MEMORANDUM:
TO: Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister for Magic
FROM: Bertram Blundersby, Head of Admissions (St Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries)
DATE: 20th December, 1996
RE: Correspondence dated 18th December, 1996

Senior Undersecretary,

Pursuant to Ministerial Decree Number 436, Paragraph B (Subsection J), medical sectioning of a minor child is not permitted without the express consent of a carer / guardian. Healer advice as to the nature of the medical complaint/s is additionally required. Your request (dated 18th December, 1996) is therefore denied at this time.

Official documentation from the Department of Wizarding Child Services, outlining the minor child’s specific medical condition/s of concern, in addition to permission from a carer / guardian or from the Ministry itself (in loco parentis) will be required prior to any further action on the part of St Mungo’s staff.

Ever in your service,

Bertram Blundersby
Head of Admissions, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

***

Having never made the journey between the UK and Sweden via Muggle methods, Severus Snape found himself quite astonished at how tiring and complicated the travel arrangements had been thus far. His eyelids drooped a little and he passed an impatient hand across his face, as if to wipe away the exhaustion he felt. Thankfully, they were now on the last leg of the journey. They had already flown from Birmingham to Copenhagen, where they stopped over for two hours before continuing on the final flight to Arlanda Airport in Stockholm.

Severus shifted crankily in the cramped confines of his economy seat as he brooded. The very thought of being denied the ease and convenience of Apparating (even if travelling to Sweden did necessitate several international Apparation hops) grated on his frayed nerves. In the window-seat beside him, Potter’s small form was curled against the armrest nearest the window. The boy had been fighting sleep since their layover in Copenhagen and he had now, apparently, lost the battle, pointed chin drooping towards his chest as he reclined gracelessly in the kind of sudden deep slumber reserved for small children and the elderly.

Severus wondered, not for the first time in the past 24 hours, how in Merlin’s name he had somehow agreed with Dumbledore to take on temporary guardianship of the little idiot. It was going to be awkward enough reuniting with his estranged family without having to add the complication of lies about an erstwhile relationship with a witch that had resulted in his suddenly changed status from confirmed bachelor to single parent. Aunt Agatha, his mother Eileen’s sister and the matriarch of the Prince family, was not a witch to be trifled with. Asking for forgiveness had never come easily to Severus. He was too proud to suffer the potential rejection. In the intervening years since he had chosen to distance himself from Eileen Prince’s wealthy family, he had convinced himself that he would not be welcomed back. The only family member that he maintained any sort of contact with was his cousin, Hilde. Even then, their correspondence had been somewhat strained and dealt only with matters pertaining to her oldest child, who was currently a student at Hogwarts.

And now, Dumbledore had asked him to lie about Potter to his entire family. The idea of betraying Aunt Aggie’s trust through deception so soon after her grudging acceptance of his apology was causing him stirrings of guilt. However, at this point, Severus knew he had few other options. To tell the truth simply could not be borne. It was far too dangerous for both Potter and himself if he were to come clean with the real reason for the boy’s presence in Stockholm.

The noise in the cabin increased as the plane started its descent and Severus swallowed, feeling his ears pop as they equalised with the change in air pressure. The coming days were, without doubt, going to be difficult to bear.

***

Harry jerked awake, completely disoriented as he found himself inexplicably strapped into the rear seat of a large sedan that hummed quietly as it drove through the narrow streets of what had to be Stockholm. He felt almost uncomfortably warm with embarrassment as he slowly regained his senses. Harry realised that his last memory was of drifting into sleep on the plane and he therefore must have been carried, unconscious, to his current location and buckled into the seatbelt by Snape, of all people. How humiliating. He wriggled a little and moved out of his slumped position, shrugging off his feelings of shame. It wasn’t his fault that he felt so tired. The last few days had been wearing, not to mention the fact that that stupid potion he had been forced to take was making him feel a bit…odd. Harry flushed again as he thought back to that moment in the airport café when he had nearly lost control and almost cried in front of Snape, over the Dursleys of all things! To take his mind off of things, he regarded his surroundings with no small degree of curiosity.

The professor sat rigidly beside Harry on the right-hand side of the rear bench seat, resolutely staring out of the foggy window at a vista washed in monochromatic tones of white and shadowy greys. In the driver’s seat, a large blonde man manoeuvred their vehicle carefully through ice-slick streets. Harry turned his attention out of his own window at the streetscape beyond.

