“What would you do?” Harry asked, but the question wasn’t necessarily pointed at Shacklebolt.

He did wonder about this question a lot. Sometimes, when his dad had to miss potion gatherings, or something of the sort because he couldn’t fake an identity. Or when the school called him for the umpteenth time in a week and he had to come and get Harry, or the times he stared down at his new potions journal with an unreadable look in his eyes that Harry swore was longing.

Dad, for all his poise and grace, and stoicism did look sad more often than not- when he thought Harry wasn’t paying attention. He hid it well, too well. Behind origami papers, or new exciting foods, or a new potion that he had invented, but Harry knew it, could see right through it.

It showed the most when they had to leave their home; pick up their whole lives and move to a new town and start from scratch, because someone might have seen something, or heard something, or thought something, and it was always Harry’s fault, but Dad never said that.

When he was ten, they had to leave their home on Boxing Day. How depressing was that?

‘It’s never your fault,’ Dad had said, in the car as they were pretending to move away. They always drove the charmed car for a reasonable distance, ditched it somewhere and then Dad apparated them to the new location.

‘You cannot stop things from happening, sometimes things happen for a reason.’ Harry was silent, his eyes red-rimmed and his arms crossed against his chest. He was ten. He didn’t understand logic and inevitability. They were running from their house on Boxing Day for Merlin’s sake.

‘I’m sorry,’ he truly was sorry for cheating in that stupid snowball fight that the neighborhood kids had started. He didn’t get to mingle with them much, and it was just so much fun that he forgot that he couldn’t use his magic to assist him against four other children.

No one saw, Harry personally thought that no one caught him doing it except for Dad, but if Dad had then it meant that someone else had too. Because people couldn’t be trusted. One couldn’t simply ‘assume’ things about people.

Dad didn’t tell him off for using his stupid magic, he didn’t shout, he didn’t look disappointed. He just turned his back to Harry and walked into the house to start packing. They left that afternoon.

‘It was my fault, Harry, not yours,’ his father looked straight ahead, his eyes glued to the snowy road ahead. ‘I should have known better.’

Harry wondered, a lot, about how much his dad had sacrificed in order to keep him safe, the things he had missed, in order to raise a child that wasn’t even his, to begin with. Practically his whole life was thrown away, the things he could have seen or had; the places he could have gone to and the awards and jobs his brilliance in potions could have granted him.

“Stranded after a war where you belong to neither side, with no jobs, and no way to access your money and no one to trust, with a baby, dumped on you, what would you do?”

Shacklebolt didn’t answer but looked uncomfortable nonetheless. The large man shifted in his seat, his chair creaking under his weight.
“He had no idea what he was doing. He didn’t have the first notion about babies. He didn’t how to feed me, how to hold me, or what to do when I cried. He couldn’t go to Gringotts for the money he had left in his vaults, and his best friend was dead.”

“You all think it’s so easy to give up your whole life in a span of one night.”


**

He didn’t get to say goodbye to Lily.

In fact, Severus didn’t even get to really examine his best friend's unmoving body more than four seconds before Baby Potter’s inconsolable cries demanded his attention and jostled him into action. He didn’t have time to mourn. He needed to take care of the baby first.

Severus took out his wand and surveyed the ruined nursery with pursed lips, his eyes darted away from the caved-in roof and the rubble, to the shelf and Harry’s wardrobe.

“Accio-.” Severus paused for a moment to think. “Harry’s bag.”

The wardrobe slammed open and a large bag zoomed into Severus’s grasp. It was quite heavy for its size and dotted with small brooms lazily flying all over the bag. Lily must have prepared it in advance. Severus realized that he knew less about babies than he probably should have, as he examined the diaper bag with great wariness and then glance back at the whimpering baby.

Harry saw him stare and opened his mouth to cry for his attention once again, his chubby hands gripping the bars of his crib and pulling with force. Severus quickly slung the heavy bag on his left shoulder and strode to the crib.

