„School will be closed for the entire Christmas holidays.“

It took some time for Harry to really understand the words his Head of House had just said. He stared at Professor McGonagall. She was wearing Tartan robes today, and with her grim face she looked a bit like on of those warriors of old he had seen in some film Dudley had watched.

Indeed, Harry could well imagine her with a sword in hand.

Professor McGonagall controlled her anger very well, but Harry could still tell by the thinning of her lips that she was absolutely furious at – well, at Slytherins Heir, probably, but also at the Board of Governors for closing the school.

“Some people might want to stay to learn for their exams”, Hermione muttered next to him.

And that was likely the reason why Professor McGonagall was so angry. She couldn’t know about the Dursleys, could she? But she would know that muggleborns such as Hermione had no access to a magical library when they were staying with their parents.

Were there public magical libraries?

It was more likely, Harry thought gloomily, that the only magical libraries outside of Hogwarts were privately owned, located in manors owned by pureblood families like the Malfoys, who’d never let Hermione have a look at their books.

That was bad enough.

For Harry, it was worse. He dreaded to even think of what the Dursleys would say if he ruined their Christmas by being there. Harry wasn’t even sure what was worse – having to stay in his cupboard as punishment for not getting all the extra Christmas chores done in time, or having to stand by as Dudley unwrapped present after present while Harry got, if anything at all, some more of Dudley’s old clothes wrapped in old newspapers.

After last Christmas, after having thought that was how things were going to be in the future, Harry didn’t think he could handle another Christmas with the Dursleys.

And they probably couldn’t handle another Christmas with Harry. Sure, Aunt Petunia probably had to do more work herself now, seeing as Uncle Vernon wasn’t the kind of man who’d do any household chores after getting home from work, and Dudley was much too spoilt to pick up the slack.

Dudley might enjoy his presents a little less now that there was no Harry who could envy him, and Aunt Marge always had given the impression that insulting Harry was part of what made Christmas visits fun for her ...

Still, Harry was sure they’d be happier without him, all in all. Dudley didn’t like that Aunt Petunia gave Harry his old clothes, and had thrown a tantrum over Harry getting his old clothes as present at least once.

Aunt Petunia didn’t like the risk that Harry might do accidental magic.

And Uncle Vernon ... well, Uncle Vernon probably wouldn’t shovel snow himself if Harry wasn’t there to do it. He could just pay a neighbour boy to do it.


No, they’d certainly not miss him.

But for some strange reason that Harry couldn’t quite figure out, Uncle Vernon’s desire to be rid of him was only exceeded by his wanting Harry to be unhappy.

Harry was even fairly sure the Dursleys only sent him to Mrs. Figg when they went on vacations because they thought he hated it there.

He didn’t hate it. Not really. He always made sure to complain a bit, pretend to resent the fact that she made him look at photos of her numerous cats, but there was no denying the fact that sitting on her sofa and being shown picture after picture was a welcome break from having to do chores and being yelled at, not to mention Dudley’s beatings.

The worst thing that could happen wasn’t that the Dursleys would be angry he was there, the worst thing that could happen was that they’d keep him there, just as they’d tried before school started again.


Harry didn’t write to the Dursleys that he’d be home for the holidays. He didn’t ask if he could stay at school, either – he doubted any adult would understand.

Normally, he might have complained to Ron a bit, but Ron didn’t talk to him after finding out that Harry was a parselmouth, and Hermione would have made ‘helpful’ suggestions for solutions instead of just listening, so Harry didn’t tell her, either.


When the day came to board the Hogwarts Express, Harry did as he was told.

Being a known parselmouth didn’t result in him and Hermione getting a compartment to themselves, rather, they shared it with some excited first years who hadn’t heard the rumours about him yet, or were more interested in him being “the” Harry Potter.

He remained seated when the train arrived in London.

“I do hope you will have a merry winter solstice” a girl with brownish-blonde hair told him earnestly.

Before Harry could remember her name – or even if she had introduced herself – she was gone.

“I better hurry – my father doesn’t have much time, he had to cancel an appointment to be able to pick me up”, Hermione finally said. “Have a nice Christmas! I’ll write, of course.”

“Don’t write, the Dursleys wouldn’t like it”, Harry said before remembering he wouldn’t go there. “You too, have nice holidays, don’t study too much!”

“No such thing as too much studying”, she replied, smiling, and walked away.


Only after that did Harry finally get up, grab his school trunk – Hermione had demonstrated a featherweight charm on it which he hoped would stay for a while – and got out of the train.

There was no one he knew on the platform anymore. Harry realized, belatedly, that perhaps Mrs. Weasley would have invited him for the holidays if she had seen him, but now, that chance had passed.

Not that he was so sure he’d have wanted to stay in the same house with Ron, anyway.

They had been best friends, or so Harry had thought. They had fought a troll together. They had crashed into the Whomping Willow together. They had gone through so much together, only for Ron to decide that he didn’t believe Harry when Harry had just told that snake to stay away from Ron.

It was not his fault that the snake had not listened. In fact, it was to be expected. Okay, so perhaps Harry was a parselmouth and the snake was able to understand him – that hardly was a guarantee it would do what he wanted!

Hermione’s theory was that Ron was just jealous, which didn’t seem very plausible to Harry. Everyone treated him as outcast since that incident, Ron would have to be crazy to want that for himself.

Still, Hermione insisted that Ron wanted to be special. Like Harry.

Harry would have been perfectly happy to be as normal as Ron.



Since everyone he knew had left the platform, Harry left, too. He didn’t know his way around London that well, but hoped to find Diagon Alley.

That hope was eroded by several people asking him if he was lost, most of them sounding concerned and one man who seemed a bit like the old witch – or probably hag - Harry had encountered in Knockturn Alley: Predatory. Though Harry was pretty certain a muggle wouldn’t actually want to eat him. Probably.

He evaded all those questions by claiming to have seen his relatives nearby and running away, but it became clearer and clearer that he couldn’t stay in the Leaky Cauldron.
Even though Harry had been taking care of himself for years, had the money and was perfectly capable of renting a room at the Leaky Cauldron, where he wouldn’t even have to do anything a child wasn’t supposed to do, like cooking unsupervised on a wood stove, people would probably ask questions, and it would result in him being sent back to the Dursleys.

It slowly dawned on Harry that most people – almost all people, probably – didn’t see much difference between him and Dudley.

And Dudley clearly wouldn’t be able to stay in a hotel all by his own for even a day, not to mention the whole holidays.

So Harry put on his invisibility cloak, pulled his school trunk under it, and went to look for a place where he wouldn’t be noticed.

Being invisible, he found out fast, didn’t mean that no one could bump into him. He couldn’t risk to board a train without a ticket unless that train was half-empty, and he had to get out once people wanted to get in.

He couldn’t risk staying the night on the floor of an underground train station, either – what if some muggle stumbled over his sleeping body?

The solution he finally found was to spend the night in a park and ask Hedwig to warn him if anyone came close.

There was no snow on the ground, and after putting on two layers of Dudley’s old clothes over the jumper Mrs. Weasley had knit for him, then his robes and finally his school cloak and the invisibility cloak, Harry felt confident he wouldn’t freeze to death.

He had not accounted for the fact that not moving at all made the cold seep into his body. When he woke to Hedwig’s soft hoot in the morning, he was thoroughly miserable – cold, wet (it must have rained during the night) and hungry.

The only food he had with him were some sweets. Harry ate some Bertie Bott’s Beans, even though most of them tasted horrible, and went to look for a dry place.

With a sleeping Hedwig perched on his shoulder and no real breakfast, Harry didn’t have much energy to walk around, so he took to sitting on empty seats in a fastfood restaurant, ate the food people left on their plates and just moved to evade people.

Hiding his trunk was a bit of a problem at first, as people suspected there being a bomb inside it, but after Harry had shown himself and explained it belonged to him and was just his school stuff, people started to ignore it.
New people arrived, saw that everyone ignored it, and ignored it themselves and so on.

In the evening, Harry used the sink at the men’s toilets of a restaurant to brush his teeth and headed outside again.

At least, he told himself as he tried to get comfortable in the cold, wet grass of a park whose name he hadn’t bothered to find out, Hedwig was much happier here than she’d have been at the Dursleys’.

She normally preferred to hunt during the day, but had gotten used to hunting at night without a fuss.

The next morning, Harry was cold, wet and hungry again, but he didn’t really want to get up. He’d never survive that way. Perhaps he should go to the Leaky Cauldron and risk being taken back to the Dursleys?

No. He couldn’t. What if they didn’t let him leave again?

Uncle Vernon didn’t want him around, but he also didn’t want Harry at Hogwarts, and the bars on the window surely could be replaced.

It was only about two weeks, how hard could it be?

There had to be a solution. Hermione would know one, he was sure.

Hermione would go to the library to look it up... that was it!


He just had to find a library. And then the shelves with the boring books no one wanted to read.

There, he could just sit and rest for a bit.

Closing the school was fine and dandy, Severus would have enjoyed the quiet. What he did not at all enjoy was that the teachers, too, had been banished from Hogwarts while an Auror team failed at finding the Chamber of Secrets.

Even Madam Pomfrey had been forced to desert the hospital wing, and she had employed Severus’ help as well as that of Minerva and Filius to seal the door.

The petrified students didn’t need any care, but they needed to be safe from intruders, the healer had explained.

Severus could see why. He never went to Madam Pomfrey if there was even just the slightest risk of being forced to spend the night there. Never ever would he willingly consent to sleeping in a bed that was in a public space everyone could walk in.

