Severus sat stiffly at the breakfast table in the informal dining room at Kall Hus. An array of extravagant breakfast foods was laid out on platters before him. Well-versed with the excesses of dining at Hogwarts and the consequences of over-indulging, he chose to fill his plate with a selection of fruit and two pieces of toast.

At the head of the table, Aunt Aggie sniffed her disapproval at what she clearly viewed to be paltry choices and pointedly dished herself an omelette.

“Kora tells me that young Henrik is feeling poorly this morning.”

Severus nodded, not taking his eyes from the rim of his teacup.

“Indeed,” he returned. “The boy is most likely suffering a little jetlag.” He paused significantly before casting a sideways glance at his aunt. “He is also still grieving his mother.”

“Of course,” she nodded in understanding and sipped at her tea pensively. “He is only very young. It must be challenging for him to lose a parent, only to be immediately thrown into a relationship with a mysterious father that he never knew existed.”

“Yes,” Severus pressed his answer out between clenched teeth. He had thought that by mentioning the fictitious and supposedly deceased Yasmin Jansen, he would discourage further conversation relating to the boy. Internally, he sighed. It seemed he had only encouraged Aggie’s opinion on the matter.

“Of course, things will be even more difficult for the boy when he is placed in yet another family in the new year,” Aunt Aggie said with a note of genuine sadness in her voice. “Perhaps, after the time spent with him over this Christmas period, you might find a place for the boy in your heart after all, Severus.”

“The boy will do better in a home with those who have the time, patience and inclination to care for a child,” Severus said quietly.

He took a moment to examine the tight fist of the foreign emotion in his stomach. With some sense of disbelief, it registered with him that he felt sorry about the reality of Potter’s unfortunate family situation. He shook his head impatiently, partly to clear away the intrusive thoughts about Potter and partly in response to Aggie’s comment. He needed to focus on the story that Dumbledore had concocted, lest he confuse fact with fiction and give the game away altogether. The trick to successful artifice was to be utterly confident in one’s duplicity.

“The truth remains that I already must uphold too many responsibilities. To add a dependent child to that mix would upset an already delicate balance,” Severus smirked in satisfaction at his little potions reference and sipped at his tea.

“This concept of balance is one that I don’t really believe you have ever truly understood, Severus.”

Raising an eyebrow, Severus chose to remain silent rather than rise to Aggie’s bait.

“For instance, a person who is completely au fait with the concept of balance might also be aware of that little Muggle idiom: ‘for every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction’. Whereas you, my dear nephew, have ever been one for making decisions based on stubborn and sometimes foolish ideals, with little thought for the consequences,” her tone was light, but Severus noted the hint of steel in her eyes. “This was true even when you were a child as young as Henrik is now.”

Severus slowly lowered his teacup into its saucer, fighting to hide the tremor in his hands. “I am sorry that you feel that is the case, Aunt Agatha.”

“Are you sorry, Severus?” Agatha bit into a forkful of her omelette and chewed thoughtfully, dabbing her napkin daintily against her pursed lips. “Forgive me if I feel your apology might be somewhat lacking in sincerity.”

Severus sighed and pushed his plate away, his minimal appetite dwindling as the conversation continued. “I can understand why you may feel that way. Again, I can only offer my apologies – both for the fact that you find me so apparently lacking and additionally for my past actions and the hurt they may have caused you.”

The words sounded trite and scornful, even to him.

Severus swallowed back his anger and disappointment at hearing his Aunt’s analysis of his past behaviour. He thought back to the circumstances surrounding his estrangement from the family. His fall to the Dark was not something that he was proud of, even though he turned the memories over and over in his mind like a shiny galleon on a near daily basis. A misfit in the Muggle world and then later at Hogwarts, Severus had never felt truly wanted anywhere. His holidays at Kall Hus, spent with his mother’s family and away from the overbearing presence of his Muggle father, were the only times that he had felt able to relax and just be himself.

No-one had wanted to be friends with the untidy boy who had worn ragged hand-me-down clothing and a constant scowl on his face. He had excelled at school, his keen intelligence and delight in learning enabling him to grasp concepts well before most of his peers. Socially, however, he was a complete disaster. His sharp wit meant a quick tongue and Severus had learned the value of self-protection early on, getting in first with cruel jibes and cutting remarks, before others could hurt him first. He was consequently not well liked in Slytherin House and was eventually universally despised by his classmates from the other Houses.

To be plucked from obscurity and groomed as a potential Death Eater by Lucius Malfoy, a prefect at the time, had seemed a gift beyond imagining to the naïve boy Severus had been at 15. He had watched the older Slytherin boy gain even more power and popularity as a new recruit of the Dark Lord and Severus had wanted something of that for himself.

