Plockton, Scotland, December the 3rd. -1989

“Carefully Harry,” Severus almost reached out to steady his son’s hand. “Loosen your grasp. That’s a very delicate plant, unlike its origami counterpart.”

The nine-year-old adjusted his grasp. “Like this?”

Severus leaned closer to inspect the plant with narrowed eyes. He wasn’t feeling all that great that morning, and he was uncharacteristically nervous too. This was the first time he and Harry went out unprotected. Usually, Severus had the necessary wards, or protective measures all figured out before he even thought about allowing Harry out of the house.

He was getting reckless, and he wasn’t sure that was a good thing.

“Yes,” he finally nodded and straightened his back. “Hold it by the stem, these barely flower. This is certainly a rare sight.”

They wouldn’t have to stay long, Severus reasoned with himself. The chances of them, running into anyone were beyond slim. It was cold, and about to snow. It made for an ideal ingredient-gathering trip, but no sane Muggle would get out here by the river unless absolutely necessary.

They were fine. Sev breathed deeply.

‘You’re fine. Stop acting like an idiot.’

He adjusted his Occlumency shields and glanced over at Harry, who had his tongue out in concentration as he plucked one flower after the other. It made for an amusing sight and Sev couldn’t help smirking. Before, he would have never guessed that parenting would be such a rewarding responsibility. His own parents certainly didn’t see, to think of him as a reward, and Severus had taken it upon himself to look down at anyone who was foolish enough to bring a child into this world.

Well, he couldn’t have been more wrong. His parents weren’t right either. Parenting was one decision that Severus never regretted making. It was beyond rewarding, Harry wasn’t just a part of his world, he was his world, and Severus couldn’t imagine his life without the brat.

That’s what parenting felt like.

Harry stood and stared at him. “Dad? Are you sure these are the ones?”

Severus shook his disgustingly sentimental thoughts away and rolled his eyes “Why would I lie to you about the plant’s name?”

Harry pouted and then paused to dispatch his flowers on a nearby rock. “Because you’re the one who turned my hair pink!” he huffed. “It’s obvious you want it to stay.”

Severus snorted. The brat had it coming with the pink hair, and Sev was more than glad to punish him for leaving his things around the house and underfoot. Severus’s foot had been almost victim to Harry’s Quidditch action figures laying around the floor.

The pink hair was a fit punishment. One that Harry severely hated and Severus immensely enjoyed.

“It brightens your face and you know it,” he calmly said in reply. “It’s merely parental suggestion Harry. The color suits you.”

“Dad!” Harry’s indignant flush was almost bright enough to match his hair. The boy’s hands laid on top of his head as if to protect them against Severus’s amused gaze.

“Yes, yes, fine.” Sev knelt beside his son and examined the delicate yellow flower head. “These are spring buttercups, used in the antidote we’re about to brew.” He gave Harry a look. “Although I still strongly approve of that hair color.”

“Really? Then why don’t you turn your own hair pink?”

Severus huffed with mock indignation. “No thanks, I love my hair the way it is.” Harry scoffed. “Glossy and enriched with color.” Severus reached and ruffled Harry’s hair with a face. “Yours is just a bird’s nest,” Harry squirmed and yelled, Sev continued with raised eyebrows. “The color might actually help keep the animals out of it.”

Harry pushed a kneeling Severus sideways into frozen grass and laughed at Sev’s put-out expression. This is what happens when your best friend is your son, Severus thought to himself with an inward sigh. As retaliation, he pushed himself back up and ruffled Harry’s hair again, much to the boy’s annoyance.

“Dad you’re unbearable!”

“And your hair might just stay pink forever if you keep handling that flower like a rag doll! Show some delicacy child.”

Harry sulked but obeyed nonetheless.

“Oh for Circe’s sake,”

“What is it, Dad?”