His view contrasted sharply with Snape’s vista of snow-laden playgrounds. Instead, he was afforded a scene of neat rows of multi-storeyed terrace houses. The buildings sat squeezed together at the very edge of the cobbled street, lumps of greying snow piled against their apricot-hued facades like clotted cream. He shifted in his seat and sat up a little higher to take in the completely unfamiliar landscape, revelling in the fact that he was now clearly in a foreign country.

Snape shifted his gaze and raised a sardonic eyebrow in acknowledgement of the fact that Harry was finally awake but said nothing. The professor’s displeasure, either at being in a taxi, or perhaps in Stockholm itself, was evident in his posture. Harry knew that the man was probably not delighted about the upcoming meeting with his relatives. Professor Dumbledore had hinted to Harry that Snape had not been on good terms with his Aunt’s family for many years and was only now attempting to repair the relationship. Swallowing with nervousness, Harry wondered if the aloof man beside him had inherited his unpleasant demeanour from the Snape or Prince side of the family.

Outside, the density of buildings was thinning, slowly giving way to tracts of farmland, the icy landscape dotted with the shadowy forms of skeletal trees and the occasional lumpy evergreen. It was already dark; the slice of sky framed overhead by the car window was a dull grey, heavy with a promise of snow.

After another half hour of driving, the car turned into a narrow laneway and slowed to a stop. The driver turned in his seat to address Snape.

“Är du säker på att detta är platsen?”

The dark-haired wizard gave a short nod. “Ja, det här är det tack.”

Harry stared open-mouthed at his professor’s unexpectedly fluent Swedish. The man smirked back at him and continued in English.

“Henrik, from here, we walk,” Snape unclipped his own seatbelt and then sighed in irritation, leaning over to release Harry’s as his small fingers fumbled clumsily with the mechanism.

“Put those on,” Snape indicated the small bobble hat, parka and mittens sitting beside him on the car seat as he handed something to the driver.

Harry grabbed the clothing and opened the car door. The frigid air hit him like a slap as he slid from the seat to land on his booted feet in the snow. He hurried to pull on his jacket and yanked the knitted hat firmly onto his shaven head. The matching mittens that were tied to the cuffs of his sleeves were likewise pulled hastily over rapidly numbing fingers. He watched silently as Snape pulled their luggage from the car boot and then lurched forward himself to grab the overnight bag from Snape’s hand, nearly tumbling over as he attempted to navigate the uneven surface of the snow-covered laneway. A large, gloved hand closed over his wrist and did not relinquish it as the taxi reversed out of the laneway and quickly receded into the distance back down the highway towards Stockholm.

Snape tugged at Harry’s arm and together they continued down the laneway for a short distance. The atmosphere was tense and the silence of the white terrain that surrounded them was absolute, save for the swish and crunch of their footfalls. As they neared a dense stand of conifers, Harry felt an intense tingle slide from the top of his hatted head, down the back of his neck and along the length of his arms to his fingertips.

“Magic,” he muttered to himself, shuddering slightly with the familiar and tantalising sensation.

“You feel it?” Snape stopped walking and looked down at Harry with an expression of surprise.

Harry shrugged and nodded. “Yeah, it’s kind of what arriving at Hogwarts feels like to me when I first come back from the summer.”

“Hmm,” Snape regarded him carefully for a moment and then continued walking. “It is the magic signature of the wards that you are experiencing. This property is protected by strong familial magic. Only those with Prince ancestry can cross the boundary, unless they are escorted by a family member.”

At that comment, Harry felt the tingle of the magic slide away and Snape immediately released his grip on Harry’s wrist. “You will not be able to leave without my assistance, so do not get any dunderheaded ideas about wandering past the protection of the wards.”

Harry grunted in an irritated manner. He already knew that he was forced to endure Snape’s company for the next few weeks. Being reminded now that he was effectively under house arrest did not help to quell his displeasure at the situation.