Eventually accepting an opportunity to meet in secret with a group of older boys who were part of Malfoy’s inner circle, he was praised for his skill in potion-making and spell-crafting. What a fool he had been to fall for such empty praise and false flattery! He had played right into their hands. Later, Severus discovered that he had been exactly the ‘type’ to be targeted as a potential Death Eater recruit. Highly intelligent, with a special skill that could be of use to the Dark Lord, Severus was one of a handful of Hogwarts students selected for recruitment, despite a lack of Pureblood status. As a desperate, lonely outsider with an abusive home life, Severus had been ripe for the picking.

From the moment that Lucius had begun courting him for the Dark Lord, Severus was lost to his friends and family. It had made him feel special, valued in a way that he had never before experienced. Severus had been so quick to turn his back on a world so cold and unfeeling towards his ugly, awkward teenaged self. And then, the final ingredient in the cauldron had been the disappearance of his parents.

Severus had not tried to hide his interest in the Dark Arts from his family as he had reached his majority. He had been proud of his association with the Death Eaters and those who knew him well suspected that he had given himself over to Darkness even before he had been Marked. It came as no surprise to him or anyone else that he was questioned repeatedly by the Aurors and Muggle authorities when Tobias and Eileen Snape vanished from Spinner’s End, never to be seen again. But it had hurt him deeply that Aunt Aggie, his beloved godmother, the one person that he felt he could still trust in the world, had turned on him. She had cast him out, disowned him, suspicious of his involvement in the incident.

She was right to do so. Severus had been involved, but not in the way that his Aunt assumed. It was a secret that he had carried with him for nearly twenty years.

“I am sorry,” he whispered now, not entirely certain as to which failing he was apologising for.

“Do not apologise to me, Severus,” Aunt Aggie replied shortly, quietly. “Prove me wrong.”

***

Severus moved soundlessly up the staircase to the attic bedroom. He knew by muscle memory which creaking treads to avoid as he neared the landing. Once upon a time, the room Potter now occupied had been Severus’s own bedroom during his stays at Gatehouse Cottage. He and his mother had always felt more at home in the cosy cottage than residing in the opulence of the main house. The pair chose to spend their peaceful, Tobias-free evenings in Sweden relaxing by the fire in the snug living room of the Gatehouse, eventually retiring to simple bedrooms that more suited their modest tastes.

Opening the door to the room, Severus noted immediately that the small child was still sleeping soundly. He moved stealthily to his bedside, thinking back on the scene of that morning with a shudder. When Kora had frantically summoned him to the room and Severus had seen the unmoving form of the Boy-Who-Lived sprawled on the floor, he had initially thought that the boy had died. There was no evidence that Potter's heart still beat, and the stillness of the fragile chest seemed to confirm his suspicions. It was only after casting a panicked diagnostic spell that Severus was able to ascertain that Potter’s heartrate had slowed to only a few beats per minute. Likewise, the boy’s breathing was shallow, and each inhalation and exhalation had long moments of stillness between them. Thank Merlin, Potter had eventually come around on his own. Severus was loath to admit it, but the fact remained that he had not known how to revive the child.

It was a medical anomaly and it puzzled Severus deeply. Even now, curled on his side in slumber, the boy looked unnaturally pale. Dark circles under his eyes stood out like bruises. The seizure had to be a delayed allergic reaction to an ingredient in the Aetate Mutatio, Severus surmised, or perhaps an extreme side-effect. Potter would have to be closely monitored.

He sighed in annoyance. Potter seemed to live to be a proverbial thorn in his side. ‘Little imbecile,’ Severus thought with no real malice. So far, the child had been surprisingly tolerable. No doubt he was biding his time, waiting for the most inconvenient moment to draw on that infamous Potter idiocy to cause a maximum amount of trouble.

As if cognisant of these thoughts, Potter stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. It still seemed strange to Severus to look upon eyes nearly as black as his own when he expected to see verdant green in their place. For an unguarded moment, the pair stared at each other.

Potter reached up with a small hand and rubbed at his face, breaking the spell.

“Hello, Sir.”

“Potter,” Severus kept his voice clipped and business-like. “How do you feel?”

“’M fine, really,” he shrugged, pulling himself into a sitting position and yawning widely. “I feel a bit tired.”

Severus leaned down and placed his fingers on the pulse point at the boy’s neck. Satisfied that it now beat with a strong and regular rhythm, he waved his wand and muttered an incantation.

“I had suspected that there was an issue with the interaction of ingredients in the Elixir after first observing your altered physical appearance.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are far smaller than I would have expected a five-year-old child to be.”

“I think this is about the size that I was when I was five,” Potter shrugged and ducked his head a little. “I’ve never really been all that tall.”