If he had been petrified ... he shuddered at the thought. The students certainly would have taken the opportunity to draw obscene pictures on his face, at the very least. Probably they’d have taken a hammer to his petrified nose, it wouldn’t surprise him.

Potter would have done, and Potter’s brat would do the same if given the opportunity.


Having no access to his Hogwarts laboratory and the library was incredibly annoying, but Severus decided to make the best of it and read up on the newest developments in muggle science.

There was one herbalist in particular who he suspected was a squib. She was regarded with suspicion among muggles, as they didn’t have the basic knowledge her theories were based on.

Her books were only available in this one local branch of the library and Severus suspected the more magical kind of charm had been involved in getting the librarian to acquire and catalogue the books.

Severus was busy browsing the shelves when he saw a trunk. A trunk that looked very much like those sold to Hogwarts students in Diagon Alley.

And there was no student nearby.

He drew his wand and scanned the trunk for magic. Nothing to be found except for a featherweight charm.

Severus opened the trunk and searched the contents for something with a name on it. The few baggy muggle clothes had no name on them, which was against the rules. He found one of Lockhart’s books and opened it.

There, on the front page, in surprisingly neat handwriting, was the name.

Harry Potter.

Severus’ blood ran cold. There was no good reason for Potter’s school trunk to be here without the boy himself.

There was no good reason for Potter to be in London at all.

*

Harry had found a suitable library – smaller than he had hoped, but surprisingly quiet – and had told Hedwig to go sleep on a nearby tree.

Even though it couldn’t be later than midday, he had felt tired and weak and wanted to lie down for a bit, so he had pocketed his wand and left his trunk somewhere else, so someone who found it wouldn’t find Harry at the same time.

Then he’d crawled as far under the nearest bookshelf as possible, made sure his whole body was covered by his invisibility cloak, and shut his eyes.

When he woke up, he didn’t feel better. He felt much, much worse. His mouth was dry and his face hot, but he couldn’t even muster the strength to get up and drink out of the tap in the men’s toilet.

Dusty light fell in through a window, so it couldn’t be so very late. Perhaps he would feel better after sleeping some more.

Or he could let himself be locked in over the night. The thought of food filled him with nausea, anyway, and staying in a warm, dry place would help him get better.

Dudley had always gotten to sleep on the couch when he was sick, and Harry remembered Aunt Petunia telling him that ‘Dudders’ needed a hot water bottle made every two hours so he’d be warm enough.

Of course, Aunt Petunia also had been of the opinion that all kinds of medicines were needed for Dudley to recover from a common cold, and had been furious with the doctor who had refused to prescribe antibiotics.

So she might be wrong. Harry kind of hoped she had been wrong about the hot water bottles. The library must be warm, after all, people wanted to be comfortable there, but Harry still shivered under his many layers of clothing.

He probably had a fever, and just felt cold. Or perhaps he really was cold because his clothes hadn’t dried yet.

In any case, he wouldn’t be comfortably warm anytime soon. He would have to make do with room temperature. He had always managed to recover just fine in his cupboard, but then, he hadn’t been sick all that often ...

*

One spell later, Severus felt a bit better. Potter was nearby, and even better, Potter was the only one who was nearby.

So no one kidnapped the boy, he just ran away.

Completely in character for Potter. Nothing to worry about. The boy probably just wanted to steal a book.


Severus walked towards Potter’s location, browsing the shelves as if he didn’t know the boy was there.
After all, someone much more powerful than Severus himself could possibly disguise her or his identity and presence.

And Severus wasn’t foolish enough to assume that he knew all of the Dark Lord’s servants.

He couldn’t see Potter, but that didn’t surprise him much. There were such things as invisibility cloaks, after all, and a troublemaker with more money than brains would certainly have bought one.

Nearing the space where his spell had located Potter, he extended an arm. The hand that should have touched Potter didn’t touch anything.

Had he been deceived?

Severus stepped even closer to where Potter ought to be.

Or rather, he tried to step forward, but withdrew his foot when he felt something soft under his sole.

Something invisible and soft.

Too soft, in fact, for a shoe.

Potter was lying on the floor.

More troubling even, he didn’t react to being stepped on.

Severus took a deep breath. Now was not the time for panic. He had to act, and fast.

He knelt and felt the soft spot his foot had touched. It was a leg. Severus pulled away the invisibility cloak on Potter’s head, just a bit, just enough to ascertain that it was, in fact, Potter with the characteristic scar.

Potter didn’t wake.


*

Harry was fast asleep. In his dreams, he fought an army of monsters.
He did not know that he had woken, twice before, at the sound of a stranger’s steps, only to fall asleep again when they moved away again.

While Harry could not recall the night his parents died, the memory was there, in his subconscious mind, and so was the knowledge that a stranger’s steps meant mortal danger.

The sound of Professor Snape on the prowl, however, was also very well known to Harry’s subconscious mind, and so was the fact that this sound heralded a scolding and possibly a detention, and nothing worse than that.

Harry’s body sorely needed the sleep, and his subconscious mind made a decision.

In his dream, Professor Snape appeared behind him, stunned the monster in front and began to scold him for recklessly getting himself into trouble.

The scolding made Harry feel so bad that he had to throw up. But he couldn’t throw up, his stomach was too empty for that.


*

Severus scooped the boy up in his arms and apparated home.

He placed the child on the couch and gently removed the invisibility cloak.

No visible injuries.

Severus felt Potter’s forehead, suppressing the revulsion the sight of that mop of unruly hair caused him.

He didn’t need to be a healer to know this was fever, the boy felt like a furnace.

Fever caused by an infected injury, or could it be that Potter was just ill?

Severus took a look at Potter’s hands. No injuries at all. He found the wand in Potter’s pocket. “Priori incantato” he whispered.

The shadow of an animal-to-teacup spell appeared. One of those spells one never needed again after school.

It seemed increasingly unlikely that Potter had been attacked.

Which still didn’t explain what Potter did on the floor of a public library.

Deciding that secrecy was his foremost priority now, Severus apparated back to the library, took Potter’s trunk and returned home.

Harry would never know that what had finally woken him, after sleeping through side-along apparition and being manhandled by his most hated teacher, had been the soft noise of someone apparating without him.

He also would never know that his subconscious would have decided to go back to sleep after recognizing Snape, had the man not spoken to him.

“Potter. Why are you not with your relatives?”

“I want to go back to Hogwarts”, Harry mumbled, still half asleep. He did not question Snape’s presence – after all, the man had been there in his dream, berating him, so why not in reality, too?

Snape stared at him, clearly not satisfied with the answer. To Harry’s surprise, he didn’t repeat the question, but instead left the room.

Before Harry’s feverish mind could come up with a theory on what the man was planning, Snape returned with a small bottle.

Something about the bottle was familiar, so Harry didn’t resist when Snape opened it and held it to his lips.

Pepperup Potion, he realized when a burning sensation spread through his body and his ears started to smoke.

“Again, Potter, what were you doing on the floor of a public library?”

“Sleeping.”

“Potter”, Snape said warningly.

“I was sleeping, sir.” Snape didn’t seem to like this answer any better. “It was warm and dry there.”

“Why are you not with your relatives?”

“Because ...” Harry hesitated. Telling Snape that the Dursleys wouldn’t let him go back to Hogwarts was stupid. After all, Snape, too, didn’t want Harry at Hogwarts.

So what could he say?

“I, uh, just didn’t want to ruin their Christmas.” Not that Snape usually cared about other people’s happiness. “You see, they, um, hate me just as much as you do. You would like them. So I decided to spend the holidays ... elsewhere. They thought they would only have to see me again in summer. I didn’t want to disappoint them.” There. Perhaps that would make Snape feel a bit of sympathy for the Dursleys and he’d just leave Harry be.

And take Harry back to the library. Where were they? It didn’t look like the dungeons. In fact, it looked like a perfectly ordinary living room inhabited by a person who was as untidy as Ron – there was a lot of dust – and as enthusiastic about books as Hermione, as every wall seemed to be covered in books.

“You aren’t so considerate of anyone’s feelings that you would endure sleeping on a library floor just to not disappoint them. The truth, Potter.”

Harry closed his eyes. “Okay, so I don’t particularly like them, either. The library is much nicer than Privet Drive.”

“Look at me while I am talking to you, Potter.”

He opened his eyes. What had he been thinking? Snape could do anything while he had his eyes closed, it was much too dangerous ... but he was so tired ...


“Answer me, Potter. Why did you not return to your relatives.”

“Because I hate them, okay? Is that reason enough?”

Snape’s gaze bored into his.

Harry could practically see the barred window flash before his eyes, then Ron and the twins with the car ...

“I see.” Snape sounded furious. Normally, Harry would have been frightened, but he was just too tired to care. “How do you feel now, Potter?”

“I ... still hate them?”

Snape frowned. “Not that, idiot. I gave you a Pepperup Potion. How do you feel after taking it?”

Oh, right. Snape had given him Pepperup Potion. Huh. Strange, Snape never was this nice, usually. But he had probably noticed Harry was too tired to talk. “Um. Better? Yes, I feel much better, thank you sir. Would you please take me back to the library, now?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Well, there was only so much niceness one could expect from Snape, Harry figured.

He was too shocked to react when he felt Snape’s bony fingers on his forehead.

“You say you feel better”, Snape said matter-of-factly and withdrew his hand. “Better, or well?”

“Just better. What is so ridiculous about taking me back to the library? It’s the holidays, I am allowed to be where I want.”

“No, you are allowed to be at home. You either return to your relatives, Potter, or you stay here.”

Later, Harry would tell himself that he just had intended to call Snape’s bluff, but he had not had the time to even think about it when he answered: “I’d rather stay here.”