Momentarily distracted from his depressing thoughts, Harry peered through the trees to where he could see the warm glow of lit windows ahead of them. They continued along the laneway and passed through a set of heavy iron gates that were held open against vast stone pillars. The grandeur of the building in front of them could now be viewed in all its splendour. The central part of the manor house was two storeys and looked Georgian in appearance with its symmetrical façade and vast rectangular windows. Two single-storey wings flanked the midsection of the grand house. A circular drive, now covered with snow, swept around an enormous pine tree centred in front of the entrance, while off to one side, slightly hidden behind a stand of winter-bare trees, stood a much more modest cottage constructed of dark red timber. Having seen a number of similar cottages dotting the landscape on their drive to the Prince family property, Harry recognised that this style of building was a traditional Swedish farmhouse. Located as it was to one side of the overstated opulence of the manor house, the squat cottage sat in the icy grounds like a small dog crouched beside its mistress.

Harry shuddered as they drew closer to the front entrance of the grander of the two buildings. There was something about the forced perfection and mirror-precise symmetry of the manor house that reminded Harry uncomfortably of Privet Drive. He thought of The Burrow with a pang of regret. Ron was probably sitting snug at the dining table in front of the large kitchen fireplace right now, enjoying Molly Weasley’s excellent cooking and arguing with Fred and George about Quidditch.

Reluctantly, Harry dragged his thoughts back to his own reality. He and Snape had now reached the entrance to the house. A heavy black door was ornamented by a pair of stone statues that Harry could see on closer inspection were black marble Thestrals, carved to rear for eternity on skeletal hindquarters, their leathery wings unfurled as if about to take off in flight.

“Welcome to Kall Hus,” Snape intoned gravely, his eyes fixed firmly on the imposing entry.

“Kall Hus?” Harry muttered.

Snape glanced down at Harry and frowned. “It means ‘Cold House’.”

Harry shuddered as he took in his surroundings. It seemed a fitting name for the imposing building, and not just because of the icy conditions.

“Wait here and do not move,” Snape snapped, placing the duffle bag he was carrying onto the drive next to Harry. The slender-framed wizard swept up to the front door, lifting and dropping a heavy brass door knocker that was disconcertingly shaped to resemble a fine-boned hand grasping an apple between thumb and fingertips. As if waiting for this action to be completed, the door immediately opened to reveal a wide hallway and a clearly ecstatic house elf.

“Oooh, Master Severus, you is coming back to Kall Hus!” The tiny figure hopped from one bare foot to another, gazing with adoring eyes at Snape’s expressionless face. “Kora is being so happy to see Young Master again.”

“Thank you, Kora,” Snape nodded once at the spritely elf, who was clearly working hard to keep from throwing its arms around Snape’s legs. “It is likewise a pleasure to see you again after all these years.”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock at his professor’s respectful address. His only real experience of how adult wizards treated house elves was confined to Lucius Malfoy’s complete disdain for Dobby. He grimaced at the memory of the elder Malfoy’s cruel treatment of the little elf before turning his attention back to Kora. He was surprised to note that she was just as bald as Dobby, despite clearly being female. She was dressed simply, but warmly, in what looked to be a finely-knitted hot water bottle cover with the bottom cut open. The overall effect was that Kora looked to be wearing a knit turtle-neck sleeveless dress that hung to just below her knees.

“Mistress is telling Kora that Master Severus is to take supper in the drawing room on his arrival,” the elf nodded emphatically, gazing with curiosity past Snape’s legs at Harry standing in the drive with the luggage.

“Kora, I would like to introduce you to Henrik. He is…my son,” Snape gestured with a lazy hand at Harry, but did not turn to look at him. “Henrik, come and meet Kora. She has been the head house-elf at Kall Hus for longer than I have been alive, serving the Prince family faithfully for many generations now.”

Harry came forward to stand beside Snape, holding out a mittened hand in greeting. He was slightly ashamed to note that he was roughly the same height as Kora.

“Er…hallo,” he smiled. “You can just call me Henry if you like.”

“Young Master Henry!” Kora enthused, blushing as she shook Harry’s hand vigorously. Snape frowned at Harry’s shortened version of his assumed name, no doubt feeling it sounded altogether too much like ‘Harry’.

“Kora is so pleased to meet the son of Master Severus,” she snapped her fingers and the small pile of luggage disappeared from the drive.

“Please, Master Severus and Young Master Henry, allow me to take your coats,” Kora waited for them to cross the threshold and closed the door softly behind them. Snape nodded once more and with a click of her fingers, both he and Harry were divested of their bulky outer layers.