“Hmm. You are also quite pale and drawn. You do not look well.”

“Well, you did put that spell on me to make me look like you…“ Potter’s cheeks pinked as he realised the implication behind his words.

Severus scowled at him. Choosing to ignore the slight on his own physical appearance, he continued his examination in a brusque manner, placing his hand against Potter’s forehead and then making the boy squeeze his hands once again, trying to determine if there was any residual neurological damage. All was as it should be.

Severus removed a notebook from the pocket of his outer robe and thumbed through the pages containing his untidy scrawl, looking for his initial entry on the Aetate Mutatio Elixir. Lost in his musings, it was not until he heard a small sigh that he returned his attention to the boy still reclining in the bed.

Potter was quiet and thoughtful, biting absent-mindedly at his bottom lip as he stared unseeingly at the pattern on his quilt.

“Erm, Sir? May I ask you a question?” the boy flicked his eyes up at Severus and quickly looked away again.

“You may.”

“Do you think that, well, that is…the seizure thing…Could it happen to me again, do you think?” he shifted restlessly under his blanket.

Severus drew up the straight-backed desk chair and eased his tall form into it, slipping his notebook away. He contemplated Potter for a moment and then completed another diagnostic spell before responding.

He considered what he should tell the boy. Whether this morning’s event was a side-effect or an allergic reaction, it was inevitable that there would be further complications. Even more possible was that the symptoms could escalate in their severity.

“I believe it is…quite likely…that you may experience another episode,” he watched for Potter’s reaction, expecting fear. Instead, the thin lips, now shaped so much like his own mouth, tightened in suppressed anger.

“Undo it, then,” the boy said sharply, throwing back his covers and clambering angrily out of the bed so that he was standing facing his teacher. Severus smirked at the realisation that even from his seated position, he was still a good foot taller than the small child.

“The de-aging potion,” Potter continued. “Undo it and let me just be myself again.”

Severus looked down at Potter thoughtfully. “I cannot do that.”

“Yes, you can!” Potter’s dark eyes narrowed, and his features tightened with anger. “You might not want to, but I know you can. Dumbledore told me that you have the antidote.”

“Very well, let me rephrase my response for you, Potter. I will not be administering the antidote to you until you are safely back in the loving embrace of the Headmaster,” Severus felt his own anger stirring. He had been forced into this ridiculous babysitting arrangement by Albus, and here was the Chosen One, back to his arrogant self, throwing about his orders and stamping his feet like the petulant child that he was.

“I can’t believe this,” the boy retorted hotly. “I don’t have any choices here at all, do I?”

Before Severus could reply, Potter barrelled on with his tantrum.

“The truth of it is that I am your prisoner here, Sir, aren’t I? Sure, Professor Dumbledore arranged it all, and you’re just going along with what he tells you to do, but I bet you think it’s all really hilarious. I’m stuck in this little kid’s body. I can’t do magic, unless it’s accidental,” here, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “And now, Dumbledore’s brilliant little plan is literally making me sick! I saw things that that weren’t there. I spoke to some hallucination and thought that it was all real. I felt like I was dying! I couldn’t move. I tried to blink, or to speak and I couldn’t do either!”

The boy sat shakily on his bed, trembling so badly that his breathing was uneven.

Severus stared at him as if he had never seen him before. Could it be that Potter was actually afraid after all? He could hardly credit it – the Gryffindor was generally rash and courageous to the point of stupidity. The greatest shock in all of that little speech was Potter’s absolute disdain for the Headmaster. There had always been an unfailing sense of trust evident in the way the boy would defer to Albus, even as he defied almost every other adult in his life.

“Believe me,” Severus sneered in disgust. “This ‘little plan’ of the Headmaster’s is as much a prison sentence for me as it is for you.”

“No, it’s not!” the boy’s face flushed with his increasing anger. “You’re not the one who has lost his magic. How am I supposed to protect myself without my wand? You’re not the one who has been forced to leave the country and trail along, holding the hand of his teacher! I don’t want to be a little kid version of you! I don’t want to pretend that you’re my dad!”

“You truly believe that I want to be here with you?” Severus hissed, his voice dangerously quiet. “That I enjoy playing this game of subterfuge? It is difficult enough for me to be here with my family at all, let alone with you here polluting the mix,” here he stopped, unable to credit that he had just revealed even that much to the arrogant little brat.

Potter glared, his eyes suddenly suspiciously bright. Severus cleared his throat uncomfortably. The clearly emotional boy turned his face away and looked instead at the bed covers that he was clutching in clenched fists.

“No-one wants to be with me, Professor," he said softly. "But you already know that. The reason I was forced into this situation in the first place is because my family finally decided to be rid of me. They couldn’t even be bothered to tell me not to come back for the holidays and they knew I was coming – they just left me there…” he swallowed convulsively and blinked rapidly.