Severus cursed under his breath and then pinched the tip of his nose, he looked uncharacteristically upset. “I forgot the vials back home. I cannot believe I forgot to take them. I always have them with me. Some potions master I’m supposed to be.”

“Don’t say that Dad. Come on…cannot you just rush back to the house? We’re not that far, it’ll take less than five minutes.”

“We cannot carry them in our hands,” Severus reluctantly admitted.

Harry’s grin spread across his face. “Exactly, and I can stand watch,” he innocently glanced down at the flowers. “Maybe extract a few more of these while you get back?”

Dad looked at him for a beat. “Are you going to be alright?”

“Yes Dad, it’s going to be like five minutes, I can manage for that long.”

“You’re right, and I can find you fairly easily with that hair.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Now you’re just being cruel about it.”

Severus reached over and gave his hair a slight ruffle. “I won’t be long at all, don’t move, and stay out of trouble.”

“I don’t see how much trouble I can get into in five minutes.” Harry batted the hands away. “Don’t be weird about this Dad. You’re making a big deal out of it.”

“Alright, you brat.” Severus gave him a fleeting one-armed hug. “Be careful with the stems.” And then he was walking away, his pace quick and efficient and his coat billowing behind him with a dramatic whoosh. Harry stared at the man’s back until he faded from view. Then he stood motionless for several moments before his shoulders sagged in amazement.

He was alone.

Harry looked around with wide eyes, ready to take in his surroundings without his father around, and found it very disappointing when the image didn’t change much. The river was still half frozen, the pine trees were still standing tall, and the flower in his hands didn’t perish in his dad’s absence.

But he was alone, truly alone. Not only Dad was nowhere in sight, but he also had no way of watching over Harry, and Harry had no way of knowing what he was doing at the moment. An exhilarating thrill ran down his spine and Harry rolled on his heels with a grin.

He was alone.

He had no idea what to do with this new, fleeting sense of freedom that was quickly overcoming him. He felt a bit guilty for feeling relieved at once, it’s not that he didn’t enjoy his dad’s company, he did, Dad was his best friend, but this was…this feeling was wild. Besides, Dad was going to come back in a few minutes anyway. Harry could let himself indulge in this feeling for that long.

He leaned down, with the grin still taxing the muscles in his face and dunked his free hand into the freezing river. He had no idea whether Dad would have allowed him to do that, had he been there, but he didn’t particularly care. The cold water matched the exact replica of the excitement pooling in his stomach. So what if his fingers turned red and hurt a bit? He was doing it because he felt like it.

He breathlessly chuckled as he stood, a bit embarrassed by his own antics. Honestly, it wasn’t as if he was a freed prisoner, Dad wasn’t his jail keeper. He was just overly careful, that was all. Harry didn’t mind his dad being with him all the time, he really didn’t.

But maybe deep down, he did mind a little.

He would never let the thought ascend to the surface of his mind, would never let it linger for more than a beat, but it was there, sometimes, lurking in a dark corner of his mind. An annoyance that Harry was adept at stifling, just as he did with his anger.

‘Don’t let yourself linger on useless emotions Harry,’ his dad always said. ‘They’ll chain you down in one spot. Don’t let them stop you from moving, ever.’

His dad had a very strong opinion about Harry’s anger issues.

As he crouched to pluck a few more buttercups when he heard chattering from the distance. Harry stood immediately, his eyes narrowing as he determined to distinguish the vague shapes getting closer from afar. There were three of them, loudly jeering and talking as they strolled in Harry’s direction.

The nine-year-old tensed. He hadn’t been in someone else’s close vicinity in a while now. This was his first time ever encountering other people alone. Dad was always there, making sure that Harry didn’t screw up. well, he wasn’t there then, and Harry was all alone.

They looked to be close to his age, maybe only a few years older, maybe they were nice.

Harry nervously adjusted his hair, feeling his heart painfully beating against his ribcage as the teens closed in on him.