“Stop crying now Potter,” it couldn’t be good for him, crying that much. The baby’s face was already flushed and strained, his eyes glassy. They looked so similar to Lily’s that if Severus weren’t in such a hurry, he would have gaped at the uncanny resemblance.

He tried his best to ignore Lily’s body and went over the best ways to pick up the baby without hurting him. He knew nothing about them, other than the fact that they were unimaginably fragile and breakable.

“You’re all soft flesh and no bones,” Severus muttered, hesitantly reaching into the crib with blood-soaked hands that were already getting dried. “You have to cooperate with me here, infant.” His hands hovered in the air, and Severus groaned. He had no idea how to do this.

Harry sniffled, looking away from Severus to his mother for a moment before his eyes shifted back to the strange man. Severus watched as the baby’s chin dangerously wobbled, and he burst into a new bout of tears.

“To hell with it,” Severus said and plucked the baby off in one swift move, startling both himself and baby Potter into shocked silence. Harry stared at him with an open mouth, and Severus stared right back, holding him away from his body as if the child were about to explode.

Harry made a sound in his throat and gripped Severus’ sleeves to steady himself.

“Alright, you didn’t break.” That was good news, considering the circumstances. Now he just had to carry the baby with himself out of the wreckage and apparate with him at the very least.

Then he’d figure out what he needed to do with the baby.

There was no way he was keeping him. No way in hell that he would go into hiding, raise a BABY, by himself, for merlin knew how long, over something that his childhood bully had claimed on his deathbed, most likely when he was delirious with pain and just talking nonsense. Severus nodded to himself, and slowly brought the baby closer to his chest. That seemed the most natural pose.

Just at that moment, Harry had seemed to realize that this blood-soaked stranger was not his Mommy or Daddy, and he hated the way he was being held. The baby started squirming immediately, shedding crocodile tears and whining, his little hands pushing at Severus.

“No, no,” he told the baby and tightened his hold. “Potter, don’t be stubborn, trust me when I say that neither of us wants this.”

He stepped over Lily’s body with a longing glance, and then rushed out of the nursery. He was running out of time. Severus needed to apparate back to his house, get away from all of this, to actually think about his next move, and then most likely call in Dumbledore.

Obviously, he wasn’t going to keep the baby.

Potter craned his neck to reach for his mother back in the nursery, starting an anew string of “Mommy” in heartbreaking whimpers, making Severus feel even worse, as he shifted the boy away and pressed his face into his chest as they were passing over James Potter’s mutilated body. The child was already in hysterics, he didn’t need to see that.

Severus wasn’t certain how well-adjusted Potter’s son was to magical transportation, but he couldn’t tell the difference anyway, Potter was crying, either way, so Severus made it quick and painless, just as he had done earlier.

The baby wasn’t shocked speechless this time around, but his crying dramatically reduced as he noticed the surrounding change. Severus slowly sighed and adjusted baby Potter on his hip.

“That’s nicer, isn’t it?” he said, cringing at himself. “No smoke or rubble. Enjoy the view Potter.”

Baby Potter grunted, looking at the trees surrounding them with narrowed eyes. Severus guessed that the baby couldn’t quite distinguish the trees because of the dark. Still, Harry scrutinized the vague shapes, as he cried, only half-heartedly as Severus walked the path to his porch.

One might think it idiotic of him to return home after essentially kidnapping a baby, but Severus wasn’t daft. There was no way, that they would know it was him right away. He had at least a week alone in the manor by himself until anyone came sniffing around for him.

“How are you still crying?” he asked the baby, as they stood before the doors. By the time they were inside, and Severus’ shoulders relaxed he was getting increasingly worried and impressed by Harry’s lung capacities.

Tersely, he found his way to the kitchen with the lights dimmed, and carefully drew out his wand as he juggled Potter with his other arm. The baby needed to be sorted out first before Severus could let his shields down and start freaking out.