Severus was still and silent in his discomfiture. He did not know how to deal with this sudden display of Potter’s apparent despair. Wrongfooted, and aware that a known side-effect of the Elixir was a propensity for the drinker to take on the emotional responses of their current physical age, Severus decided that this must be the cause of the outburst.

“You are behaving like the immature brat that you are, Potter,” Severus sighed and shook his head in feigned disgust as he worked to sort out his own conflicting emotions. He could not help but find himself feeling a little sorry for the wretched child. And where, in Merlin’s name, had that thought come from?

“We all have to do things that we do not want to do in this war,” Severus paused for a moment, finding that place of implacable calm within him and raising it up like a shield against Potter’s miserable expression.

“This is the safest place for you right now. In your current disguise, you are unrecognisable to those who might wish you harm. You have a part to play, and so do I. Therefore, until I deem otherwise, you will remain in the guise of a five-year-old child and you will behave like the very best version of one whenever we are in company. In private, you will treat me with the respect that my position as your professor dictates,” straightening his posture in an attempt to regain his usual impassive demeanour, Severus scowled at the miserable wretch hunched on the bed before him.

“Now, I suggest that you stop feeling sorry for yourself, and trust that I know what is best for you in this situation. I will be monitoring you closely for any further signs of illness. You will do your part and inform me if, at any time, you feel any unusual symptoms. Do I make myself clear?”

Potter clenched his teeth, took a deep breath and stared straight ahead, refusing to engage in eye contact of any sort.

“Crystal,” the boy muttered, sliding from the bed and stomping to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

***

Feeling a little better after washing his face and changing out of his pyjamas, Harry was now decidedly sheepish about his snappish little self-pity party. He had dealt with far worse situations in his life. Living with Snape and throwing weird fits? Well, that was just another thing in a very long list of things that he had to get used to. It wasn’t as though there were many other options available to him right now.

Besides, Harry thought, Sweden was quite a beautiful place. Aunt Aggie had been really quite kind to him and Snape...well, he would think more on that later. He sighed in irritation; he supposed that he owed his professor an apology and his guilt would not allow him to shrug it off.

As Harry passed the little attic window, he was surprised to note that it was now completely dark outside. Apparently, Harry had slept the entire day away. He shrugged and then rubbed his face. He felt a great deal more human now than he had after his little episode that morning. Obviously, his body had desperately needed the rest.

After slipping his feet into a pair of thick woollen socks, Harry moved slowly to exit the room. He reached for the door latch, pausing when he realised that he could hear the faint sounds of Snape’s voice floating up to him from the open stairwell.

“- - frightened him and to be honest, his state was cause for alarm. If you could have seen for yourself, then you would not - -“ the disembodied voice sounded strained and almost pleading. Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief. He had never imagined that his Potions professor could ever sound so…defeated.

“Please, Severus. We have now discussed this matter at length and my position has not changed. I understand your concerns, however, and I must admit, I am touched by your desire to keep Harry from further harm.”

Harry could almost hear Dumbledore’s eyes twinkling, if such a thing were possible. He snorted to himself.

“Albus, the boy is unwell!” Snape’s harsh retort indicated that the man had apparently abandoned any attempts to keep a leash on his frustration. “He is clearly experiencing a reaction to the potion. Not to mention the fact that he is hardly himself at the moment. He is altogether far too emotionally fragile. Apart from a brief foray back into his usual obnoxiousness this morning, Potter has generally been ridiculously eager to please and compliant – which, I assure you, is quite out of character! Frankly, I find your dismissal of my concerns to be an insult!”

Harry frowned. Emotionally fragile? Compliant? Ridiculously eager to please? His first instinct was to immediately stomp down the stairs and show Snape exactly how non-compliant he could be! Harry could feel the blood rushing to his head and his clenched hands shook as he fought to stay right where he was, determined not to give away the fact that he had just been shamelessly eavesdropping. As he took a few deep breaths and struggled to regain self-control, Harry thought back to some of his recent interactions with Snape. While it was true that there had been a few moments when he had felt himself dangerously close to tears, Harry felt that he had otherwise behaved much as he would have done, regardless of the effects of his altered age.

He shook his head. Snape just didn’t really know Harry that well. The man had always treated him with absolute contempt, right from their very first meeting, projecting his feelings of hatred and resentment for James Potter onto Harry and clutching at any possible flaw as proof that as was the father, so was the son.

“You know of the boy’s circumstances, Severus. There simply is no other way to keep Harry safe at the present time. His family have expressed a firm desire to have no further contact. They have relinquished their custody to the school. The situation does, of course, make this unfortunate business with the Muggle authorities all the more complicated.”