‘Just be nice to them,’ Harry told himself. ‘Wish them a merry Christmas. Don’t do anything freaky. They’re normal people. They’re not Dad, Harry.’
Harry wrung the flowers in his hands and tried his best to look casual as the teens finally noticed him.

The tallest, brunette one noticed Harry first and elbowed the other boy. The third teen looked to be the youngest and strongly resembled the blond elbow guy. They were still a few feet away from Harry, and he self-consciously threw them a sideways glance.

Don’t turn yet, he reminded himself and shakily exhaled. He really didn’t want to screw this up.

“Look at that fancy boy over there Jake.” The blond said.

Harry frowned. Was he talking slang? Harry didn’t know whether the words were offensive or normal speech. He quickly wiped the expression from his face and decided to wait until the brown-haired boy responded.

“I know that guy,” ‘Jake’ said. “He’s the creep living out of town with that scrooge guy or something.” They all were close enough to touch Harry now, and Jake roughly shouldered past him, almost sending Harry to his knees.

‘He has a crappy sense of balance,’ Harry thought with a smirk and straightened himself.

“Hello,” he gave a timid wave. The boys jeered rather rudely and looked amongst themselves before staring back at Harry with mock bewilderment. Harry had already screwed this up, by the looks of it.

“Well would you look at that Mikey…” the third, younger boy turned to the Blond. “The freak talks too!”

The smile died on Harry’s face. “Excuse me?”

Mikey snorted and the other boys sniggered, which Harry found ridiculously immature. Were these guys for real? He mentally shrugged at his own question and smoothed his expression to a slight frown.

The boys couldn’t be older than fifteen years old and Dad did always mention that teenagers were dumb. Not that Harry would personally know, his interactions with people, especially muggles, in general, was very limited. Were all muggles this rude? He didn’t know but decided to be nice about it anyway.

“I’m sorry, I’m afraid I didn’t understand.” He said calmly. As calmly as he could manage. His father would have been proud.

They started circling him. “Don’t overwhelm the weirdo with big boy words…” the boy, who looked about thirteen leaned into Harry’s personal space.

“A little baby like him wouldn’t get it.”

“I’m sorry-”

“You should be,” Mike cut in, bits of spittle flew out of his mouth and sprayed Harry on the face, and Harry grimaced, leaning away from the disgusting creature. “Look at his face.” Mike snarled. “He looks worse than the dirt under my shoe.”

Keep calm Harry. Keep calm. Don’t disappoint Dad. Don’t disappoint him.

Things were still in control. Harry knew that. He just needed to show these people the error of their ways, and maybe they wouldn’t be as rude anymore. It was all a misunderstanding. It had to be. “That’s really mean,” Harry snapped back at the boys. “Why are you treating me like this? Have I done something to offend you?”

Jake and the youngest boy, Alex, towered over Harry’s much shorter stature. “Yes you have,” Jake roughly shoved Harry back against Mike’s chest and Harry winced. He was acutely aware of how close they were to him, and he didn’t like it. “You’re alive. That’s offensive enough for me. How about you Mike?”

Instead of Mike, Alex pounded his fist into his other hand with a nasty grin. “I say we teach this little shit a lesson.”

“I don’t want to get into any trouble,” Harry held up both hands. “My Dad-.”

“What? You gonna go tattle to your fucking scrooge-like a little crybaby?”

Alright, that wasn’t fine.

They had no right to talk about his father that way. They had no right.

“Don’t talk about my Dad like that.”

“Oh!” Mike shoved him back to Jake, and the other boy did the same. “What you gonna do about it? Throw your flowers at us Nancy boy?”
They were really getting on his nerves. “Stop it.” Harry forcefully said. He didn’t want to lose control, not in front of these people who already thought he was a freak.

“He’s right Alex. Let’s get this little shit a proper beating, his father probably should’ve done it sooner.”