“You is both to be coming with me to the drawing room for suppers,” Kora trotted away down the vast tiled hallway of the manor house, clearly expecting them to follow.

Harry looked up at Snape’s stern countenance and swallowed hard. It was time to meet the family.

***q95;

Severus was filled with both nostalgia and trepidation in equal parts as he swept down the elegantly appointed hallway of Kall Hus, tugging a nervous Potter alongside him by the wrist. His last visit here had ended in a spectacularly ugly fashion in the spring of 1979, at the tender age of just 19. It had been the last time that Severus had seen his aunt. He could still vividly recall the vicious sneer on her face as she had cast him out of the family home. Of course, Severus knew now, as he had then, that he had deserved all her rage, spite and more. Joining the ranks of the Dark Lord was reason enough for Aunt Agatha’s renouncement of him, but the sudden disappearance of both Eileen and Tobias Snape coinciding with Severus’s defection to the Dark was suspiciously disturbing enough to make him a complete pariah on the Prince side.

Ahead of them, Kora had already disappeared through a set of mullioned French doors which, Severus knew, led to the drawing room. He found himself suddenly shortening the length of his stride, filled with apprehension at finally facing his formidable aunt after all these years of estrangement. A small shifting in his right hand reminded Severus that he still maintained a firm grip on Harry Potter’s wrist and he glanced down at the boy for a moment, coming to a complete stop just outside the grand room at the end of the hall.

“Do not speak unless you are spoken to,” he reminded the boy in a soft voice, relinquishing his grasp. Potter rubbed at his wrist for a moment and looked up at Severus quizzically.

“Is everything alright, Sir?”

Severus frowned. He must be showing his discomfit. Was he that easy to read?

“There may be some…complications,” he cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. “I did not part from my family on the best of terms,” Severus scowled dismissively. “This reunion may be somewhat unpleasant.”

“That’s okay, Professor. My aunt can be pretty awful, too, when she wants to be.” Potter shrugged and offered a humourless smile.

Severus grunted in reply and, steeling himself, stepped through the doorway and into the room. Sighing with relief, he noted that his aunt was not yet present. A momentary reprieve, then. He turned and crooked his finger at Potter, indicating that the boy should enter. Gazing about in wonder, the irritating child allowed his jaw to fall open in amazement at the tastefully appointed décor.

Severus closed his eyes for a brief moment and then allowed himself to take in the contents of the room. Overhead, a crystal chandelier glinted with the soft glow of the beeswax candles it displayed in elegant gold sconces. The entire space, which was vast, was lit with a combination of candlelight and the soft glow from the enormous fireplace at the end of the room. Red velvet lounge chairs were artfully arranged around the black marble hearth, placed so that the occupants could engage in conversation while viewing either the fireplace or the graceful curves of an antique grand piano finished in a polished walnut veneer. Several portraits of significant proportions graced the flocked wallpapered walls, the occupants of which had turned as one to inspect the newcomers. Severus could hear the muted gasps and mutters of the painted likenesses of his ancestors and smirked to himself as he realised that it was his return that had heralded their outrage. At least he could still make an entrance.

Nearer to the door, a more formal arrangement of bergère armchairs was placed around a low coffee table. The table was laden with a tea service and an assortment of finger foods. Kora stood expectantly beside the coffee table and smiled nervously at Severus.

“Your supper, Sirs.”

“Will Aunt Aggie be joining us?” Severus raised an eyebrow at her conspicuous absence from the room.

“Mistress will be down momentarily. She has already eaten and insists that Master Severus and the Young Master not be waiting for her.” At this, Kora popped away from sight, leaving the pair alone.

Severus moved to seat himself in one of the chairs and gestured for Potter to do the same. He snorted in amusement as the little imbecile was forced to face the seat of the armchair he had chosen and then crawl up onto the upholstered seat by hoisting himself up on hands and knees. The small boy then swung his body around to face forward, his feet barely dangling over the edge of the seat as he leaned against the backrest of the chair. Realising that Potter was now unable to reach any of the food, Severus sighed and poured a cup of tea for himself, placed sandwiches and pastries on a plate and handed it over to him. His reward was a stunned expression, followed by an incoherent grunt of thanks.