Harry felt the impact of the words hit him as though they were a physical entity. The Dursleys had given him up? He knew that the Headmaster felt it wasn’t safe for him at Privet Drive any longer, and the abandonment of him at King’s Cross Station still smarted, but Harry had hoped that perhaps all of this was due to circumstances beyond his aunt and uncle’s control. Now, the terrible truth of the matter was laid out for him in all its painful glory. Harry had really been disowned; cast out by the very people who had raised him since infancy, however grudgingly they might have undertaken the task. And what was it Dumbledore had just said about the Muggle authorities?

Quiet strains of the elderly wizard’s voice jolted Harry back to the present moment.

“ – difficult, but you must trust that this is the most effective way forward for the time being. I will contact you when I have the dates for Harry’s hearing. In the meantime, stay safe, dear boy.”

The rushing sound of a Floo call terminating was followed by Snape softly swearing. Harry had been so caught up in his own thoughts that he had missed the remainder of the conversation. He paused for a moment, struggling with his strangely conflicting feelings for Snape. After their argument earlier that evening, it appeared that the man had appealed to the Headmaster on Harry’s behalf. Not only that, Snape had very clearly confessed to being worried about Harry!

All was now silent on the lower floor now and Harry wondered for a moment if Snape had actually used the fireplace to follow after Dumbledore in order to continue their argument. Common sense told him that this could not be the case – wizards could not use the Floo for international travel. Continuing to hover at his bedroom door, Harry was quite startled by a sudden pronouncement from the professor.

“I think you have waited up there long enough in order to appear convincing in your ruse, Mr Potter.”

Snape was standing at the foot of the stairs, his narrowed eyes focused piercingly on Harry’s still form, arms folded tightly against his chest.

“You may now descend the stairs, not forgetting, of course, to maintain an air of innocent nonchalance that will add credence to your act that you were, in fact, not eavesdropping on. My. Private. Conversation.”

Harry swallowed nervously, his thoughts flashing back to the Pensieve incident and a certain flying jar of cockroaches. He hunched in on himself, ashamed at the memory.

“Um, sorry, Sir. I really didn’t mean to – “

“You will come down here immediately. Sit at the table,” Snape turned sharply away and disappeared from Harry’s line of sight towards the kitchen.

Harry slowly descended the staircase, reflecting glumly that the cheerful red-painted treads and white-washed walls he had so admired earlier now seemed to close in on him as he moved towards the dining room and his certain doom.

He shuffled over to the scrubbed pine table and carefully pulled out one of the dining chairs, flashing a quick look into the kitchen where Snape lurked menacingly over something on the counter, his back angled frostily towards the dining alcove.

Harry anxiously cleared his throat and propped himself on the very edge of his chair, swinging his legs twitchily as he waited for the inevitable attack. He clasped his hands together on the table and noted that his fingers were trembling slightly. Although Snape had yet to approach him, Harry felt a sudden overwhelming sense that something terrible was about to happen to him. His knowledge that he was in trouble swirled in his mind, colliding with vivid memories of Uncle Vernon’s purpling face inches from his own, spittle flying from a mouth contorted with rage.

Harry’s breath hitched, and he began desperately casting his gaze about the room, looking for potential hiding places where he could huddle until the violent eruption of Snape’s ire had passed.

Involuntarily, Harry let out a small sound that was almost a desperate sob. What was wrong with him? One minute he was shouting at Snape and the next, he was a snivelling wreck.

Turning abruptly, Snape stalked over to where Harry sat and lowered a pot of something steaming onto the table. Harry looked at the vessel in alarm, visions of punishment by potion flashing through his mind’s eye. He flinched visibly, hunching down in his seat, only to relax in the next instant as he inhaled the soothing scent of rosemary, tomatoes and lamb.

A warm blush suffused Harry’s cheeks as Snape tilted his head, narrowing his eyes as he silently observed his cowering student with one eyebrow lifted in question. Unsure of what to do next, Harry pulled his shaking hands away from the table and instead sat on them, serving the double purpose of hiding them from view and preventing any further tremors. He forced himself to sit up straight, taking a deep breath as he did so.

“I’m sorry,” Harry said again, looking anywhere but at the man who loomed over him, unnaturally still and, for the moment, curiously regarding him.

“You have slept all day and consumed only the potions I fed you this morning,” Snape spoke blandly, continuing to peer at Harry with interest, as though he were a particularly fascinating species of beetle destined for chopping, dicing and adding to a cauldron.

“You will eat.”

Harry felt his shoulders drop as his tension eased.

“And then,” Snape continued with an arch of his brow. “We will discuss the dangers inherent in lurking in shadowy corners, listening in on conversations that are not meant for prying ears.”