And then they were on Harry, savagely kicking and punching as the boy went down, the flowers forgotten, Harry cried out and blocked his head with both hands to hinder the hits. One of the boys had a stick that he was using to jab Harry in the back as the others took the front. Harry curled into himself, but the kicks made it to his stomach anyway, and it hurt so much that the air was knocked out of his lungs and Harry couldn’t breathe.

He had never felt pain like this, insistent and dense, like a dull knife repeatedly jamming into his stomach. It hurt more than the sharp kind. Throbbed more than the swift longing pain that didn’t last.

He yelled, he cursed, and he tried, oh how he tried to keep his temper under control.

Conceal it, Harry. He told himself through the pain. Control yourself. Don’t let the monster win.

Dad is on his way.

Dad had to be on his way.

“Listen you shit!” The Jake boy said after a vicious kick to Harry’s jaw. “This is what you get for being alive, you hear me?” Another kick, then a jab from the stick that ripped through his jacket.

“This is your fault. It’s all your bloody fault.”

**

Harry withstood Kingsley’s horrified expression with ease. “That’s the thing he became infamous for, isn’t it?” he asked of the man instead. “Severus Snape, child abductor who stole the boy who lived, also terrorized and killed three muggle children, 1989, third of December, in Plockton. It was obvious who did it. The area reeked of his magic. The children were mutilated, unrecognizable. It could only have been the works of a monster.”

Dad would applaud the amount of sarcasm dripping with his every word. “The monster that used to hang around the likes of Fenrir Greyback.”

Kingsley shifted in his seat, he did that a lot more often than Harry was anticipating. He looked uncomfortable. Well, he should be. He was the reason Dad was in prison.

“But it only got worse, didn’t it?” Harry viciously drawled every word. “Before you could get even a whiff of this atrocity, another one struck. A fifteen-year-old boy, one of the muggle’s older brother was also murdered the same day near the river, and not found until two days after. This time, you were sure that it was Snape, even though you couldn’t find any signs of him anywhere. But it must have been him right? Who else would have fit the profile as well as a soulless unhinged force of evil who could hold a grudge?”

“The way you speak implies that you don’t think we were right,”

Harry scoffed. “Oh no, the tone of my voice is simply implying that you are a bunch of brainless idiots,” He waved a hand and leaned back in his seat.

‘That’s the problem with most people Harry,’

‘What is, Dad?’ Thirteen years old him asked, still naïve, still an idiot.

‘They’re all a bunch of brainless idiots.’

“You heard how that story began,” he said aloud. “You think you know how it ends, well, I suppose you might as well sit and listen to the middle.”

“The boys assaulted you?”

Harry ignored the question. “Why do you think people demonstrate great acts of violence?” he swiftly reached in the file for another piece of parchment and idly started folding. He didn’t care what was written on it about his father or himself. All lies…every single one of them, he was more than glad to turn those ugly words into something beautiful.

“What is in that act, what sort of emotional gratification does it give some people who carry them out?” Harry kept his head down on the paper even as he spoke. He knew what he was going to make.

When Shacklebolt didn’t interrupt, Harry continued with a small shrug. “Well, I personally think it has got nothing to do with the violence itself.” Then he looked up to stare the man in the eye. “It’s always the intent.”

“It’s rarely because it feels good. Some say, that strong acts of violence require a strong sense of empathy, and others say that empathy has little to do with violence.”

“I believe both. Voldemort had no empathy for my father when he shredded him to bits. He had less than that for my poor mother when she stood between us. He didn’t need empathy to kill them and then attempt to kill an infant. All he needed was self-preservation and fear for his own life.”

“Then you have people, like my father, who had no empathy for the muggle children who were found dead after beating the shit out of me, instead his empathy was turned on his own child, and the fear of what would happen to me had they caught us. He didn’t mutilate those muggles because he liked to inflict violence. He did it so you thought he did.”

He slid the paper flower over to Kingsley. “He did it because I killed those children.”