A twinge of irritation bit at Severus as he watched the boy pick at his meal. He had returned to the family seat, at Albus Dumbledore’s request and to add insult to injury, Potter was here with him to witness what was sure to be a humiliating display of bowing and scraping at the feet of the family matriarch. A usually intelligent and cautious man, Severus found himself woefully underprepared for this meeting. How did one apologise for turning his back on his loved ones and choosing instead to kiss the hem of the robes of the most evil wizard known in the magical world?

In his youth, he had given himself over so entirely to the Dark Lord’s service that he was Marked as belonging to him for the rest of his days. Severus restlessly tugged at the left-hand cuff of his Muggle-made sweater. He allowed the fingers of his right hand to slip into his sleeve, as was his habit these past many years, lightly running them over the place where he knew Dark Magic dwelt under his very skin. The symbol of his betrayal, his foolish devotion to a terrible cause, burned into his conscience and his skin.

As if called into being by this self-conscious action, a door near the fireplace opened quietly. Aunt Agatha’s commanding presence immediately filled the room.

***

Harry looked up at the slight creaking of a hinge to see an imposing woman entering the room. She was slim but quite tall, with silver-streaked black hair pulled back into a knot at the base of her neck. Her resemblance to Snape was undeniable, but there was something much more appealing in her expression. A certain warmth and softness were evident in her lined face. Harry thought she looked to be in her sixties, although she carried herself with the grace and assurance of a much younger woman.

“Severus,” she greeted the Potions Master quietly, a small smile about her lips which was not quite reflected in her eyes. Her voice was deep and melodious, with a strangely flat accent that Harry could not quite place.

“Aunt Aggie,” Snape returned as he stood somewhat awkwardly, clearly not sure whether to move to greet her, or remain standing beside Harry’s chair. Agatha took the decision from him, stepping forward and gripping both of the man’s upper arms as she looked up at him with an unreadable expression. Standing so close together, the pair were still for a long moment before Snape seemed to come to a decision, leaning down and swiftly kissing his aunt on each cheek. As he went to step away, she raised a hand to his face and held his chin so that he could not move without tearing himself from her grasp.

“It is so very wonderful to see you again, my dear,” she intoned, her face now completely earnest, yet devoid of the slightest hint of a smile. “And who is this?” She turned swiftly from Snape, the intense moment suddenly broken, one eyebrow raised at Harry in a very Snape-ish manner.

Snape cleared his throat nervously. “My son.”

“Hello,” Harry immediately slid from his seat and smiled shyly at the striking woman.

Aunt Aggie stepped away, sat in one of the grouped chairs and offered her hand to Harry, who moved hesitantly to take it, slightly perplexed.

“He is very like you at this same age, Severus,” she stated as she pulled Harry closer to her in order to inspect him more closely. She held onto Harry’s narrow shoulders and smiled warmly. It seemed very odd to Harry to see a smile grace features so similar to those of the formidable Potions Professor.

“I am afraid the resemblance is a physical one only,” Snape grimaced. “The boy is altogether too impetuous and without a great deal of sense.”

“Hmm,” Aunt Aggie moved her gaze from Harry’s face to glance up at Snape mischievously. “Perhaps not only just a physical resemblance then…”

Snape looked greatly chastened, two spots of colour appearing on his otherwise sallow cheekbones.

“And does your son have a name?”

“Henrik,” the man choked out. “Henrik Marcus Snape.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Henrik Marcus Snape,” she cupped Harry’s chin in a warm hand and leaned forward, kissing him on both cheeks and then lightly on his forehead. “Welcome to our family.”

Harry blushed hotly, not sure quite how to react to such a warm and maternal greeting. It was very rare for any adult to touch him with such kindness, apart from Mrs Weasley. He could not think of his Aunt Petunia having ever kissed him. The only time she had ever touched his cheek was to offer a sharp slap of rebuke for wrongdoings on his part. He was completely wrongfooted, very flustered and altogether surprised and dismayed to feel the heat of tears prickling in his eyes.

Blinking away the moisture, Harry looked to the floor. “Thank you very much, Ma’am.”

Feeling Snape's eyes on him, Harry glanced up and then away again, studiously avoiding the openly curious stare of his Potions professor.

“You must call me Aunt Aggie, or just Aggie if you prefer, Henrik.”

“Okay…Aunt Aggie,” Harry whispered. He glanced up again in time to see the woman pinning Snape with a hard look. It was quickly replaced with a smile when she noticed Harry’s attention.

