Snape sighed as, with a wave of his wand, his fully packed trunk closed and locked itself. Tomorrow morning he would escape this place, as he did every year. He would leave this place that was both prison and refuge, fleeing the memories it contained. But the memories would follow. They always did.

Dumbledore had bid him farewell in the staff room after dinner. Horace Slughorn had, as usual, agreed to cover the next week's classes. The man enjoyed retirement, but also relished the opportunity to 'collect' more students and thus more influence. At least he was a competent brewer and instructor. Professor Vector was ready to act as Head of House for the week with the support of the Bloody Baron. The Baron had, as usual, been disapproving of his plans, but though Snape knew he should be insulted he could not work up the indignation necessary to cast any kind of hex that might affect a ghost. Instead he had stalked back to his quarters in silence.

Now he had only to pack his satchel. He glared at the stack of papers on his desk that he needed to see to while away. During the school year the grading often seemed endless, but the stack had grown unconscionably over the last fortnight. He planned to utilize the quiet of his home to work through the tests and essays quickly, but he rather doubted he would.

The lethargy that came over him every spring was damned difficult to overcome. The certainty of being able to exercise his wit in doling out cutting remarks to dunderheaded students in the margins of their papers held only a fraction of the normal pleasure. Even worse, last night when patrolling he had caught a Gryffindor and a Hufflepuff out after curfew and instead of giving them one of his feared tongue lashings, he had merely taken 25 points from each and issued them both a detention with Filch.

Tomorrow, he reminded himself, setting the now packed satchel on top of his trunk. Tomorrow he would retreat to a place of rest and solitude.

H~*~P

Three days into his leave and Snape conceded that leaving the castle had not helped overmuch, even though it did remove the necessity of dealing with students. The churning of his thoughts made it impossible for him to fall asleep at night until his body was thoroughly exhausted. In the mornings he could hardly drag himself from bed. Once awake, mustering the energy for any kind of productivity was all but impossible at times.

This was the first time since his arrival that Snape had managed to cajole himself into leaving the house. It had taken several hours to work up the motivation, but he had gotten out the door and walked the two blocks to the park where he sat on a bench staring unseeing at the group of children shouting and laughing as they played. The park was nothing like the one that he and Lily had visited as children, but that didn't matter. At this time of year, every park reminded him of Lily, and even more so of her son. Her son whom he had never met. Her son whom he had sworn to protect.

He groaned as he remembered Dumbledore's ashen face and broken attempts to relay the devastating news that finally, two months after his disappearance from the Dursleys', the boy's body had been found. The clinical detachment of the muggle report Albus had procured, filled with words such as "unrecognizable" and "significant decay of soft tissues," did not disguise the horror that must have been Harry Potter's last moments.

It made him sick just to think of it. Snape had thought the child safe at his relatives. They all had. But while he had been protected from the more dangerous elements of wizarding society, none of them had considered the danger posed by muggles.

And every year since then the guilt and grief threatened to swamp him. Many of his colleagues felt the same for a time, but none really understood. He could not really blame them, though. None of them had been the reason the Dark Lord had targeted Lily and her family. And none of them had vowed to protect her child only to fail. It was unforgivable.

The first year his distraction had been so bad that there were brewing accidents in three of his classes. Next year he had requested a week's leave and Albus hadn't even raised an eyebrow. His withdrawal from the castle was now a well-established phenomenon and though rumors as to why abounded, none of the students would have guessed the truth.

A child in faded black shorts, a grass-stained grey t-shirt, worn grey trainers that must have some time been white, and a blue baseball cap sat down on the bench beside him.

Snape tensed, expecting at any moment to be inundated with mindless chatter, but the boy simply stared out at the other children, seemingly content to sit in silence. After a minute, he relaxed back into the bench, watching the game of football that had emerged from the chaos of the children's former game.