“Fine. Go back to sleep.”


For once, Potter did exactly as he was told.

A pity that Severus didn’t have the time to properly enjoy that unprecedented occurence.

He considered writing to Dumbledore, then thought better of it. The manipulative old man had made Severus give his word to protect the Potter brat, and then done everything in his power to make it nearly impossible to protect Potter.


Such as giving him permission to have his own broom and play Quidditch in his first year. (It was technically Minerva’s fault, but the Headmaster could have easily overruled her.)

And, as it turned out, having Potter stay with people who imprisoned him, starved him and wouldn’t have let him return to Hogwarts.

There was something to be said for locking the brat in his room, certainly, but not feeding him and not allowing him to attend school ... no, that was simply inacceptable, and not just because one of the people responsible was horrid Petunia.

No, Dumbledore could wait. And find out for himself that Potter was missing. Why had no one taken the time to ascertain Potter actually returned to his relatives, even? Was he the only competent person here? It was infuriating.

Severus went to his bedroom, sat at the old desk that was left over from his childhood, and started writing a letter to Madam Pomfrey.

“One of my students ...” perfect, she’d assume it was one of his Slytherins. “... has been taken ill with what I first assumed to be influenza, but is only improved, not cured by Pepperup Potion ...”

He had to downplay Potter’s experiment with homelessness to simply spending too much time in the cold with insufficient clothing and made sure to mention the boy had spent time in London, where he could have come into contact with any kind of exotic germ from all over the world.

When he was finished, he collected a sample of Potter’s saliva, a process that strangely enough didn’t seem to wake the boy, and sent it along.


Upon his return, he found Potter sitting on the first step of the stairs. Severus was preparing a scathing remark when the sight of Potter’s pale face reminded him that the boy was unlikely to be planning a prank.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I need to ... go to the toilet”, Potter mumbled.

Ah. Of course. “I’ll use a hover charm to get you there.”

“No, please, I – I’ll be sick, if ...”

Hm. Nausea at the mention of magic? Was this normal for Potter, or might it be a symptom? “Fine, I’ll carry you, then.”

Potter didn’t look at all happy, but didn’t object, which was worrying in and of itself. Severus cast a shield charm that would protect him from infection in case the boy sneezed at him, and cautiously heaved Potter over his shoulder.

He would not carry a conscious Potter in his arms like a child. Not that he was sure he could do it for much longer than he had when apparating – being a wizard who didn’t enjoy Quidditch, he didn’t get a lot of exercise.

“You have five minutes, after that I’ll come in”, he announced as he lowered Potter to the floor. He wished he had cleaned the bathroom before – it wasn’t gross, as such, but he didn’t see the point of removing the lime deposits in the shower and sink regularly, after all, that was just lime, not dirt, and no one but him saw it anyway.

Or so he had thought.

Potter just nodded and went inside.

Severus heard the loo being flushed, he heard the sound of Potter washing his hands, and then ... nothing.

“Time’s up, Potter!”, he said, opened the door and saw Potter kneeling on the floor, resting his head on the side of the bathtub.

“You are done here?”, he asked, pretending he hadn’t stood outside the door and listened.

“Yes, sir. Sorry”, Potter mumbled weakly.

Severus didn’t reply, simply heaved the boy over his shoulder again and carried him back

“Where’s my cloak?” Potter asked when Severus lowered him onto the couch.

Of all the things to ask for ... of course, Severus had taken that cloak upstairs. He didn’t particularly fancy an invisible Potter brat in his house. “You won’t need your invisibility cloak here.” He scrutinized the boy. “Are you cold?”

“A bit.”

Severus sighed. He snatched his own cloak that he had thrown over an armchair and draped it over the boy who was already wearing his school uniform plus winter cloak.

There had been, he suddenly remembered, a bright green blanket on the couch in the Evans’ house. When Lily had been sick, she’d been there, a pillow in her back and a pot of herbal tea on the table next to her.

“Do you need something to drink?”, he inquired, much more impatiently than a good host would have.

“Please.”

What was going on with Potter? Surely, being ill shouldn’t change someone’s personality? Unless of course ... but those diseases were much too exotic.

No, that must be Lily’s genes in there, giving the boy the intelligence to see that he was as weak as a kitten and depended on Severus’ goodwill to keep him alive.



Severus made tea from meadowsweet blossoms the muggle way, so it wouldn’t interact with the Pepperup Potion, and added some sugar to make sure the boy would drink it.

Even with a cup of tea in his hands, the Potter boy didn’t look as well cared for as Lily used to. Severus wasn’t sure what it was – the ugly colour of the couch, the threadbare fabric covering it, the dusty windows in the background ... probably the windows.

Potter sniffed at the tea, took a sip, drank a bit more, and finally put it down on the couch table. “Thank you?”, he said, his voice trembling a bit as if he was ... surprised, yes, that was what it sounded like.

“Go to sleep.”

Had Petunia never made tea for the boy when he had been sick before? The thought infuriated Severus. Petunia Evans ought to know how to care for a child. She had grown up with Mrs. and Mr. Evans for parents, two people who not only would have done everything for their children, but also had been sickeningly sweet to each other ... well, not really that sickening, compared to the constant yelling Severus was used to at home.

Severus had only gotten small morsels of parental affection whenever his father was away and his mother wasn’t too deep in one of her melancholic moods, and most of his ideas on what parents ought to be like was based on glimpses into the Evans’ home life.

The fact that Potter seemed genuinely grateful for Severus’ sorry attempts of care didn’t say anything good about Petunia.

And that walrus-like man she apparently had married.

Severus settled into one of the armchairs with a cup of tea and a book. For a while, the only sound in the room was the turning of pages.

It was almost ... peaceful. Almost a bit like ... no, of course it was nothing like when he had visited Lily while she was ill, and she had smiled at him and when he had left in the evening, her parents had thanked him for keeping her company, as though it was some sacrifice to spend time with her.

Still ... it was a strange feeling, to have someone in the room who didn’t get on his nerves. Who would have thought that Potter was actually quite tolerable when asleep?

A noise at the window startled him out of his thoughts. Madam Pomfrey had already answered?

But no, the snowy owl didn’t carry a letter. Immediately after Severus had opened the window, it glided over to the sleeping boy and perched on the armrest of the couch.

Ah, yes. An ordinary owl hadn’t been good enough for famous Potter. No, it had to be a snowy owl.

No doubt he had whined until his relatives had bought ... wait. No. Petunia Evans had apparently managed to stay just as nasty as she’d been as child. So people weren’t doomed to become like their own parents. Rather comforting, Severus thought, considering what his father had been like.

Petunia had most definitely not bought the snowy owl. So then Potter must have wasted part of his inheritance on it. He could probably afford it, Severus figured. Or perhaps not? Dumbledore had mentioned generous donations to the Order made by James Potter, and with a few more years of having to buy all the books written by a narcissistic Defense teacher ...

Why did Severus even care? It was not like Potter was at any risk of poverty. If in dire financial straits, he could just sell his fame.

There was a knock at the window again. This time, it really was Madam Pomfrey’s answer.

Severus unfolded her letter and skimmed it for the name of the disease.

Yeti influenza. Leave it to Potter to acquire an exotic illness that usually only came to Britain when the stars were especially wrong and the weather especially cold.

He read the letter more thoroughly. Ah. Individuals who were in an especially melancholic mood could succumb to Yeti influenza even when the stars were neutral and the weather no worse than grey and rainy.

Madam Pomfrey recommended to have the patient stay in bed, give him Pepperup Potion once a day, lower the fever if necessary and make sure to do something to lift his mood. Which she didn’t think was difficult, seeing as it was Christmas and any child would be cheered up by that.

Severus was not so sure about that. Even if Potter were able to do more than sleep, it wasn’t like Severus had made any preparations for Christmas.

Cheering Charms were not an option, as apparently, Yeti influenza meant that any kind of magic except potions caused nausea to the patient.

The best thing, Severus concluded, would be to take Potter elsewhere.

Not, of course, to the floor of a library.

Severus gently tapped the boy’s shoulder. “Potter.”

The boy’s lids fluttered, then, slowly, his eyes focused. He had been wearing his glasses all this time, Severus realized.

“Potter, if you could choose, where would you like to spend Christmas? Except Hogwarts, that is.”

It seemed to take a while until Potter understood the question. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know? What about your friend, Weasley? Would you like to spend Christmas with him?” Even though no Weasley had ever been in Slytherin, Severus had met Mrs. Weasley a couple of times, mostly in the hospital wing when one of her sons was seriously injured. Judging from her frequent letters arriving at the Gryffindor table with that geriatric owl, Mrs. Weasley wasn’t going to run out of maternal affection anytime soon. She’d sure have plenty to spare for Potter.


“Ron hates me.”

“Oh?” Severus hadn’t been aware of that latest development. “Why?”

“Parselmouth”, Potter muttered.

Ah, yes. That explained it. Potter had said something to the snake and it had attacked Weasley. Severus was pretty sure the attack had more to do with the snake being angered by Lockhart’s incompetent attempt to get rid of it than with what Potter had said. “What did you say to the snake?”

“Told it to leave Ron alone.”

Which was the most logical thing, really. James Potter had been a despicable, disgusting ... Potter. But he hadn’t ever seriously injured one of those he called friends.

If the snake had bitten Severus, he would have been sure that the Potter brat had told it to. With Weasley, that was very unlikely.

“He doesn’t believe you?”

“No.”