**

“Can I put the angel on top? Please, Daddy! Please!”

“Alright, but you have to be careful. We spent hours on these decorations, it would be a shame if it got damaged.” It was true, Harry and Severus had spent the entire morning- including breakfast time- to make the origami ornaments, not one of the ones used in the decoration was real. Severus had issued the challenge two days ago after coming back from the markets with two thick stacks of origami papers in his arms and Harry had gladly accepted.

They had made almost a hundred of those things, too many for their tree, but Harry was unstoppable, and Severus didn’t have the heart to stop the boy once he was on the roll. Origami calmed him in a way that nothing else could, not even Severus himself had the power a piece of paper held before Harry.

“I can reach!” the child exclaimed loudly as he waved the paper angel in the air. Severus rolled his eyes at the child and adjusted a hanging blue paper ornament. This was the fifth time he had been forced to decorate the house for Christmas, and all of those times it had been for Harry’s sake.
Severus was never a holiday person himself, in fact, he rather he was caught dead rather than with anything festive near him. Obviously, children knocked personal preferences out of the park, and it wasn’t too bad. No one would see Severus happy and smiling at Christmas but Harry, and who was Harry going to tell?

They lived in isolation.

“Of course not, silly. You’re too short.” Harry made a sound in protest, and Severus had to remind himself that the child was only five years old. Better not let this turn into a tantrum, he thought and quickly leaned down to scoop the boy in his arms.

“Alright, I’ll hold you up. Be very careful not to touch the tree itself.”

Harry giggled, wildly waving his arms and legs in the air. “I’m doing it!”

“You are,” Severus nodded with a resigned frown. “Now, be careful there, don’t kick your feet!”

The tree shook lightly as Harry’s light kicks rustled the leaves, and Severus had to step back, in fear that the tree would topple or Harry’s accidental magic made sure that it fell Harry protested the move with a whine and a wriggle. “But I’m flying Daddy!”

This time, Sev couldn’t hide his rolling eyes. “We’ll fly later,” he promised. “Put the angel on top of the tree first.”

Harry clumsily fixed the angel in his hand and strained to reach the top. Severus rose him higher and finally, the tree topper was in place. The child clapped and giggled and Severus had to smirk at his antics.

He carefully lowered Harry back to the ground.

“Can we have cookies for Santa, Daddy?”

“Cookies?” Severus didn’t remember mentioning this to Harry.

The boy bounced his head and stared at the tree.

“He’ll be hungry!” he exclaimed with wide eyes. “When he brings our presents!”

Severus thoughtfully hummed. Maybe he had mentioned it to Harry in passing, while they were talking the other day. He didn’t recall Harry requesting cookies for Santa the year before. It was entirely new. What was worse though, Severus was quite sure that they didn’t have any cookies left in the house, and it was too late to leave Harry alone by himself to go get some more.

“Well, I’m sure he would get some refreshments from the other houses,” he picked Harry and brought him to the couch. “He’ll visit so many houses that he would be quite full by the time he reaches us. We don’t want to make him sick now do we?”

Harry looked genuinely disgruntled. “But,” he bit his lip. “He will be sad.”

“Oh Harry,” Severus couldn’t help but say. While this was a precious demonstration, and Severus found it endearing, he couldn’t help but fear that this might turn into a heated tantrum. His son was a toddler, and toddlers cried over nothing. Now when other children cried over nothing, no one got hurt…the same couldn’t be said about his son. His incredibly selfless, sensitive son.

“And then he’s gonna-.” Harry sniffed. “He’s gonna forget our presents!”

“No, he’s not.” Severus drawled. Children’s sense of logic was ridiculous sometimes. He hugged Harry to his chest. “I’m so sorry Harry, but I forgot to buy cookies,” Harry gasped and Severus sighed. “I’m sorry.” He said again.

“Cannot you go now?”