His thoughts drifted inexorably back to linger on Harry. This September he would have been coming to Hogwarts. Would he have had her skill in charms? Her temper? Her kindness?

He sighed heavily.

"Sometimes when I'm sad, I like to sit and watch. If you can't hear what they're actually saying to each other, it looks like they're all having fun together."

Snape startled a little at the small voice, but to his surprise found he did not mind the intrusion on his thoughts. "Aren't they?"

"No," the child said, but did not explain.

Even so, Snape thought he was probably right. In his experience, there was bound to be at least one pair of enemies in a group of children that size, and more likely three or four.

They lapsed back into silence as the inevitable shouting match began. Two minutes later, after the intervention of a harried looking adult, the game had resumed. This time it was the child who sighed. Snape peered at him through the corner of his eyes, but could not make out the boy's expression.

"Wouldn't you rather be over there playing then sitting here?" he asked

"Not really," the boy said with a little shrug, although he did not look away from the game. "I'd rather talk with you than be called names by them."

Well, that explained things somewhat. The child was being bullied.

For a moment, Snape considered if he should pursue that vein of conversation, but he decided not to push. He was not a teacher here, and the boy had no reason to confide in a stranger.

Then the child laughed. It was quiet, but definitely a laugh. "Miss Lucas probably wouldn't agree with me preferring to talk with you. She says it's dangerous to talk to strangers."

"Next time you see her, be sure to tell her how good you are at following directions."

The child snorted, and Snape smirked at the sound. So few of the children at Hogwarts appreciated his sense of humor.

"Jerome, why don't you go play with everybody else and leave this nice gentleman alone. I do hope he wasn't bothering you too much, sir."

Snape's jaw tightened. Not only was the child being bullied by his peers, but also, apparently, by the adults in his life.

"I assure you, he was not bothering me in the least. We were having quite a pleasant conversation." He spoke in his most dangerous tone.

"Conversation?" The woman looked honestly puzzled. "Jerome doesn't speak. Hasn't said a word in the five years since he came to St. Aarons. Now, come here boy."

He filed the St. Aaron's reference away for the moment to focus on what she meant when she said the child didn't speak? Clearly he did. He tried to meet her gaze, but her eyes were fixed on the child, who had stood and was making his way to her, reluctance clear in the stoop of his shoulders.

Schooling his face into stillness, Snape replied, "Perhaps you haven't been paying close enough attention. One may speak with more than words. In any case, he is welcome to share this bench with me for as long as he desires."

Jerome looked back at him, eyes shining and looking a little stunned to be defended in that way. It was the first clear look he had had of the child's face, and it shook him to his core. It was fortunate he was seated, or he might have fallen.

The woman sniffed. "If you say so. Jerome, make sure you're back at St. Aaron's by dinner time," the woman's voice sounded far off, competing at it was with the rushing of blood in his ears.

Then she was gone, and the boy rushed forward. "Are you alright? You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Two."

"What?"

"Two ghosts. I've just seen two ghosts." He reached out slowly and grasped the brim of the ball cap. When the boy made no move to stop him, he removed it completely. As if seeing his best friend's eyes staring out of the face of his worst enemy hadn't been confirmation enough, this was the last bit of evidence needed.

He marshaled his thoughts to pick a question out of the gathering throng. "Why speak with me and not anybody at…St Aaron's, was it?"

"The orphanage down the street, yeah," he said, scuffing his toe in the dirt. "And you feel safe. Not like Him."

The feeling of safety he understood well enough, it was the kinship of those with magic, something most felt only subconsciously. He could sense it sometimes if he tried, but usually only after some time away from other magical people. It would be stronger for the boy if, as Snape assumed, he had not spent any significant time around wizards or witches in several years.

As for 'Him,' Snape felt a shiver run down his spine at the clearly audible capital letter. He couldn't possibly remember… No. He wanted to know more, no he needed to know more about that, but first he needed the child to trust him.

"Your name isn't Jerome."