“Very well. You can stay here if you don’t cause any trouble.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Potter’s only other friend was muggleborn, and Severus didn’t like the idea of leaving the boy with muggles. They weren’t able to apparate him to St. Mungo’s, should the need arise. They wouldn’t be any help if Death Eaters attacked ... though of course, Death Eaters were much less likely to find the Grangers than to come calling at Severus’ door.


The Malfoys considered it beneath them to visit him in Spinner’s End, of course, but you never knew.

If he kept Potter here over Christmas, he’d have to do something about decorations. And perhaps food. The boy might be happy to eat takeaway food but Severus hadn’t carefully constructed his image as authority figure only for a student to find out that his intimidating teacher ate takeaway food during the holidays as if he were some coddled twentysomething who hadn’t learnt to cook before moving out of his parents’ house.

Severus had, admittedly, not even permanently moved out of his parents’ house, but he could cook, as a matter of fact, he just didn’t really ... care.

So what if he died early because he didn’t eat enough vegetables? It was not like anyone was going to miss him. There was, of course, his promise to protect Potter, but Severus was confident that if the Dark Lord returned, he would find an opportunity to sacrifice his life for the boy’s years before cancer and heart attacks could become a risk.

Yet now ... now, Potter was in his house, and Severus couldn’t allow him to find out the truth. Potter was disrespectful enough as it was.


So, what to do?

The kind of meal that the likes of Slughorn served to impress others was clearly out of the question, too much effort.

As was the kind of meal Severus’ mother had usually served – something that consisted of whatever food was cheapest, or already in the fridge, or both. That would be even worse than takeaway.

Again he found his thoughts returning to Lily and her parents. Yes, that kind of meal. A main course, a salad and a simple dessert. That would do.
At least for himself.

Potter would have to eat chicken soup or some easily digestible porridge.

In any case, Severus would have to do some shopping.

And that meant he had to leave the house. Which meant he had to inform Dumbledore. Just in case he was hit by a car or something, someone ought to know where Potter was.

He went upstairs to write the letter, returned, and hesitated. Usually he would take his letters to an owl post office, but as the owl seemed to have decided she would stay here and shit on his floor ...

“Potter?”

“Hm?” Green eyes looked at him through ugly, cheap glasses.

“I need to inform Professor Dumbledore where you are. May I use your owl?”

The boy stared at him. It wasn’t an unreasonable request, was it? Not quite polite, perhaps, if one considered Potter a guest, but not unreasonable.

“Please don’t. He’ll send me back to the Dursleys.”

“Why are you so sure of that?” Severus knew that the presence of Lily’s flesh and blood was important for some protective charm Dumbledore had cast on the Dursley house, but Potter couldn’t possibly have been told about that ... could he?

Dumbledore guarded his secrets so jealously ...

“They are my relatives.And he knows how they are. It was in my Hogwarts letter.”


That didn’t really make sense, but Severus decided to drop the issue. “Very well. I expect your owl does everything you ask her to?

“Yeah ...”

“I will leave the letter to Dumbledore here on the table while I go out. If I do not return in a couple of hours, or if some emergency arises, send your owl to deliver the letter.”

“You’ll leave?”

Under different circumstances, Severus would never have left the boy in his house unsupervised.

Right now, however, the trouble Potter could get up to was rather limited. “You know where the bathroom is, now. I recommend you crawl there and take regular breaks rather than trying to walk. I’ll soon be back to pick you up from the floor.” He hesitated. “Oh, and don’t open the door to anyone. Dumbledore will walk in without knocking, anyone else ought not to be here. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

He apparated to the muggle town he always went to for takeaway food and started shopping.

When, a whole hour later, he was ready to return, he had spent his entire holiday budget of muggle money.

After apparating to a remote spot in the countryside in order to throw off pursuers, he apparated back home.

To his relief, Potter was exactly where he had left him.

Harry had decided this must be some sort of strange dream. Snape had no reason to be in a muggle library. And if he had been there, he would have made sure Harry got thrown out.

He would surely not take Harry away from the library floor, which despite the nice carpet was still rather hard, and place him on a soft couch in his living room. And he wouldn’t make tea specially for Harry. Tea that actually tasted pleasant.

Or listen to Harry’s pleas about not taking him back to the Dursleys. Carry Harry to the bathroom. The fact that Snape had draped his own cloak over Harry and had then proceeded to leave the house without said cloak only further proved that none of this could be real.

It was a nice dream, though, so Harry was in no hurry to wake up.

Perhaps he ought to wake up sometime soon, so he didn’t starve. But he would probably wake up once he got too hungry, anyway.

Or too thirsty. Thirst was more of a problem. He could go without food for a while, but water ... he did feel thirsty. His cup was empty. The tea wasn’t real, but even so, it did taste nice.

“There’s more tea”, Dream-Snape said. He was back. Of course he was back, it was a pleasant dream after all,so nothing bad could have happened to him.

Harry heard him pour some into the cup.

“Here.” The cup was held to Harry’s lips. He drank greedily. There was sugar in the tea. Somehow, it wasn’t so great for his thirst that way. But this was a dream, he could have anything he wanted, couldn’t he?

As soon as Dream-Snape lowered the cup, Harry asked, cautiously, as Dream-Snape could be nasty, sometimes: “May I have a glass of water, sir? I just ... the tea is ... not liquid enough.” That was completely nonsensical.

“Water. Very well.” The voice sounded like Snape’s, but real Snape would have told him he was talking nonsense. “Would you prefer the tea without sugar?”

Harry smiled. Snape asking how he preferred his tea. He liked this weird dream. “No, it tastes nice. I just need something to drink.”

Shortly after, a glass of nice, cool water was held to his lips, and Harry drank all of it in a few, large gulps.

“More?”

“Yes, please.”

Dream-Snape refilled the glass with a wave of his wand, then held it to Harry’s lips again.

This time, Harry stopped drinking when the glass was still half-full, but Dream-Snape didn’t complain. He put the glass on the table and stood. “Are you hungry?”

“Not very”, Harry replied after thinking about the matter. He should have been hungry, he had gone without food for at least half a day, but somehow, he didn’t feel much like eating anything.

“Some porridge, then, I think.”

Dream-Snape left, and Harry dozed off, only to be woken by a hand on his shoulder. “Here. Try to eat some.”

A bowl of porridge was held in front of him.



Harry sat up, half leaning against the backrest of the couch. “Thank you.” He felt exhausted from the effort of sitting, already, but started eating.

He needed a break rather early. Leaning his head against the backrest, he mumbled: “Sorry. I just ... I feel so weak.” Real Snape would have ... well, probably murdered him for being so ungrateful, but Dream-Snape could be reasoned with.

“You suffer from Yeti influenza. Your weakened state is to be expected”, Dream-Snape said reasonably. “Take as many breaks as you need.”

Despite his best efforts, Harry found himself dozing off at some point, waking only to the sound of breaking porcelain.

“Potter! What have you DONE?” Snape thundered.

Oh. Was this real after all? But it couldn’t be, could it? He was still on a couch and still warm and comfortable, even though now he shuddered with fear.

Snape strode into the living room, carrying another bowl of porridge. “Oh.” He put the bowl down on the couch table and drew his wand.

The porridge on the floor vanished, and with another muttered spell, Snape repaired the bowl Harry had dropped.

“I’m sorry”, Harry whispered, not sure what to hope. He wanted this to be real, because then he wouldn’t have to wake up and leave the library and go find something to eat, but he also didn’t want to be yelled at, and real Snape would yell at him. “I fell asleep.”

“It’s alright”, Snape said, though his teeth were clenched and his voice strained as if he really wanted to keep yelling. “When have you eaten last?”

“Yesterday”, Harry recalled. Yes, he hadn’t bothered finding breakfast.

Snape sat down. Must be Dream-Snape, Harry decided, real Snape wouldn’t have made an effort to not yell at him. “And what did you eat? How much?”

“Not sure. Just ... some stuff people left on their plates, I mean, I don’t have muggle money, so ...” Should he tell Snape all this? Just in case this was real ... but it couldn’t be, so he was essentially just talking to himself.

“So your last real meal was at Hogwarts.”

“I guess.” Harry closed his eyes.

Dream-Snape muttered something about a potion and suddenly he wasn’t there anymore, the bowl of porridge that he must have intended to eat himself untouched on the table.

Harry wanted to go back to sleep, but he felt nauseous. Even the tiny bit of porridge he had eaten must have been too much.

He felt around on the floor searching for the bowl Snape had repaired, and found it just in time to throw up into it.

At least he wouldn’t dirty the floor, he thought, tasting the bile on his tongue. It was a long time before his stomach stopped cramping, though there wasn’t all that much to throw up.

Harry wiped his mouth with the sleeve of Dudley’s old jumper. He felt a bit better, the nausea was gone, and perhaps Dream-Snape wouldn’t even yell at him.

Very pleased with himself, he fell asleep.


When he woke, Dream-Snape stood next to the bed. “Drink this. Your body will hopefully absorb the nutrients before you throw up again.”

It must be a potion, but for some reason it tasted somewhat like vegetable soup with a bit of sugar.

Dream-Snape went away, and returned with a wet dishcloth. “Don’t move. I’ll clean your face.”

So he had missed something. Figured.

But this was a weird dream, and Dream-Snape didn’t seem to mind. He wiped Harry’s face with the wet cloth, which felt wonderfully cool.

Then, he touched Harry’s forehead and cursed under his breath.

“I’m sorry!” Harry said automatically.

“For what? I’d be very impressed if you were able to consciously control your body temperature.” Dream-Snape went to the bookcase that completely covered one of the walls and went through the books, finally taking one out and flipping it open.

There was more cursing, or at least Harry assumed so from the tone – he couldn’t make out single words.