The Potters were dead. They were murdered, in their own home, betrayed by their best friend, and now Severus was drenched in their blood, with their baby in his arms.

Yes, he was most certainly repressing these bits of information until he deemed it safe enough to give in to delayed shock.

“We need to clean you up a bit,” he said, shifting a whimpering Harry in his arms. Severus’ eyes darted around the kitchen and finally settled on the kitchen table. The chairs were too dangerous for Harry.

The baby’s face was tracked with tears and blood, and for all he knew, the constant crying could be out of pain. Somewhere was bleeding, by the looks of it, but the infant’s face was too stained for Severus to notice the lightning bolt-shaped scar immediately.

He halted as his eyes finally fell on the inflamed, bleeding scar. A lightning bolt, the exact wand movement of the killing curse. Dear Merlin and Circe, Severus thickly swallowed the bile forming in his throat, did the dark lord try to kill this baby and failed?

He must have failed, or else baby Potter wouldn’t be alive.

“Momma, Dada,” Potter cried their names in a constant stream as he looked around the unfamiliar surroundings and then occasionally craned his neck to glance at a blood-soaked Severus. He was clearly asking him about the whereabouts of his parents with his tear-glazed eyes.

Severus hid his guilt, and carefully set Harry on the table, keeping a steadying hand on the baby’s back.

“They’re not here now Harry,”

Potter seemed too tired to sob louder, but he seemed to have understood Severus’s words and their meaning. The baby sagged against his hand, looking absolutely miserable.

Severus took the chance and ran his wand over the baby with a muttered diagnostic charm, his brows furrowing as he realized that the baby’s elbow was most likely injured in addition to the curse scar on his forehead.

Some rubble or a bit of plaster must have fallen on Harry, or the baby had hit it somewhere in his hysterics.

Severus leaned away, and cast another steadying charm on the baby, so he wouldn’t fall over. He went over to fill up a bowl of warm water and dig around for some rags that he could use to clean up the baby. He could have done it all with a few spells, but Severus needed the stimulation.

He also needed to get away from Potter for at least a few minutes, even though they were still in the same room, and Potter was still crying.

He couldn’t do this, Severus realized. He couldn’t keep and raise a baby. He was a death eater, a spy in disguise, he was loathed by both sides, and precisely because of that reason, the wizarding world wouldn’t appreciate a man like him taking care of their wonder boy.

Some part of him still couldn’t believe that the inconsolable whimpering child had defeated the dark lord, and survived a killing curse. It was surreal, and Severus had to stifle the strong urge to start giggling. He just feared that if he started, he would never stop.

‘He’s in danger.’ James had told him that, minutes before dying. Severus understood that. He understood what the wrath of vengeful death eaters could do to a grown man, much less a child. They would all be scramming into the shadows like rodents now that their master was gone, but a selected few would hang around for revenge.

Potter was right, but he was also wrong too.

If he had wanted protection for his son, then Severus was the wrong person to ask. Dumbledore was the most powerful man known to be alive, he was the leader surging the light side into action and resistance if there was one person in this world who could protect baby Potter it was that old man, not a Death eater spy who used to practice dark arts.

Severus placed the sloshing bowl of water down on the counter with too much force, startling Potter into silence again as the bowl clanked rather loudly as a result. Severus ignored the baby and knelt to look around in his cupboards.

Even if Potter was stung by Black’s betrayal, and he couldn’t find it in him to trust his other friends, such as Lupin and the rat, it wouldn’t explain why he would protest that strongly against the idea of Dumbledore tending to the child.

Besides, Severus thought as he closed the cupboards and stood with a sigh, it wasn’t as if he could keep the baby secret from Albus Dumbledore for long. The old man would find him in less than a week, question him, probe around in his head for answers, and then snatch the boy anyway before sending Severus on his way with a lemon sherbet and a pat on the head.

Severus wouldn’t mind walking away.