Severus followed Harry’s eyes to the window and then winced. “It’s too dark already, I’m sorry.” He put his chin on Harry’s head. “I’m sure Santa wouldn’t mind. We’ll leave him a note, how about that?”

Harry drew away to look at him. “With cookies?”

“Not the cookies, no.” Severus tried to remind himself that Harry was only five. Children weren’t often rational enough to be convinced the first time. Severus probably had to explain this all night, and even during story time before Harry slept. “But maybe you could draw him some? I’m sure he would like that more than the real deal.”

Harry hummed. “But he cannot eat that!”

Severus pursed his lips. He didn’t mind being patient with Harry. “How about you make him origami cookies?” he sounded gentler. “We haven’t learned how to make those yet, and I’m sure he’ll find it very funny.” He slid Harry off his lap and onto the couch. “We can leave them out with real milk, and maybe some carrots.”

Tentatively, his son slipped off the couch and trailed after him. “He won’t be mad?” he asked quietly.

Severus shook his head. “Not at all, I promise on his behalf.”

“Are you and Santa friends, Daddy?”

Sev saw the opportunity and gripped it with both hands. A friendship with Santa could prove vital for later use when he wanted Harry to listen to him without throwing a fuss.

“Oh yes,” he told the small child with a bit of guilt tinging his voice. “We have met a few times.”

Harry gasped in wonder, almost running into Severus in his excitement. “You know Santa!” he hugged Severus’s legs from behind. “Daddy knows Santa!”

“I sure do,” Severus was already regretting this.

“Santa’s your friend Daddy! You’re cool!”

“Wait,” Severus stopped walking and peered down at the grinning boy. “I wasn’t cool before?”

Harry contemplated the question. “You’re always cool,” he decided and patted Sev on the leg twice before letting go, a habit that had stuck with him since infancy.

“I really am?”

The child nodded. “You’re the coolest.”


**

Severus didn’t register the scene before him immediately. He had been as fast as he could without running, rushing back to the house for the forgotten vials and his wand, and then ran out of his house without locking the door, which forced him to turn again, and charm it closed while he swore under his breath.

Harry would have been fine, he thought he knew that, logically. The bridge was deserted, and Severus-despite the slight delay- wouldn’t have been gone for too long. Harry should have been fine. He should have been.

The scene before his eyes told a different story. The vials fell to the ground as Sev’s legs tumbled into a run. Harry sat on the frozen ground, on his knees, his face bruised and bloodied, almost beyond recognition, eerily similar to James Potter’s face minutes before dying. Around him laid three other children on their backs with their eyes open and void of life.

They were dead.

Severus numbly reached Harry’s side, crashing next to him with a force that almost reoriented his kneecaps. Harry was panting, his eyes glazed and staring ahead as if he couldn’t really see Severus staring at him in horror.

He closed his hands on Harry’s shoulders and moved until he was right in front of him. he examined his son’s face. He couldn’t have done it on purpose, he couldn’t have. He was injured, have taken a nasty beating by the looks of things. It was an accident. It looked like an accident.

“Harry,” he gently shook the child’s shoulders, but Harry was gone. He looked to be miles away. “Harry, look at me, come on now,” Severus was afraid of jostling him too much, one wrong move and he might end up next to the dead muggles, and who would take care of Harry then?

With great caution, Sev hesitantly brushed Harry’s blood matted hair away from his face and repeated himself, patiently, painstakingly waiting for some light to come back to Harry’s eyes.

“I didn’t mean to-” Harry heaved a choked sob, “I didn’t mean…they just-.”

“You didn’t mean it, I know. It’s okay. It’s all right, look at me, Harry,”

“They’re…they’re not moving-they were-hitting me-I cried- and I told them to stop-I told them to stop Daddy, and-and-and-.”