“Much better,” she patted Harry’s cheek and released him. “You must both feel quite exhausted after your journey. Please, sit and continue with your supper. I must admit that I was quite surprised, Severus, by your note informing me that you would be travelling in the Muggle way.”

Snape nodded, reclaiming his tea cup and pouring another cup for Agatha as he sat. “Henrik is quite new to the magical world. I thought it…prudent…to save his first Apparation experience for something a little less taxing than international travel.”

“Ah, of course,” Agatha nodded in understanding, placing her hand on the upholstered arm of Harry’s chair. “Your father wrote me that your mother had not revealed to you that she was a witch whilst she was alive. It must have been very exciting for you to discover your magical heritage, Henrik?”

Harry thought back to when he was just eleven years old and Hagrid revealed to him that he was a wizard for the very first time. “It was!” he enthused in a genuine manner, drawing on his memories to add veracity to his response, unaware that he very much appeared to be experiencing the wonder and excitement of a much younger child. “I love magic.”

Aunt Aggie laughed lightly as she sipped at her tea. She appeared completely at ease and quite relaxed when speaking with Harry, but he noticed that there was a great deal of unspoken communication happening between her and Snape, exchanged in glances and subtle changes in facial expression and body language. This was coupled with a level of tension emanating from his professor. Harry had never seen Snape so humble or…cowed…as he was in the presence of this woman. Clearly, a more intense conversation between the pair was to be had when Harry was not in the room.

“Well, Henrik, you have the good fortune of being born into a family with a long history of witches and wizards with great magical power at their disposal.”

Harry did not doubt her assessment of the Prince family heritage. As much as he disliked the man, there could be no denying that Severus Snape was a powerful and talented wizard. There was a reason that Albus Dumbledore placed so much faith in Snape’s abilities as both a spy and a Potions Master. He nodded mutely, surreptitiously observing his teacher from beneath his lowered lashes. Snape was clutching at the handle of his teacup with a white-knuckled grip, his face now ashen, causing Harry to wonder at the subtext in Aunt Aggie’s comment.

“The Prince line is an ancient one, with a proud and noble heritage. I hope that when you are older you will uphold the values for which we Princes stand in both your choices and deeds.”

Snape made a small sound in the back of his throat and carefully placed his teacup back on its saucer. His hand trembled slightly. Harry thought the man looked quite unwell.

“It is our choices that define us, after all. Is that not true, Severus?” Aunt Aggie continued lightly, but with steel in her gaze.

“Indeed,” Snape responded quietly, unable to look at the woman as she continued to regard him with a carefully blank expression. “And yet, some of us can never hope to live up to the aspirations of the Prince name.”

“Nonsense,” Aunt Aggie dismissed this with a wave of her hand. “It is through the struggle for recognition that we are proven.”

“- Or broken.” Snape said bitterly.

Here, Agatha straightened, schooling her expression and smiling once again at Harry. “Your boy is quite weary, I fear, as in fact are you, Severus. Perhaps we could save this intriguing conversation for a more pertinent time?”

“As you wish,” Snape replied, passing a tired hand over his face. He had the resigned look of one who had just lost an argument.

Harry shifted in his chair. As curious as he was about this strange exchange of words between Snape and his aunt, he was finding it increasingly difficult to focus. His eyes itched with weariness and his limbs were heavy. He was feeling very tired, despite having slept for those few hours on the plane and in the car. It was quite late in the evening and Harry’s now younger body was giving him clear signs that rest was needed.

“I thought you might like to stay with Henrik in the Gatehouse Cottage,” Aunt Aggie tilted her head at Snape in a conciliatory manner. “I know how much you loved to stay there as a child. It will also afford you both some privacy when the rest of the family arrive.”

Snape sat up slightly at this offer and looked genuinely pleased and a little bemused. “Thank you, that would suit us very well. I would like that very much indeed.”

Agatha rose immediately and clicked her fingers. “Kora!”

With a soft Pop, the elf appeared before her.

“Please escort our guests to the Cottage. I believe everything has already been prepared for their arrival?”

“Yes, Mistress, Kora is making sure all the rooms are ready!”

Agatha nodded briskly at the House Elf and turned once again to Snape. “Then I shall bid you goodnight, Severus,” the woman then inclined her head gracefully toward Harry with a genuine smile. “Sleep well, Henrik.”