This war had taken too much out of him already, and he wasn’t willing to give any more. He wasn’t even sure if he was capable of giving any more than he already had. He wanted everything to be over, and it seemed that his wish was finally about to come true. Then trust James bloody Potter to provoke his life debt on Severus and dump a baby in his arms.

That cannot be right. Severus ground his teeth. His life debt was paid the moment he agreed to spy for Dumbledore, even if Potter had no idea, Severus’ decision was what saved James’s ass the exact night he gave his first report to a blank-faced Albus and urged him to send a backup to save those bloody mindless Gryffindors. His slate was clean. But what if Albus hadn’t told Potter about that night? Even more so, what if it didn’t count, because Severus wasn’t the one who actually saved the man from certain death?

If Potter knew about that night, then he wouldn’t have cited any life debts. That was unless, he knew all about it, but wanted to put Severus in an impossible situation.

How do you refuse a dying man?

Sit back, and watch Potter, Severus thought with a sneer.

He thought that he was already decided, as he grabbed a towel and headed back to an eerily silent Potter. He would clean the baby up, heal what he could, and then fire call Albus Dumbledore.

James Potter’s last words or not, Severus wasn’t about to abandon every shred of logic that urged him against the man’s words.

Harry was staring at Severus with wide green eyes. They were completely his mother’s, fitted in a face that was a carbon copy of his father’s. It was shocking, how Baby Potter looked like the perfect blend of the two. Even so, Sev had never seen Lily’s eyes stare at him with the expression that Potter was wearing now. Disturbingly blank.

Severus stared back at Potter, uneasily, and the baby didn’t blink or stir away. It was unsettling.

“I think I liked you more when you cried, Potter.”

Potter didn’t show the slightest hint of understanding him, yet carried on with the staring. After a moment or two, Severus shrugged this off and placed the rags near the bowl. Potter himself was an oddity to behold in his youth, trust his baby to have nailed the death stare this early in life as well.

Although, at this point, Severus wasn’t sure whether the creepy staring contest was a baby thing… or a Potter thing.

He reached a hand to the bowl and dipped the rag while his eyes were glued to Potter, wishing that he had the foresight to gather a scarring balm and a pain-relieving potion as well. Then he decided that it really didn’t matter, not only the dosage measuring would be a hassle, but the potion master himself was very reluctant to give Potter’s baby anything that he might later regret.

“This would be over soon Potter,” Severus said, almost as a vow. “And then you can snuggle Dumbledore’s pet wolf or the rat.”

Honestly, he couldn’t see what all the fuss was about. James Potter’s baby would be safe and sound.

Just as he leaned down to clean Harry’s face, a knife levitated from his countertop and zoomed right past him, missing his eye by a hairbreadth and embedding itself firmly into the wall over his shoulder. Quicker than a blink, and swifter than a spell, he was almost about to lose an eye.

Dear Merlin and Circe…Did that just happen?

Severus froze. His eyes went wide and his mouth slightly hung open, he looked at the baby with accusation and subtle rage but was surprised when Harry’s face crumpled and he was crying again.

“Oh my god,” Severus said, after a beat, and dropped the dripping rag to pick the baby up in his arms. He couldn’t trust the infant by himself, not after he nearly murdered Severus.

In his defense though, Severus thought somewhat wryly, the baby looked more terrified of his bout of…whatever it was than Severus himself. He just nearly lost an eye. Potter threw a knife at his face. A fifteen-month-old baby, whose vocabulary didn’t extend to anything beyond ‘Mommy and Dada’ almost succeeded in doing what the dark lord couldn’t.

Well, he is the boy who defeated Voldemort after all. Severus had no idea how, but he must have. He had a miracle baby in his arms. Who could also throw knives.

‘He’s in danger,’ James Potter had said, but what he really should have said, or meant, was that ‘He’s THE danger, don’t leave knives around him, Snape.’