“Shh, just breathe, it’s alright. It was an accident, I know.” They couldn’t remain there. Three muggles were dead, they had hurt his son and now they were dead. In Severus’s eyes, it was not too much a price to pay, Sev himself probably would have killed them had he witnessed the beating…but in the Ministry’s eyes, things were different.

They would arrest his son, regardless of his status they would throw him in Azkaban. His nine-year-old son.

Not just his…James and Lily’s too.

“Don’t touch me.”

Severus blinked. “What?”

“Don’t touch me! You’ll die! Go away!”

Severus endured the weakened punches with a frown and held Harry tighter to his chest. Harry’s palms against his chest were uncomfortably heated, and Severus was resigned to the fact that they would most likely burn through his clothes. “No I won’t go away,” he hushed the thrashing boy. “Calm down Harry, shh.”

“They were hurting me,” Harry gasped.

“I know,” he knew, oh merlin, he knew. It was his fault. All, his fault. They wouldn’t have dared raise a hand on his son if Severus had been there.
“I didn’t mean to! I swear I didn’t mean it Daddy, I didn’t mean it!”

“I know, you need to calm down, we need to get out of here.”

The air stilled around them, and Harry’s magic poured out of him in agitated ripples, disturbing the plants and the bodies with a wild wind. His child looked terrified. “Are you mad?” he breathlessly asked. Sev shook his head, slowly and Harry whimpered. “Daddy I’m scared.”

“No I’m not mad,” he was terrified. “I’m never mad, alright? But we need to move, now Harry. They cannot find us like this.”

“Their moms and dads…” Harry’s eyes went disturbingly wide. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! I just wanted to play, but they were hitting me, and it hurt! I tried not to get angry, but they were hitting too hard! And saying mean things about you! I’m sorry.” Severus realized that the child was just repeating himself in nonsensical babbling; he must be in shock.

Severus couldn’t handle a shocked, injured Harry and three bodies. He didn’t even have time to dispose of those three bodies without leaving a trace. He had to take Harry back to their house, pack what they could and run.

This was his fault, Severus realized. His recklessness had killed three children and traumatized his highly volatile son. Just one little slip, and now…Severus shook his head. He didn’t have the time to scold himself. He needed to think, he needed to move.

“Harry, you were very brave,” he drew back from his shaking son. “Look at me, look at me now…” subtly, he snuck a hand in his robes to retrieve his wand. “I need you to do one more thing for me alright?” Harry stared up at him, dazed and shaking. Severus repeated himself a few times and adjusted his grip on the wand. He needed Harry out of the way to take care of the corpses. “One thing and this will all be over.”

Harry stuttered and then trailed off before gazing at Severus with a wild desperate look in his eyes. “You can heal them?”

Severus gently tugged him back into his arms. The less Harry saw of the gore and violence left in the scene, the better. “No baby, they’re gone.”

Harry burst into tears, loud ugly sobs tore themselves out of his mouth, carrying with them the child’s loss of innocence. Severus wanted to seat there and hold him for hours, for days and mourn the loss of innocence with him, but there was no time.

There just wasn’t any time.

“Listen to me,” he kissed Harry’s head and brushed his hair away. “Just one last thing…” his pleading grasped Harry’s waning attention. The boy sniffed and looked up at him. “I need you to sleep,” Sev muttered.

“What?”

Severus tapped his wand to his son’s temple and murmured, “ Somnium .”


**

“I cannot remember anything beyond that, the rest, he told me afterward. When I woke up, I looked fine, I wasn’t injured any more, my hair was back to its original color, and it was still December. I think I was asleep for a few days, our house wasn’t the same, I don’t even think we were in England anymore.”

“He didn’t let you go out?”

“I didn’t want to go out, Shacklebolt.” Harry snapped. What an imbecile, he thought with an internal sneer.

It was beyond Harry, how they had maintained their jobs this long with this level of limited intelligence.