Biting his lip, Harry nodded unhappily as he accepted the bowl of stew that Snape handed to him. He watched as Snape served himself a similar portion and then pulled out a chair and sat in one smooth motion. The Potions Master began to eat, giving Harry a jerky little nod to do the same when he noticed that he had not yet started.

As good as it smelled, the food tasted even more delicious and despite his previous feelings of apprehension, Harry found himself eagerly polishing off his stew, sopping up the remaining sauce with a wedge of bread that Snape silently passed to him with a knowing smirk.

Replete at last, Harry leaned back in his chair and studiously avoided eye contact with his teacher.

“Thank you for the meal, Sir,” Harry said quietly. He frowned now at his previous behaviour, unable to account for exactly why he had experienced such strong feelings of fear when confronted with Snape’s anger.

Snape, who had continued to stare at Harry with a great deal of interest throughout the entirety of the meal, leaned forward, tapping his forefinger on the table to draw Harry’s attention.

“What, precisely, Mr Potter, in my conversation with Professor Dumbledore, did you overhear to cause you such unease?”

Harry squirmed under the close attention and thought about what he should reveal. Eventually deciding that honesty was required, he recounted verbatim all that he had heard. At the last moment, he decided to leave out any references to the mysterious hearing that Dumbledore had mentioned at the conclusion of the Floo call. He wasn't really sure why, but he was filled with a cold sort of feeling at the thought of any official dealings with the Muggle authorities. He especially didn't want to discuss the issue with Snape.

“Hmm,” Snape stroked his own chin with a tapered finger, again giving Harry one of those long and searching looks. “So you do understand that it is on Dumbledore’s orders that we are going to continue on with this charade?”

“Yes,” Harry said, sullenly chewing on his bottom lip.

“And so you were quaking in your seat just now because…?” Snape’s inspection of Harry intensified, watching him carefully for any tell.

Harry twitched and shrugged. The truth was, he didn’t really know himself why he had acted that way. He felt a little embarrassed about it now. “I’m not really sure. I just felt…nervous.”

“I see,” Snape clearly did not see. Leaning back in his own chair, he passed a hand distractedly across his face, his mind seemingly elsewhere.

“Eavesdropping, Mr Potter, is a serious breach of trust and privacy,” Snape suddenly launched into his lecture, as though he had not been a million miles away only moments earlier. “It is both craven and invasive. Too, there are many potential risks, of which I am not sure you are entirely cognisant.”

Harry remained silent, but kept his eyes firmly fixed on his professor as he continued.

“Imagine, if you will, that you overhear information that is meant to be kept entirely secret, for reasons that are beyond your understanding and, yet, you decide to share what you have heard with another person.”
Snape paused and looked at Harry to ensure he was following. Harry nodded slowly and waited, wondering where Snape was going with his hypothetical situation.

“Perhaps you feel glee at sharing some malicious gossip with a friend, or perhaps your moral compass has urged you to reveal this secret because you believe that to keep your silence might cause more harm than good.”

Harry shrugged. He couldn’t really see what Snape’s little anecdote had to do with what he had just overheard. After all, the Headmaster and his professor had been talking about Harry. If anyone deserved to know about what they had been talking about, surely it was the very person they had been discussing!

“Imagine then,” Snape continued, leaning closer and speaking quieter still. “How you might feel to later discover that it was this very action - your revelation of private and confidential information - that eventually caused terrible, irrevocable harm to another, or perhaps harmed a great many people.”

Snape closed his eyes and tilted his head back. His complexion appeared waxy and pallid, cast in relief by the candlelight of the small room.

“How would you feel, Potter, knowing that it was because you chose to listen in to a private conversation and consequently chose to share those intimacies, that a life was destroyed? A life, or perhaps many lives ruined, just because you had to know. Had to tell.”

Harry knew now that Snape was talking of personal experience. He could tell by the devastation on the man’s face, even as the professor refused to look at him.

His question was, who was Snape talking about? What secret had been overheard and whose life had been ruined by the person who had chosen to reveal it?

***

It was not until the next afternoon that Professor Snape’s cousin, Hilde, and her family arrived at the manor. Both Severus and Harry were instructed by Aunt Aggie to join them for dinner.

That evening, as Harry toed at the edge of a Persian rug and looked around the room nervously, Hilde’s two children gazed at the smaller boy with open curiosity from their spot beside the fire. They both looked comfortable and at home seated on the floor around the coffee table in the huge drawing room where Harry and Professor Snape had taken tea with Aunt Agatha on the night of their own arrival. In between the children rested some kind of wizarding board game that Harry did not recognise. When he and Snape first entered the room, the two siblings had been laughing quite loudly as they watched a small player piece dance its way across the board and slide to a square near the bottom corner. Their laughter had ended abruptly as the pair noticed the new arrivals, and both now jumped up and, in a move that shocked Harry to the core, raced to greet Snape in excitement.