He saw Dream-Snape touch another book and part of the wall rotated to reveal a secret passage.

Harry smiled. Now he was sure he was dreaming!

A moment later, Dream-Snape emerged. He had a kind of metal rod in his hand.

“I don’t have a medical thermometer, but this should do. Open your mouth.”

Oh! He wanted to take Harry’s temperature.

This really must be a dream, Harry thought. He knew there were different kinds of thermometer, and Aunt Petunia had used the very unpleasant kind when she’d thought it necessary to do anything about Harry being sick at all.

Dream-Snape gently put the metal rod in Harry’s mouth. Now he could see there was something like a clock face on the other end.

“Good thing I invested in the better kind of thermometer, or I’d only know that your body is the temperature at which Pepperup Potion should simmer.” Dream-Snape took the thermometer from Harry’s mouth.

Harry smiled weakly. Had that been a joke? Well, it was a dream, after all. “Is that bad?”

“Yes. A bit more heat and the proteins in your body will be denaturised. So I will ...” Dream-Snape sighed. “Do you want me to call Madam Pomfrey?”

That bad? “What’s the alternative?”

“Wrapping wet cloth around your legs would allegedly lower your temperature.”

Harry faintly remembered Aunt Petunia doing that for Dudley once. Harry had had to fetch the wet cloths. His fever couldn’t be very dangerous, then, after all, Aunt Petunia would have called an ambulance if Dudley was in real danger. “We can try that.”

Dream-Snape left and returned with a saucepan full of water and some dishcloths.

He used the potion thermometer to determine the temperature of the water in the saucepan, then wet the cloths with it.

“I should take off my trousers”, Harry pointed out. Which was easier said than done because he had used binder twine instead of a belt (Dudley’s belts never fit him) to keep up two pairs of Dudley’s old trousers, and he must have re-tied the knots a little too well after using the toilet.

“You are wearing ...” Dream-Snape sighed. “Of course you are wearing trousers.”

He pushed the cloaks Harry was using as blankets aside, yanked the robe up, then looked at the trousers. “I’ll just cut that”, he announced. “Me doing magic close to you won’t make you feel worse, will it?”

“I don’t think so?”

Dream-Snape drew his wand and moved it carefully. Harry felt the pressure around his waist vanish.

“Where on earth did you get those trousers?”, Dream-Snape asked as he pulled them off Harry without any effort. “Castoffs from your uncle?”

“My cousin.”

Dream-Snape mumbled something Harry couldn’t understand but chose to interpret as comment on Dudley’s obesity.

“You slept outside.” It wasn’t a question. Harry could see the mud clinging to the hem of the trousers.

And his shoes ... oh no, his shoes!

Dream Snape removed his shoes without commenting on their state, though, and didn’t complain about his couch.

Harry very much hoped that he had succeeded in getting the mud off his shoes before entering the library. He had tried very hard, muddy footprints would have betrayed him, after all.

“Are you wearing any more superfluous clothes?”

“They aren’t superfluous”, Harry mumbled.

“Yes they are. You should wear only a nightgown. I bet you have red marks from sleeping on the buttons of your trousers. Now get out of your robes, tell me if you need help.”

Harry wriggled under the cloak-blankets and managed to pull his robe up so far that the hem was on one level with the hem of his Weasley jumper, but had to take a break after that.

“Good. Lift your arms.” Dream-Snape pulled the garment over his head, taking one of Dudley’s jumpers with it. Getting the Weasley jumper off was a bit more complicated, seeing as it actually fit Harry.

“As soon as I feel up to it, you will take a bath”, Dream-Snape decided when Harry was only in a shirt and pants. His voice sounded weary, not angry. Further proof Harry was still dreaming.

So Harry didn’t mind that Dream-Snape touched his bare legs to wrap the wet cloths around them and then cover those with a towel.

He’d have hated for real Snape to touch him at all, but this wasn’t Snape, it was just ... like some nicer person disguised as Snape with Polyjuice Potion. Polyjuice ... Ron had accused Harry of wanting to use it in his alleged sinister plans, so Hermione had declared that she’d flush the potion down the toilet. However, she had never talked about it again, so perhaps she had kept it somewhere ...

“I will be in my laboratory for a while”, Dream Snape announced. “Try to drink some more tea. Send your owl if you get cold.” He re-filled the cup before he left.

Harry felt too weak to take more than one sip of tea, but he didn’t worry about that much. Obviously, he wasn’t in a nightmare. If he died of dehydration then because he slept too long, not because he didn’t drink in his dream.

It was rather weird, being able to sleep and wake up while staying in the same dream, but Harry remembered some nightmares where he had dreamt about waking up in his cupboard, only for Ron to wake him in his bed in Gryffindor tower.

He dozed off and only woke when Dream-Snape returned and felt his forehead. Judging from how pleasantly cool the touch felt, Harry thought he must still have rather high fever. He also wasn’t cold, which was strange, as he had taken off all those clothes.

“I will give you a transdermal nutrition potion”, Dream-Snape explained. He took one of the unlabeled glass containers on the couch table and poured the contents on a small piece of cloth, which he then carefully placed on Harry’s forehead. “Try not to move too much.”

“Yes sir. Thanks.”

“So, let’s see how your temperature is.”

Dream-Snape seemed satisfied with Harry’s temperature now. “I brewed some fever reducing potion that will keep your temperature below the dangerous point during the night”, he said, indicating the other bottles on the table. “Is there anything else you need?”

“I’m well”, Harry said. “Thanks.” In fact, he started to feel a bit bad for Dream-Snape. The man looked almost exactly like real Snape, but he lacked the permanent scowl.

And he was acting so frantic, like, like ... well, a tad bit like Aunt Petunia when Dudley was sick.

Harry smiled. He liked the thought. Someone caring for him while he was sick ... obviously, with how poorly he had felt before falling asleep, his mind had created this dream to soothe his discomfort.

Just like sometimes, when the Dursleys had been especially horrible, Harry had dreamt of a beautiful woman with red hair singing him a lullaby.

It was just weird that it was Snape. Perhaps because the only person he had ever seen care for a sick person was Aunt Petunia, and she was nasty, so his mind couldn’t imagine anyone nice doing this, so it had to be Snape?

Wait, there was also Madam Pomfrey ... but with Madam Pomfrey he’d be in Hogwarts and the hospital wing, and Madam Pomfrey would be calm and professional, and ...

Perhaps a small part of Harry wanted to have what Dudley had, an adult who worried about him even though there was no real reason to be worried.

Still, why Snape? The man had never worried about Harry. He might have helped Harry when Quirrell tried to kill him, but that was because he owed Harry’s father.

Dream-Snape sat down in the armchair with a sigh, and began to eat the porridge that must already be cold.

The man had looked very tired. Did real Snape also look this tired? Harry had never dared look at him much, so he wasn’t sure.

After finishing his porridge, Dream-Snape went away and returned with something made of green flannel. “Try to sit up.”

Harry sat up, and let Dream-Snape help him into what must be a nightgown. The fabric was soft and warm and it was only a tiny bit too large for Harry.

It was, he had to admit, much more comfortable than what he had worn before.

The rest of the day passed with some sleep, some more tea, another glass of water,and finally, Dream-Snape said: “I intend to get eight hours of sleep. Do you need to go to the toilet before I go to bed?”

“Yes, please.” Not that it could matter, in a dream, but it was better to play along, he didn’t want to wake up early.

As before, Dream-Snape carried him to the bathroom, and without so many trousers to take care of, Harry managed to finish and leave the room before his legs gave way under him.

“You will take one dose of fever reducing potion”, Dream Snape announced when he set Harry back down on the couch. “You can continue to use your cloak and mine as blankets, but there are more in case you get cold.”

Dream-Snape took two folded blankets, one green, one grey, out of a very muggle looking plastic bag and placed them on the backrest of the couch. “Send your owl if there is any problem whatsoever.”

“Yes, sir.” Harry obediently swallowed the fever reducing potion. “Good night”, he mumbled.


When he woke, he was cold. He felt more disappointed than he felt he had a right to. The dream had gone on longer than expected, it was time to wake up and get out of the library. Or at least go to the men’s toilets and drink some water out of the tap ...

Slowly, he opened his eyes. At first, he couldn’t see anything, but found his glasses nearby and put them on. Books, books and even more books ...

Hedwig hooted softly.

What was she doing inside the ... oh. Harry was still on a couch, and the reason he felt cold must be because of the illness. The wooden surface on which he had found his glasses was the couch table.

Dim light filtered in through the dusty, water-stained windows.

The smell of toast emerged from the kitchen, soon followed by Snape, carrying a plate with toast and a cup from which the smell of coffee emerged.

“Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, sir.” Harry smiled. Still dreaming, definitely. Dream-Snape sounded weary and a bit grumpy, but not at all sarcastic. So perhaps ... “Could I have another blanket, please?”

Dream-Snape stood and unfolded one of the blankets Harry now remembered he had left on the backrest of the couch.

Harry could have taken one himself, but Dream-Snape didn’t seem to feel a need to point that out.

“Do you feel like eating, or do I need to give you another transdermal potion?”

“I could drink the potion, I think. If that’s easier.” Even if it was just a dream, he felt a bit bad for Dream-Snape. Even someone who wasn’t real deserved to get to relax in the holidays.

“It is not. Transdermal nutrition potion tastes horrible, I am afraid, so you can use up the rest of this batch before I brew the other variety. You should drink some tea after your Pepperup Potion.”

So Harry drank some more sweet tea, then laid down with a cloth soaked in nutrition potion on his forehead. Cold seemed to spread from inside him, even though he was sure his body must be pretty warm.