“I had killed four muggles at the age of nine.” He stated the obvious through his gritting teeth. “I was bloody traumatized. It took Dad months, almost a full year to make me somewhat functional again, took him weeks for me to let him come near me…then the snow fight happened, and we had to move, again.”

The table was almost littered with little origami pieces, mostly flowers, and Shacklebolt’s file was increasingly getting thinner. Harry realized, with slight amusement, that the Auror might have to call in for some extra parchment. “I know that you still don’t believe me,” he told the man. “But you should.”

“This doesn’t explain Murphy Lynton’s death.” Kingsley didn’t even bother masking the skepticism on his face. “Mike Lynton’s brother.”

“I can assure you that his death was still my fault, Shacklebolt.” Harry sighed. “I couldn’t believe it at first either, I hated myself for it, but Dad…the way he explained it all to me, didn’t make it seem as if I was some monster. It was just an accident.”

Harry swallowed, and desperately wished that he had a glass of water nearby. He stretched the silence as long as he could and then cleared his throat, deciding that the water wasn’t worth it, and he couldn’t beat around the bush any longer. “Murphy Lynton died the same time his brother did,” he admitted. “Dad found his body hiding under the bushes as he was carrying me back.” Harry couldn’t prevent a sneer from creeping onto his face.

Mikey liked to hit, and Murphy liked to watch.

“There just wasn’t any time for cleanup, and you were going to assume it was him anyway…” it made him sick in the stomach...thinking about those wretched people…thinking about his dad, all alone and desperate and not knowing what to do. “That’s why he mutilated the children. My trace was almost non-existent.”

“Don’t you believe that they deserved justice?”

What sort of logic was that? Harry thought with a frown. He was nine years old, a child in the law’s eyes. And it was an accident. He knew that now. He never meant to kill people for justice.

What did nine-year-olds know of justice anyway?

“I don’t believe any justice to be warranted for people who beat up a nine-year-old, Auror Shacklebolt.”

The Auror furrowed his brows. “They didn’t deserve death.”

Harry spread his hands. “I agree,” he hummed. “And my Dad didn’t deserve to take the blame for it. But here we are, with those teenagers dead and my father in a cell.”

“I just have too much power for my own good…Blame it on whomever you like. It cannot be helped,” it wasn’t as if the power thrilled Harry himself all that much. “And Dad was the only thing that kept me together, and whole and sane.”

His absence was glaringly obvious in his stature now. Harry knew that at some point origami and mental insults weren’t going to cut it anymore. He needed his father. He needed Dad, telling him to calm down, looking him in the eye and breathing in sync with Harry just like when he was a child. He wanted to be in Norway, with Dad, in their plain where it was just the two of them and nothing else. No one else.

“Sometimes, when the anger management methods didn’t work, he took me to this place…in Norway.” Harry wasn’t sure he should be enclosing that bit of information, but the rest of the story made no sense without it. Dad would forgive him for it, eventually.

‘If he survives this.’ The voice in Harry’s head hissed. ‘If he survives another one of your screw-ups.

Harry ignored the voice.

“A beautiful plain, and unhabituated, fortunately for us. It was our safe place. He jokingly called it our ‘hiding spot’. We were always playing hide and seek.”

They were still playing. Dad had always told him that they never stopped playing.

‘But what if they find us Daddy?’ he had asked as a clueless child. ‘Don’t we lose then?’

‘You and I never lose Harry,’ Dad had said. ‘You and I are the winning team, together.’

Olly Olly oxen free, Dad.

“Norway,” Kingsley repeated in disbelief.

“Yes,” Harry couldn’t resist rolling his eyes any longer. “It’s a breathtaking place. We’ve only been there a few times, the last time being…” he suddenly cut himself off with a snap and gazed up at the Auror.

“Before I tell you about that,” Harry pursed his lips, his eyes hooded. “You need to know about the 3rd of March.”

Shacklebolt quickly dipped his quill in the inkwell, ready to write. “Which year?”

Harry smirked. “Every year.”