Harry stared in horror at the effusive greeting they offered the usually cold professor. He then turned his incredulous gaze on Snape, as the tall man reached down to cordially shake the hand of a familiar-looking boy of around 12. He then gently placed his hand on the shoulder of the boy’s younger, stockier sister, who looked about eight or nine years old. And then, Snape did the absolutely unthinkable. He smiled.

“Uncle Severus!” the girl cried excitedly. “You came!”

“I came, Bonita,” Snape agreed. The smile still lingered on his face. It was an actual, genuine smile. Not a sneer, not a smirk, nor a grimace. Harry could not believe what he was seeing.

“I could not allow Lucas to be the only one to enjoy my company outside of the summer.”

The professor turned to Lucas and nodded his head at the boy.

“Hello, Uncle Severus,” Lucas said formally, before allowing a cheeky grin to cross his face.

Harry looked at the boy curiously. He felt strongly that he had seen him somewhere before but was not able to place him.

Neither of the children resembled Snape in any way. They were both fair-haired and hazel-eyed. Lucas was slightly built, with a round face and rosy cheeks. Suddenly, Harry knew exactly where he had seen him before. He was a Hufflepuff, in his second year at Hogwarts, the new seeker for their Quidditch team. Harry had seen him at games, but had not played against him, given his still current lifetime ban, in place since Umbridge’s reign of terror the previous year. Harry had begged both McGonagall and Dumbledore to lift the restriction, but they had both been resolute; the Ministry had decreed that Harry Potter was not to play Quidditch and they were powerless to override the decision.

Harry had not made the connection that Lucas was related to Snape and he was sure that no other student at the school realised the relationship, either. Snape was related to a Hufflepuff? Ron would have an absolute field day with this revelation, Harry thought with barely suppressed humour.

Bonita slipped her hand into Severus’s and swung their joined hands for a moment as she smiled down at Harry. “Hi, I’m Bonnie.”

“Hi, Bonnie,” Harry replied hesitantly. “I’m Henrik.”

The girl looked up at Snape curiously, clearly waiting for him to explain Harry’s presence.

“Henrik is my son,” the professor said in a flat voice that discouraged questions. He gently pulled his hand from Bonnie’s grasp and placed it instead on Harry’s shorn head. Harry suppressed the unexpected feeling of warmth that suddenly bloomed in his chest and squirmed a little at the close contact.

“He will be staying here with us for Christmas,” Snape continued. “Before he returns to a new family in London in the new year.”

“I’m Lucas,” the boy said with a smile. He looked at Harry with open curiosity and nudged him gently on the shoulder in a friendly way. “It’s nice to meet you, Henrik.”

Harry bristled as Lucas patted him in what seemed to be a condescending manner, but then he quickly realised that Snape’s second cousin thought him far younger than his actual age. “Um, you can just call me Henry,” he replied quietly.

He realised suddenly that he was going to have to be very careful indeed that he did not give himself away by acting like a teenager, especially around the other kids. Harry decided that the best course of action was to follow Snape’s advice and pretend to be quiet and reserved. As overwhelmed as he was by being in the presence of Snape’s family, and with the Potions Master behaving so out of character, this was not too much of a stretch, in any case.

Harry, deciding that there was no time like the present, began his act. He shuffled a little closer to Snape’s side and ducked his head. Snape, whose hand was still resting lightly on Harry’s hair, looked down at him with initial surprise and then seemed to recover his wits when he realised what was happening.

“Now, Henrik, there is no need to be shy,” he steered him away from his side. “Why don’t you run along and play with Lucas and Bonnie? It will do you good to spend some time with other children.” He gave Harry a little nudge forward. Bonnie grabbed Harry’s hand, smiling at him as she led him towards the coffee table. Lucas followed them both a little reluctantly, clearly annoyed at Snape referring to him as one of the ‘children’.

Harry sat quietly beside Bonnie and listened as she explained the rules of the board game they had been playing. ‘Floos and Broomsticks’ seemed to be the wizarding equivalent of ‘Snakes and Ladders’. Each of the player pieces were miniature representations of various magical creatures.

They decided to begin a new round of the game and Harry chose a piece for himself from the box, drawing out a tiny green Merman. He laughed in genuine surprise as the tiny figure brandished a rather realistic and vicious looking spear at him, baring pointed teeth in a grimace. Bonnie’s piece was a yellow Pixie that fluttered iridescent wings and preened as she sat on the palm of the girl’s hand. Lucas had chosen a black Centaur for himself, ignoring the figurine’s kicking hindquarters as he set it down on the board.