“Are you still cold?” Dream-Snape asked after finishing his coffee.

“Um. A bit?”

After taking his temperature again, Dream-Snape decided that Harry needed a hot water bottle, and soon returned with something very unlike the hot water bottles Harry knew from the Dursley household.

It seemed to be made of metal, and looked like it had been in use for several generations. Dream-Snape wrapped a towel around it and pushed it under Harry’s blanket.

Warm feet, at last. “Thanks”, Harry mumbled.

Severus returned to the kitchen for more toast. He felt rather pleased with himself. Potter had survived the night without incident, and, while still suffering from influenza, began to look more like young Lily on the couch in her parents’ house and less like some homeless child on the brink of death.

Good.

Lily’s son ... Dumbledore was right, the boy was half Lily’s, and perhaps more than half, from what he knew about the muggles’ research into genetics.

If only ... if only the other parts weren’t Potter.

He had felt resentment towards the boy before he had even met him, but the resemblance to James Potter was uncanny. Shouldn’t be possible, really.

Though strangely, the boy looked more like Lily when he was asleep. Even with his eyes closed. Not that Lily had ever looked like she was asleep. Just ... of course he had seen her sleep, back then, when she had been so sick.

Perhaps, Severus grudgingly admitted to himself, the face wasn’t so very Potter. It was hard to say, really, seeing as there were the glasses and that mop of black hair ...

Speaking of the glasses. Severus walked over to the couch and gently took off the boy’s glasses, put them on the table.

Yes. Without the glasses, the face looked much more like Lily’s.

Problably wouldn’t for much longer, when puberty set in, but for now ... it did make things much easier.

Of course he could have informed Dumbledore, but then ... what? They couldn’t send the Boy-Who-Lived to St. Mungo’s, could they? It wasn’t safe.

And they couldn’t send him to stay with Madam Pomfrey – for all Severus knew, the healer lived in a lovely little cottage with no protective spells on it whatsoever. She didn’t have any enemies, after all.

The boy seemed to be absolutely sure that Dumbledore knew how Petunia was and still decided to send him back there ... and he might be right. Severus knew first hand how ruthless the man could be if he thought something right and good and, well, necessary.

Sirius Black had walked free after the murder attempt. Not only because his expulsion would have meant Dumbledore’s pet werewolf would be exposed but also, as he had explained to Severus many years later, because having the eldest son of a pureblood family in the Order of the Phoenix was more important than some halfblood Slytherin who no one thought would amount to much.

Oh, Dumbledore had worded it much more delicately, but Severus knew that no one had thought him worthy of attention. Had Dumbledore approached him with an offer ... an offer of protection and financial support and getting to be on the side Lily was on ...

Things could have been very different.

Back then, he had not seen it that way. He had truly considered those young Death Eaters his friends. Looked up to Lucius, even.

Yet now ... now he was bitter and cynical and knew that all those warm feelings of affection and trust were something his mind produced to keep him sane. Because he couldn’t have dealt with reality, back then.
Couldn’t have dealt with just pretending to be their friend because to do otherwise would have meant certain death.

He needed one place where he could be safe, where he could study in peace. If he had had enemies in his dormitory or Slytherin common room, he’d have died, sooner or later, from the stress if nothing else.


Lily ... ah, Lily. Her friendship had been true, and so had been his love for her. He had chosen to approach her, back then. Not because he desperately wanted a friend. He had been quite content alone, back then.

No, he had approached her because talking to her was even better than a summer afternoon spent reading a book.

He swallowed, dabbed his eyes with his handkerchief and went to put his cup and dish in the sink.

There was work to do.

*

Harry felt warm and content. He wasn’t hungry, and the thought that, perhaps, he should go to the bathroom, was a rather distant one.

He felt around for his glasses, put them on, and was greeted by a sight that proved beyond all doubt that he was still in this strange dream in which he had fallen asleep: Snape on a stepladder, decorating the walls with garlands of holly.

And not only that, the man was humming softly, a melody Harry recognized as the one of ‘Oh Christmas Tree’

Harry chuckled. He would have to tell his friends about that dream. Snape humming Christmas songs!

The noise drew the attention of Dream-Snape. He turned to look at Harry. “Something funny, Potter?”

It was hard to not laugh out loud. This sounded so much like real Snape, but this wasn’t real Snape, couldn’t be.

“I’m just happy”, Harry explained to the figment of his imagination.

“Oh.” A strange emotion flickered over Dream-Snape’s face. “Good. It is the season for it, after all.” And he went back to his work.

“I so wish this were real”, Harry murmured to himself. He’d wake up, thirsty and hungry, on the library floor, and have to figure out how to survive the next couple of days ... it would be so much nicer if he could just stay here and not worry about a thing.

“What do you mean?” Dream-Snape’s hearing was as acute as that of real Snape, apparently. “What do you want to be real?”

“I’m sorry”, Harry blurted out. He didn’t want to hurt Dream-Snape’s feelings by telling him he wasn’t real.

“What for?”

*

Something was going on. Some typical Potter prank ... or was this a symptom of the illness?

“Um. I ... I’m dreaming”, the boy stuttered. “Not saying that you aren’t real or anything ... but I’m not really here, am I?”

Ah. Hallucinations? Or was the boy well enough to intentionally deceive him? Judging from his temperature, which was rising, though not yet too high, Severus didn’t really think so.

Hallucinations, then. “Why do you think that?”

“I went to sleep in a library.”

“Yes. On the floor, to be precise.”Ah, of course. “You remember that I am a wizard, surely? The ability to apparate, that is, to disappear, and instantly appear in some other place, is rather common. Much like a driver’s license in the muggle world.”

“Yes, but ...”

“I was surprised you managed to sleep through apparition, but you obviously needed the sleep. There is no need to worry. You are really here.”

The boy frowned. “Then who are you?”

“Excuse me?” Please let this be a prank. Madam Pomfrey hadn’t listed memory loss as symptom of Yeti influenza. What had happened to Potter? Had he been hit over the head? Why hadn’t he checked that more thoroughly, there were all sorts of things that could happen to a young boy sleeping in the streets ... “Can you not remember me at all?”

“Well, you look just like Snape.”

Ah, only the fever talking, then. Relief washed over him. “Professor Snape”, he corrected, only mildly annoyed. The boy was delirious, and didn’t know who he was talking to, after all. “And what makes you think I am not Professor Snape?” Damn, of course the boy would wonder why he had so easily been talked into not contacting Dumbledore. Severus knew it wasn’t professional, and there would be a price to pay, later.

“Um. You won’t change if I tell you ... will you?”

“I will not change. Now, do tell me.” He raised an eyebrow.

The boy giggled. “You sound just like him! But, see, Sn- Professor Snape wouldn’t ever help me.”

Severus felt as if the boy had hit him. He swallowed hard. “No? I seem to recall that I prevented you from falling off your broom not so long ago.” Dumbledore had informed him that Quirrell, or the Dark Lord, had spilt that secret.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you”, the boy said hastily. “I wasn’t talking about you. Just ... the Professor Snape I know would have dumped me at the Dursley’s doorstep, or something.”

“Do you not remember? I told you that you could either go to your relatives or stay here. Why did you want to stay here?” The boy was sick, he probably didn’t want to be moved too much, but still ...

“I thought you would have to return me to the library if I said that. I didn’t think you were serious about letting me stay. I mean, the, um, the other Professor Snape hates me.”

The boy’s words sent cold shivers up his spine, and not because he had caught the illness.

Lily’s son didn’t live in her world, the world of sunshine and flowers where the nasty teacher who hated you would make you write lines even though you hadn’t done anything.

He lived in the shadowy darkness Severus himself inhabited, a place where an adult who didn’t like a child would let said child sleep on the floor without a second thought. Lily’s son shouldn’t have to even think such thoughts.

It was tempting ... just let the boy believe it was all a dream ... would make it much easier to be respected again, once back at school ...

On the other hand, the belief this was all just a dream clearly caused the boy some distress. And Madam Pomfrey had been rather clear about a bad emotional state being one of the contributing factors of Yeti influenza.

“I assure you, I am very much real. You have been here since yesterday. Have you ever had a dream that went on for so long?”

“No, but ...”

*

Harry stared at the man. This couldn’t be the real Snape. Not possible. “You made me a hot water bottle”, he finally stated. It was only one of the things that Snape would never do.

“Perhaps”, Dream-Snape said slowly. “It is you who is not real. The real Harry Potter would not mind in the least if he offended someone.”

“That’s not true”, Harry protested. “I’m real and I never want to offend people.” Well, Snape, but Snape had started it. Real Snape, that was. Something occurred to him. “Are there alternative realities in the magical world? Perhaps I’ve been ... switched. And the other Professor Snape will have to deal with your nasty Harry once term starts.” He chuckled. Served real Snape right.

Dream-Snape sighed. “The important thing is that you are here, now, and there is no need to worry. It is all very much real.”

“Thank you, sir. Um. What is that real Harry Potter like? If he’s so bad, and you thought I were him, then why ... why’d you take me here?”

“You were lying on the floor. I had to assume you were injured.”

“Oh. Of course.” Dream-Snape was more like Harry than like real Snape, Harry supposed. He would just help anyone in need. “So, what’s other Harry like?”

“Rude enough to just use my last name without title when talking about me”, Dream-Snape said, and for a moment, he looked just like real Snape.

“I’m sorry”, Harry said hastily. “I didn’t mean to - ”

“Of course you didn’t mean to. You are not at all like that other Harry, aren’t you?”

“Not at all”, Harry agreed.

