harry and Severus would keep between themselves. Given the circumstances, Harry understood that the arrangement was as good as it could possibly get. And no matter what Severus said, no matter the uncertainties - because reason had no place in this - Harry, as the child he still was, had instinctually made up his mind: He had one secret that he would keep entirely to himself - no one would know - and that was that from this moment on, Harry Potter considered Severus Snape his secret father.