The pieces were clearly animated through some sort of charm similar to the ones used on Wizard’s Chess pieces and Harry, after rolling the dice and scoring a six, was greatly amused to watch his Merman pulling himself across the squares of the board by his arms, using his powerful tail to counterbalance his weight.

As the game progressed and Harry relaxed in the company of the easy-going children, he found himself distracted by his covert observation of Snape.

His professor was sitting beside his cousin Hilde and her husband, whom Harry overheard being referred to as ‘Cad’, which he thought a rather unusual name. The conversation was somewhat stilted, and Snape appeared distinctly ill at ease. It was difficult to hear what the adults were saying without openly staring in their direction, but Harry had the impression that however well Snape seemed to get on with the children, the same could not be said for his relationship with their parents. The subject matter of their discussion centred around Lucas’s progress in Potions. From what Harry could overhear, Snape was satisfied with the boy’s practical, but unimpressed with his written work.

As he turned back to their game, Harry noticed that Lucas had been watching his careful observation of Snape. The older boy rolled his eyes as he picked up the dice.

“Your dad has been tutoring me and Bonnie in Potions for the past couple of years,” he explained. “Ever since just before I started at Hogwarts, he has been visiting our house over the summers and teaching us.”

“Is he a good teacher?” Harry asked, fascinated with the idea that anyone would willingly subject their child to classes with Snape outside of the Hogwarts dungeons.

Bonnie nodded enthusiastically while Lucas snorted. Harry looked from one to the other, wondering at their contradictory responses.

“Potions are really fun to make!” Bonnie enthused.

“You think that now,” Lucas groaned. “Just wait till you start at Hogwarts, then you’ll see just how strict Uncle Severus can really be!”

Harry, thinking of his many detentions with the stern professor, was about to enthusiastically agree, stopping himself only just in time. Instead, he looked curiously at Lucas. “How come you call him ‘Uncle Severus’? Isn’t he your cousin?”

Lucas shrugged. “Yeah, I guess he is. ‘Uncle’ is what Mum said to call him. We met him for the first time when he started tutoring us.” He leaned forward and spoke in a quiet voice, jerking his head in the direction of the adults. “I don’t think he gets on too well with our dad.”

“He’s very serious,” Harry said, not sure how much he should offer about Snape.

“He’s never mentioned you before,” Bonnie looked at Harry expectantly.

“I didn’t know he was my dad until a few weeks ago,” Harry looked down at the game board, suddenly uncomfortable with the lie. “My mum died and…and he sort of just turned up.”

“Sorry,” Lucas said, glaring at his little sister. “We didn’t know about any of that.”

“It’s okay,” Harry shrugged. “I’m still just getting to know him.”

Lucas peered at Harry for a moment. “You know, you’re pretty serious too, for a little kid. Maybe you’re more like him than you know.”

Harry blushed and then realised that he was really going to have to work on his five-year-old act.

***

The evening meal passed by awkwardly with forced conversation between the adults. Harry was pleased when the children were finally excused from the table and allowed himself to be roped into a game of Hide and Go Seek, pretending to be far more enthusiastic about the prospect of playing the game than he actually was.

The many rooms of the main house provided a wealth of hiding spots, however, Harry found himself at a bit of a disadvantage, given that his playmates knew the very best locations to hide. Lucas was particularly skilled at the game, with both Bonnie and Harry failing to find him at all when it was their turn to ‘seek’.

Feeling his competitive streak getting the better of him, when it was Lucas’s turn to seek, Harry had already decided on an optimal hiding spot.

He had noticed a rather nondescript cabinet in one of the hallways that he had passed multiple times during his own turns searching out the hiding siblings. He hadn't really considered it to be a potential hiding spot, given its small size. Now, he smiled at his own cleverness. It was the perfect place for him to secrete himself away for that round.

In the distance, he could hear Lucas still counting to 100. He turned the circular handle of the latch and opened the heavy timber door just far enough to squeeze himself inside, allowing it to swing closed behind him. The interior of the cabinet was devoid of any light, but Harry did not allow this to concern him. His childhood experiences of hours spent alone in the cupboard under the stairs had made him immune to dark confined spaces. He settled himself, tightly curled in a foetal position to avoid bumping his head on the shelf above him and tried to quiet his breathing, which seemed unnaturally loud in the otherwise silent space.

At one point, he thought he could hear Lucas padding quietly past in the hallway, no doubt listening carefully for giveaway snickers or shifting feet.

He remained undiscovered. Eventually, Harry realised that enough time must have passed for that round to have ended. He felt strangely triumphant, given that he had not really wanted to play the game in the first place, and moved to open the door, ready to announce his win. It was then that he realised his error. There was no door latch on the inside of the cabinet.

He was trapped.