This thought prompted Severus to stride out of the kitchen and rush upstairs, to the guest room with no dangerous cutlery or sharp-edged furniture around. He very much liked to remain intact, and also Potter could hurt himself with his outbursts.

That much power, inside that tiny body, he thought in wonder. How could that be?

How could the result of James Potter’s genes and Lily Evans’ be something much more powerful than anyone had ever seen? It didn’t seem right, it couldn’t be possible. This much magic cooped up, inside a baby, or even a full-grown adult, wasn’t natural. Magic wasn’t all about inheritance; it needed to be matured. To be tended to with utter delicacy and education, that’s why children were prone to accidental magic in the first place, but to have it at this age and to this severity?

It was unheard of.

**

“He didn’t know what to do. On one hand, he could have gone through with the plan, called this Dumbledore person and ridden himself of an unstable baby who could hurt anyone without even meaning to do it, on the other…calling them would mean exposing me and my magic, something that obviously no one knew about, especially not The Order. This wasn’t only unheard of, it was physically impossible. And he wasn’t sure how it happened, whether it was inherent,” he paused. “Or caused by the backlash of the Dark Lord’s curse.”

“It does sound impossible,” Shacklebolt sounded like he didn’t believe a word coming out of Harry’s mouth. That was fine. Harry wouldn’t get mad. Dad would be disappointed, and Harry honestly could do better.

“That’s what he always told me anyway,” Harry smiled at the blank-faced man. “I was his ‘incredible little brat,” maybe the information was too personal, for Harry to share with a stranger, a stone-faced Auror just waiting for an excuse to lock him up in a ward. But Harry didn’t care. He missed Dad, so much. He was afraid, confused, and just a bit angry, and all he could think about in that posh office imprisoning him was how he remembered the times Dad called him his ‘Incredible little brat’ as a child.

Those three little words of affection, was all Harry craved a child, and grew exasperated at as a teen. Dad loved teasing him about it, and Harry really didn’t mind, even though he pretended he did. He wished he hadn’t now. For all he knew, Dad could die, not knowing just how much Harry loved being called Dad’s ‘incredible little brat’.

Because it was just the two of them against the world, and even though Dad had to sacrifice everything, he still loved Harry. Even though this was all Harry’s fault, Dad would never be mad. He’d just always be his ‘incredible little brat’.

Dad had said. ‘Time for dinner now, and I mean it, you incredible brat,’ and Harry rolled his eyes at him.

He’d fallen off his broom and Dad was patching up his knees. ‘It’s not going to hurt anymore, do you know why?’

Eight-year-old him made a face at the weird foul-smelling balm. ‘You put the smelly paste on it?’

Severus wrinkled his nose at him with amusement, he pretended to think for a beat, and then shook his head. ‘No, I’m sure it must be because you’re my incredible little brat.’ Harry grinned slyly. ‘And little brats don’t cry over scraped knees.’

‘You’re not supposed to stir it that way!’ Dad’s raised voice sent chills all over his body and Harry cringed. He threw a sheepish grin over his shoulder and Dad mellowed. ‘Throw the Newt’s eyes first, you incredible little brat.’ He said in utter exasperation.

‘I’m still your incredible little brat Dad, I promise.’ Harry closed his eyes. He’d all but forgotten about Shacklebolt’s awkward presence in the room with him.

“Mr. Potter?”

“You don’t believe me,” Harry said as he opened his eyes. “But you have no idea what that disbelief could cost you Shacklebolt. I could kill every single one of us if you push me enough.”

“I find that quite hard to believe Mr. Potter, as I said, our healers hadn’t detected any abnormalities in your magical aura.” Shacklebolt almost looked as if he was pitying Harry. “I’m quite sure you’re making this story up…or you’ve been lied to, your whole life.”

Harry snorted. Oh, how he itched to show this brute of a man who he was dealing with. He could trash this room, rip the pretty curtains, and blast the wizard right through the charmed windows. Let the man fall on the hard marble floor.