The boy called Jerome flushed and looked down at his shoes. "No."

"It's Harry Potter."

The bent head snapped up so quickly that Snape almost missed the movement. "What do you want?" the child demanded, taking a step back.

Fear was not the emotion Snape had anticipated. "I mean you no harm, I swear. My name is Severus Snape, and I was a friend of your mother, and I thought…we all thought you were dead."

"All? As in you and my parents? I don't believe you. My mother is dead. So is my father. In a car crash."

"All as in myself and your parents' other friends. And your parents most certainly did not die in a car crash, who told you that?"

"Aunt Petunia. She said that's where I got the scar you were looking at earlier. And I won't go back there, I won't! At least at the orphanage I get a bed and meals, and nobody can tease me about my parents because they don't have any either."

The child was on the verge of flight, Snape could see. If he had to, he would stun the boy, obliviate him, and bring him to Hogwarts for the Headmaster to deal with, but he didn't want to do that. Not after mourning his death for the last five years. He had failed to protect the child once, he did not wish to ostracize him now and make fulfilling his vow that much more difficult.

"Easy, now, Harry. I gather that your aunt and uncle did not treat you very kindly?" It was a logical conclusion, given that there could be few other reasons that the boy was willing to stay at an orphanage, but he wanted Harry to confirm as much.

Harry nodded, still wary and standing well out of reach (not that Snape needed to be able to reach the boy to restrain him, but Harry could hardly know that).

He allowed a bit of anger on the boy's behalf to seep into his voice, "I assure you that I or another of your parents' friends will take up the issue with them personally. I have no desire to see you returned to a home where you will be neglected."

That seemed to surprise the lad. Wariness was overcome by a hopeful look. "Promise? You promise you won't send me back?"

Snape shook his head. "I will not lie to you. I cannot promise that, because the decision is not mine to make. I do, however, promise you that I will do everything in my power to prevent it."

The boy edged closer at that. "Okay. Will you tell me about my parents?"

He should have expected that question. "Hmm…your father and I did not get along at school, so perhaps I should leave stories of him to others. Your mother, however, I would be pleased to tell you about."

Oddly enough, it was true. For years Snape had avoided speaking of Lily to anyone, but for this boy he would. He would make sure Lily's child knew exactly how special his mother was.

"But perhaps the stories could be left for later. There are many people who will be overjoyed to meet you."

"Really? My parents must have been very popular to have so many friends. Can I be there when you call them?"

Call? Oh, right. Telephones. "I think we can manage something like that." He wondered what the child's reaction to the floo would be. "Even better, you can meet them in person today, if you wish."

"Really? Do they live nearby? Are you going to tell the matron at St. Aaron's?"

"Yes, really. No, they do not live near here, but that is of no matter. And the people at St. Aaron's will be taken care of, do not concern yourself with that."

Oddly enough, the boy seemed to take this at face value, and Snape found himself moved by the trust he displayed. Moved and concerned for Harry's safety. Trusting so freely could get the boy in trouble.

"Okay. So, what first?"

The question roused Snape from of his musings of how to teach Harry to protect himself without stripping him of the open innocence that was so very reminiscent of Lily.

"First," Snape replied, standing from the bench and smiling at the boy, "I think, we take a short walk. I will need to speak to the matron, and then there are a few things you're going to need to know before you meet your parents' friends."

Harry would need to be introduced to magic and soon, because Snape would need to cast a few quick spells at St. Aaron's to prevent an alarm from being raised when the boy did not return—a stopgap, really, until the proper paperwork could be put in place.

And then…well he could apparate straight to Hogwarts, but the chances of reaching the castle without being seen were slim now that the weather was warming up. It would be better to call Albus and have him floo in.

Smiling down at the young boy jogging slightly to keep up with his own longer strides, Snape felt oddly peaceful and yet energized. Harry's world was about to be turned on its head, and Snape was determined to be there for the boy to help set things right.