And just like that, the scowl melted away and Dream-Snape was once again only looking tired.

“May I use the toilet, sir?” Harry asked cautiously, wanting to be sure he hadn’t managed to turn his dream into a nightmare.

“Of course. The question is, can you walk?”

Harry got up, then immediately sat down again.

“I didn’t think so.” And like before, Dream-Snape lifted him onto his shoulder and carried him.

It was really strange, Harry thought while he washed his hands, that this dream had been going on for so long. And that he had to go to the toilet and eat ... well, not really eat, as it turned out.

Dream-Snape was right, it was unusual that dreams went on for so long, and nothing extremely weird had happened yet.

Harry pinched his arm. Ouch! It really did hurt. So perhaps this was real after all, and he wouldn’t wake up on the library floor.

That was ... wonderful, really.

Finally allowing himself to relax, he sank to the floor.

Severus put the sleeping boy back on the couch, unsure of whether he ought to feel bad. He had manipulated Potter. Just a bit. The boy would adress him properly from now on, believing as he did that Severus didn’t know his true identity.

But he hadn’t really threatened the boy, had he? He had made it quite clear that he had known who he was when he had taken him home.

And anyway, it was much better for both of them if Potter didn’t get on his nerves, wasn’t it?

‘You made me a hot water bottle’ the boy had said, as if that was proof he couldn’t possibly be the Hogwarts Potions Master.

Severus had carefully constructed his image as intimidating teacher who might just be serious if he threatened to poison someone, but he had never given the impression that he would deny a sick child the barest necessities ... fine, perhaps being warm wasn’t a necessity, but he wasn’t a healer, better be safe than sorry, right?

It was not like he had fed the child chocolate cookies or anything. There was no reason to be so surprised.

What had Petunia done? Well, certainly not taken good care of the boy when he had been sick the last time.

Had the woman no heart at all?

Surely, any normal human being would feel some compassion towards a sick person? He recalled that his mother had always increased her efforts to be a good parent when he had been taken sick, and his father had had the decency to leave her to it.

Hell, Severus himself had felt a bit concerned about Potter and Weasley after they had crashed that car into the Whomping Willow, even though their injuries were clearly only superficial.

Most Death Eaters had trained themselves out of feeling compassion for muggles and muggleborns, but Petunia Evans was no Death Eater, she ought to ...

But complaining was pointless. Quite obviously, Petunia did not care what she ought to do.


Severus continued decorating the room. It would never look like Hogwarts, but it would have to do.

Finally, content with his work, he checked the boy’s temperature again – it was high, but not too high – and went to brew a drinkable nutrition potion. Madam Pomfrey had recommended to just feed the child some chicken or vegetable broth, but she had to assume the child in question was some spoiled pureblood heir, seeing as someone had contacted Severus. Only the very rich could pay his rates for private potion brewing. Rates he set intentionally high as to not be disturbed during the holidays.

Potter was thin as a rail under all those baggy clothes, and while that might be genetic – Lily had always retained her slender figure, no matter how many chocolate frogs she ate, and James Potter had been light enough to be a seeker despite being spoilt and overfed – Severus didn’t want to take the chance.

If only the ingredients weren’t so expensive, he could just make himself a potion, too, and not have to cook ... but no.
Even with a decent salary, Severus wasn’t one to waste money. And he needed to maintain the pretense that he was a responsible adult who ate three healthy meals a day.

So he sat down to a healthy meal with roasted potatoes, brussel’s sprouts and a steak while the boy on his couch drank a nutrition potion.


“I’m sorry I’m so much trouble”, the child said quietly.

Severus stared at him. “I assure you, you have never been less trouble than you are right now.” Well, at least if he only counted the times he had been in the same room with the boy.

“You had to brew the fever reducing potion specially for me”, the boy said softly.

“That’s much less work than having to make sure you don’t throw firecrackers into someone else’s potion”, Severus replied.

He clearly saw the guilt on the boy’s face.

Better not to inquire, though. Potter would only deny it and that would make Severus angry, and now was not the time to get angry.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

“Hm.”


Severus much preferred sick Potter over healthy Potter. Sure, sick Potter needed help for the simplest things, but at least Severus could be sure he’d stay on the couch and not do something stupid.

Apart from having to cook and brew potions, the boy didn’t really even disturb his routine that much. Severus had intended to spend the Christmas holidays reading all the books and magazines he usually didn’t have time to read, and a sleeping child made rather good company for that.


******


On Christmas morning, Harry awoke to the blurry sight of candles. After he had put on his glasses, he saw that there was a Christmas tree. It was a tiny tree, decorated only with straw stars and candles, but it was undeniably a tree.

And underneath was a pile of presents.

“Are those my presents?”, he asked quietly, and Hedwig hooted happily.


“They are all yours”, Dream-Snape affirmed as he stepped into the room. As every day, he had a breakfast tray for himself, and some potions for Harry. “Which do you want to open first?”

Harry grinned. “Merry Christmas, sir. Don’t you get any presents?”

“No meaningful ones.” Dream-Snape put the tray on the table. “The esteemed Professor McGonagall will, no doubt, have sent me another bottle of whisky.”

“Don’t you like whisky?” Harry saw nothing wrong with getting the same present every year. As long as it was something you liked.

“I do not dislike it, but it is hardly something to get excited over, seeing as I already know what it will be.” Dream-Snape took the largest parcel from the pile and handed it to Harry. “I wonder what this is.”

“Oh, I think I know”, Harry began unwrapping it. “Mrs. Weasley sent me a jumper last Christmas, and this sort of looks like ... yes!”

Dream-Snape gave him a sceptical look that made him look like real Snape for a moment. “Another jumper?”

“That’s very kind of her, I mean, I would have thought she’d not send me another one, now that I alreaday have one ... and there’s food, too!”

“You better don’t try eating that right now. Would be a waste”, Dream-Snape commented drily.

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry set the parcel aside.

“That reminds me. Your nutrition potion.”

The nutrition potion for drinking tasted strange, but not unpleasant. A bit like vegetable soup with sugar. Harry emptied the small bottle in one go. “Thank you.”

Dream-Snape handed him one expertly wrapped in green paper with a silver ribbon. “Try this one next. I know for sure it doesn’t contain any food items.”


Harry unwrapped it, and found a beautiful black raven feather quill. But there was no card or letter attached. “Is that ...” He eyed Dream-Snape uncertainly.

“It’s from me. Self-inking and invisible to muggles. In the hopes that your summer homework will be better quality from now on.”

“Thank you, sir.” Harry smiled. This had to be a dream. Snape would never give him a present.

“It is by no means altruistic, I assure you.” Snape picked up a present that was so clumsily wrapped Harry guessed at once it was from Hagrid.

It contained sweets, and Harry set it aside. Not being able to eat something on Christmas was really rather annoying, he decided. But of course, things could be much worse.

“And finally, those two.” Snape gave him two presents, one wrapped neatly in normal wrapping paper and one wrapped in old newspaper.

Harry opened the nicer one first and was delighted to find that Hermione had sent him a beautiful eagle feather quill.

“How ... unfortunate”, Snape commented.

“What? That Hermione had the same idea? You know what they say, great minds think alike.” Harry chuckled. The fever must really be high for him to get so silly to compare Hermione to Snape. “Can’t have too many quills, anyway.”

“Hm. Now, I admit I am curious as to the contents of that tiny one.”

Harry unwrapped it. It was a single toothpick. “Oh, that’s from the Dursleys.”

“Is that ...” Snape frowned. “Is that a perfectly ordinary toothpick?”

“Yeah, looks like it. Last Christmas, they sent me a fifty pence piece, I guess they feel less generous this year.”

Snape wouldn’t stop staring, so Harry added: “They probably only send me something because Hedwig won’t let them alone until they give me something. Is that right, Hedwig?”

She hooted, and it sounded clearly not amused.

“And there was ... nothing else?”, Harry asked cautiously? “I’m sorry, sir, it is just, I thought ...”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Not enough presents?”

“Exactly as many as I hoped for”, Harry mumbled. “Just I thought ... I hoped Ron would have forgiven me. Mrs. Weasley has.”

“Mrs. Weasley has not forgiven you, she no doubt never believed this nonsense about you setting a snake to attack her son in the first place.”

Now that still surprised Harry, even though he knew this Snape was different from the one he knew. “You don’t think I did it, sir?” Regular Snape hadn’t punished Harry, but Harry had assumed it was due to there being no proof of what he had said.

“Why would you? The Weasley boy is your best friend, is he not?”

“Yeah. Well, he was. I’d never do something like that to him, but I know it must have looked like it. Why do you believe me?” Snape of all people. This was a different Snape, but he had also said Harry was different, but how could he know, then, that Harry wouldn’t hurt Ron?

“Logic”, Snape replied calmly. “Animals are not automatons, and the snake must have been very ... upset at what happened. That it bit your friend despite whatever you told it simply requires less explanation than the assumption that you had a secret reason to harm Weasley and were also foolish enough to expose yourself as parselmouth when the snake would likely have bitten him without your intervention.”

“Oh. Yeah. That’s very logical. Hermione believes me, she’s a logical thinker too, but Ron won’t agree.” Why did Snape hate Hermione, actually? They had so much in common. Well, as much as someone of Hermione’s age could have in common with someone who was thrice her age or so.
Logically – ha! – they should get along.

“He never did strike me as the most logically thinking boy. And one must, of course, take into consideration that he spent some hours in the hospital wing after that incident. Likely, he needs an outlet for his frustration over this.”

“That’s not fair. I mean, it was just a few hours. I had to spend a night in the hospital wing because of Dobby, and I’m not so unforgiving!”, Harry blurted out.