Then he’ll learn not to accuse Harry’s father of lying to him.

‘Don’t even think about it Harry,’ that’s definitely something Dad would have said. ‘I’ll have you scrubbing cauldrons until you’re all old and grey.’
Harry smothered the smoky clouds threatening to cloud his vision and looked past Shacklebolt’s shoulder to stare at a framed Daily Prophet proudly hanging on the wall. The frame cracked and loudly shattered the next instance, sending Shacklebolt lunging to the side and drawing his wand.

“This room had protective wards all over it,” Kingsley said, slightly out of breath as he inspected the shattered mess on the floor. “What tricks are you playing?”

Harry raised an eyebrow. People just never listened, did they?

“Why don’t you get back in your seat so we can carry on, and while you’re at it, hand me a piece of parchment.” He nodded to the file on the desk as Shacklebolt slowly settled back into his seat. Harry’s own origami boat was now torn in half, thanks to this man’s stupidity, the least he could do, was supplying the paper.

“Why?” Harry ignored the question and waited until the man hastily drew a piece of parchment from the file and slid it over. It was a briefing. Harry didn’t let his eyes rest on the words and merely skimmed over them before he did the first fold.

“I happen to know how to prevent myself from blowing us up,” Harry finally shrugged as the silence dragged on. “And I love origami.”

“You want me to believe-.”

“I don’t want you to believe a single thing.” The boy cut in. “I just want you to see. Surely it cannot be that hard.”

He could see the Auror gritting his teeth. He didn’t care. Harry had the story they needed, and they had what Harry needed in return.

“If you cannot commit to this, then you shouldn’t be in this room. If you are, then that means you chose to be here with me, and you chose to listen, now whether you believe me or not is not my responsibility. It’s all yours.”

Shacklebolt didn’t respond. Harry cross-folded the parchment, distractedly. He took the silence as a cue to continue.

“Feathers,” Harry said. “That’s what it was all about in the earlier days.”

**

Potter liked causing chaos. That much was obvious.

The issue, with Potter’s newfound venting off method, was that it terrified the baby himself. Harry shook the bed on which they both sat upon, dropped the scarce shelves and then scared himself further with the loud noises as the windows shook and rattled and threatened to shatter.

Severus didn’t even attempt taking out his wand, there was already too much magic in the room. It was stifling, and quite frankly, it was making Severus more restless by the minute, and he had no idea how to stop it.

Even if he knew how to take care of regular babies in the first place, Potter’s case seemed to be different.

“It’s alright,” Severus shushed the child. He got up and started pacing the room again, and the chaos moved with them, but he paid it no mind. He couldn’t let Harry keep on crying any more than he already had, the baby was going to hurt himself.

Maybe he should give him a dreamless sleep potion, quickly figure out the dosage and force-feed the child if he has to, but on the other hand, …he couldn’t just drug a baby.

“You’re the one making noise Harry, I promise. We’re safe.”

He put a hand over Harry’s ear to muffle the sound of the door banging repeatedly against the hinges and moved over to the bed again, where it was safer. Harry’s breathing calmed as Severus’s hand muffled the havoc, and they sat on the bed again.

Severus noticed the boy’s calmed breathing immediately and sighed in relief. Then positioned the baby so his face was gently leaned against Severus’s-Still blood-soaked- robes. At least he couldn’t see or hear the damage anymore.

“It’s alright. You’re just tired aren’t you?” Severus felt silly for talking to the infant when the baby couldn’t even hear Sev, but he couldn’t deny the comfort it offered. More for his sake than Harry’s.

This changed things. A lot of things.

“You’re just like your father Potter, loud and dramatic.” He continued but then felt a stab of guilt, as he was reminded of James Potter’s pain-ridden eyes pleadingly staring into his soul, merely an hour ago.

James must have known that his son wasn’t a regular child. He and Lily both must have known, what The Prophesy meant, more than anyone else did at the time. If they felt the need to hide it from everyone, then there must be more to this.

Severus wasn’t an idiot; he needed to act rationally, like a proper Slytherin, and a mature adult. He was twenty-one now, if Potter had managed to keep a baby alive for fifteen months at twenty-one then so could Severus.

He nodded to himself once, his back straightening, as he adjusted Harry on his lap and reach for a pillow. He had no idea what he was doing, and apparently, Harry seemed just as baffled when Severus promptly dropped the pillow on his lap.

Harry cautiously grabbed the edge of the pillow in a death grip and then looked up at Severus with puffy eyes and a pout. Severus patted a hand on the pillow.

“How about we abandon the door and windows you destroyed and see what’s in this pillow?”

Feathers were harmless.

Harry made a noise and copied Severus by patting the pillow himself before looking up at Severus again.

“You’re doing well Harry,” Sev awkwardly praised the little boy and then patted the pillow once again, he was scared that the offending item would explode in their faces in a cloud of feathers and cotton, and scare Harry into another crying fit.

The baby imitated him again, this time with a hesitant smile as he looked up to Severus for praise.

“Very good Harry,” Severus muttered, running a hand over Harry’s messy hair. He dragged the pillow closer to Harry, grasped the edges and then inwardly rolled his eyes at himself.

“Do you want to see what makes it so soft?” Harry cooed at the pillow and the rattling windows eased back into their hinges. Sev gulped and then carefully tore the edge of the pillow. He was an idiot, but he was also exhausted, and he had a miracle baby to deal with. Tearing a pillow or two wouldn’t do anyone any harm.

Potter watched his hands tearing the white fabric with rapt silence, he seemed very curious as to where Severus was going with this, and Sev had to admit, he was very curious as to what the hell he was doing too.

“Pillows are filled with feathers,” he slowly eased his hand from Potter’s ears and tore the stitching. Then sighed before reaching in to retrieve a handful of feathers and tiny cotton balls.

“Birds have feathers, Potter, I’m not sure if you have encountered one yet, but it’s most likely that you’ve seen these on owls.”

Potter reached for the feathers and steadied himself by holding Severus’s left forearm in a death grip. Severus’s head snapped to his forearm where Harry’s small fingers were tightly clutching his sleeve, resting right on top of his dark mark.

He couldn’t help but stare at Harry’s hand, distractedly letting the baby entertain himself with the feathers. All Severus could hear above Potter’s gentle coos and baby babbling was the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears.

He wasn’t sure what hit him the hardest, the astonishing symbolism of Potter unknowingly, innocently touching the mark of death, or the lump in his throat as the day’s events crashed into him all at once, just as the baby seemed to have calmed down.

Lily was dead, and so was her husband. Their insanely magical baby was sitting on Severus’s lap, and no one could know that he was with Severus, because if people saw, if they just knew how much power this tiny body held…Severus couldn’t even finish the thought.

Albus Dumbledore, even he would be affected by the baby’s power. Severus wasn’t an idiot, and Dumbledore wasn’t all light and glory. The man was leading a war, and he was tired, they all were so tired. If he saw the opportunity Harry offered…he would sacrifice the child as if he were a lamb to be slaughtered.

‘Hide him,’

Hiding the boy who lived meant that they couldn’t stay at his house anymore. It was just him, against the whole wizarding community.

‘No one can know,’

Because if they did, Harry wouldn’t survive. Even James Potter knew that much.

Harry tore a few feathers from his slackened hand and shook his tiny fist at Severus with an inquisitive groan.

Severus knew what he was going to do before even looking down at Lily’s eyes. There was no way he was abandoning this baby, he wasn’t calling anyone to come to fetch him. This boy was not only his best friend’s legacy but also an innocent child who was absolutely defenseless. James Potter had made him promise to run and hide his son, but he didn’t even need to do that.

Severus was keeping Harry, and they were running away.