“Dobby?” Snape sounded merely curious.

“A house elf”, Harry explained. “Or so he says. He’s obsessed with keeping me away from Hogwarts, says something bad will happen ... oh.” Something bad was happening at Hogwarts.

“Did he say the bad things were caused by your presence?”

“No ...” Harry closed his eyes. Talking got a bit strenous. “He wanted to keep me away to keep me safe. He doesn’t like Voldemort.”

“Did he say whom he belongs to?”

“No, he isn’t allowed to, I think. They don’t want him to help me ...”

He heard Snape get up. “We have talked for too long. Go to sleep, we will talk later.”

Harry felt someone taking off his glasses, then he drifted into a feverish sleep.


When he woke, someone was dabbing his sweaty forehead with a wet cloth.

Snape. Or at least the man who looked like Snape. If this wasn’t a dream, then he couldn’t be Dream-Snape, but perhaps ... Not-Snape?

On the other hand, he seemed to know everything regular Snape knew.

He looked just like regular Snape, too. Hooked nose, oily hair, dark eyes ... they weren’t really black, Harry realized, more like a very dark brown. Just the expression on his face didn’t match. It was almost ... concern?

“Tea or water?”

Harry blinked.

“You need to drink something, seeing as you only took your potion this morning. So what will it be?”

Harry felt pleasantly warm at the moment. “Water, please.”

Snape fetched the water and helped him drink. “We were talking about a house elf. Do you remember?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What did he wear? Were there any hints as to the family he belongs to in his clothes? Perhaps a coat of arms?”

“No, he was wearing a dirty rag of some sort ... told me he isn’t allowed real clothes ...the only thing I know about whom he belongs to is that they can’t be decent people. He says they wouldn’t notice him ironing his hands and such stuff. That he has to do that all the time to punish himself for not doing everything the way they want him to.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down by much, but I will investigate.” Snape cleared his throat. “I would like to lower your temperature again. It would spare me some brewing if you would consent to the more mundane method ...”

Harry stared at him, confused. “Oh. You mean the wet cloths? Sure.”


Snape’s Christmas meal was chicken broth, which he claimed was what he would have eaten anyway, but Harry suspected he was lying – who ate chicken broth for Christmas, really?
On the other hand, Snape making chicken broth for Christmas so that Harry could have some of it, and then lying about his plans, was also very unlikely. He was Snape, after all, or was he?

When Harry went to sleep in the evening, having been dosed with another phial of fever reducing potion, he decided that this was his second best Christmas ever.

The one where Ron had still been his friend rated higher, but all in all, he really couldn’t complain.


Days passed by. Harry felt more holiday cheer than he ever had outside of Hogwarts. Being sick and with Snape was better than being healthy and with the Dursleys.

It wasn’t just the absence of chores. With his aching joints and the weakness, Harry didn’t feel much better, physically, than he would if he were working.

Perhaps it was the blessed silence. No Aunt Marge blathering on and on about Harry’s many faults. No Dudley throwing his tantrums, no Uncle Vernon threatening him, no nagging Aunt Petunia ...

Snape mostly just sat there, reading quietly, and when he occasionally muttered his criticisms of something written in his Potions journal, it was a welcome change.

The creative insults Snape invented were rather entertaining, Harry reflected, when they weren’t aimed at oneself. Or some other undeserving victim.

People who submitted articles to The Practical Potioneer and still didn’t meet Snape’s standards probably deserved the criticism.


It was on the twenty-seventh of December that Snape returned from the bathroom with a frown on his face. “Headmaster Dumbledore has finally noticed you are missing. Took him long enough.”

Harry didn’t ask how Snape knew. Perhaps he had gotten an owl. Magic. “How does he know?” And if he had found out by magic, then how hadn’t he known before?

“One of his spies noticed that a neighbour boy was tasked with clearing the snow in front of the Dursley house. If there hadn’t been snow, chances are no one would have noticed your absence at all.”

Snape sounded angry, as if not keeping track of Harry was about as stupid as adding the porcupine quills without taking the cauldron off the fire.

“Oh.” Well, it had been nice while it lasted. “So I have to go back to the Dursleys?”

Snape regarded him with a calculating gaze. “Not necessarily. I might be able to overplay your illness in order to convince Professor Dumbledore that it would be for the best if you spent the remainder of the holidays here. However ... I require your ... collaboration.”

“What do you need me to do? We could skip the fever reducer, I guess?”

“No, that will not be needed. I merely require that you ... ah, forget that you were here for Christmas. It would be most convenient for me to find you in, say, a hour’s time.”

“Sure, no problem.”

“You will have received your friends’ presents someplace in London and have put them in your trunk. You will then have sought refuge in the library, where I will find you in an hour. Another cycle in the washing machine will do your clothes good, and as for your shoes ... they can go in the washing machine, too.”

Wow. Harry had known Snape was a sneaky bastard, but he was really good at this. It was a good thing he was (probably) on Harry’s side.

“What about your present?”

“If anyone asks, you bought it in Knockturn Alley”, Snape replied immediately. “Off a street vendor who didn’t show his face.”

“Okay.”

Snape gave him a strange look. “You should have been warned about adults who ask you to collaborate in the keeping of secrets. Much as it suits me that you don’t even ask why it needs to be a secret ...” He cleared his throat. “Well, this is not a life or death secret, not when it comes to Professor Dumbledore. You may tell him the truth if the need arises. Only him, though, no one else. Definitely not your friends. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir. I don’t think Hermione would believe me, anyway. So, we just pretend like you just found me?”

“Essentially. I will do the talking, you will sleep. If asked, you will say that you went to the library when you started to feel sick, and that you don’t know which day it is.” Snape frowned. “Oh, and you can mention your suspicion that you are dreaming. Yes. Say anything strange that comes to your mind. You are, after all, hallucinating with fever.”

“Yes, sir. Will do.”

“Good. Now, let me see about this ...”


Harry drifted into sleep after a while. When he opened his eyes, he wasn’t wearing his glasses anymore.

Even without glasses, however, he could see that there was no Christmas tree or decorations anymore. His presents had vanished, too.

A hand on his shoulder. “Are you ready? I will inform Dumbledore, now.”

Oh. Of course. Snape. The plan. It must be all a dream, Snape wouldn’t conspire with him ... but it was a nice dream, he’d play along. “Sure. I mean. I am. Ready. Sir.”

A cool hand on his forehead. “I will have to take the risk. For a short moment.”

Snape turned. No robes billowed. Was he wearing muggle clothes?

He incanted a spell Harry didn’t know.

“Found Potter. He’s sick. Come immediately.”

A flash of silver disappeared through the wall.

Shortly after, the flames in the fireplace flared green.


“Severus. I knew I could rely on you.”

“Headmaster.”

Harry had his eyes closed, but could imagine that Snape inclined his head just so, as he sometimes did when Dumbledore talked to him.

“How is Harry?”

“Unharmed. The fever does not stem from an injury. At least I ...” Snape cleared his throat. “I removed the boy’s robes, trousers and jumpers. There is no reason to suspect injuries on his torso. Apparently, Potter wanted to play at being homeless and found it a bit too challenging.”

There were steps in Harry’s direction. An unfamiliar hand on his forehead.

“He is burning up. Where did you find him?”

“In a public muggle library I frequent.”

The hand withdrew. “Why would you be looking for Harry in a library?”

“Well.” Snape cleared his throat. “When muggle detectives want to find someone, they sometimes start out in the place where that person went missing and try to imagine where that person could have gone. That branch of the library isn’t far from a park where Potter might have hidden his owl.”

“There is something you are not telling me, Severus.”

“Oh, fine. I literally just stumbled across the boy. He was wearing an invisibility cloak, I would never have found him if I hadn’t decided I deserve something to read over the holidays.”

“Ah, fate. Did you manage to wake him?”

“He slept through my manhandling him, even through apparating. As you can see I gave him Pepperup Potion, but it doesn’t seem to have much of an effect.”

“It does not seem to have any effect at all”, Dumbledore said softly. “His illness is of a magical nature.”

“Apparently.We are fortunate that he lives with a family of muggles who cannot catch it.”

What? Snape had said he would make sure Harry got to stay!

“I expect Petunia cannot wait to have her little darling returned to her so she can pamper him some more?”, Snape sneered.

“Severus”, Dumbledore said quietly. There was something sharp in his tone. “Pampered children do not sleep on the streets. Do you really think Harry ran away for fun? During this time of the year?”

Finally, someone said it!

“What else could it be? He cannot have had a fight with his family, seeing as he didn’t see fit to even inform them he was coming home for the holidays”, Snape said in a scathing tone Harry hadn’t even thought Dream-Snape capable of.

He must be real, then. Perhaps Harry had dreamt everything else, the Christmas present and so on?

“Do you not remember that Harry stayed at Hogwarts last year?”

“Your point being?”

“Harry is not the spoiled child you think he is.”

“Be that as it may, it has no bearing on the problem at hand. Potter has a fever. Let me see ...”

Snape muttered an incantation, and Harry felt a wave of nausea. His body convulsed, but he didn’t throw up, as there was nothing in his stomach. The last cup of tea had been a couple of hours ago.

“Damn”, Snape muttered. “Adverse reaction to magic. I thought it was just the apparition ... You ought to take him back to his relatives on the Knight Bus.”

“I ought to?” Dumbledore asked, and all the softness was gone from his tone. “You forget who you are talking to, Severus.”

“It is not like there is any other alternative”, Snape retorted. “I was merely stating the obvious. Potter needs constant care, his fever needs lowering by muggle means, and unless you happen to own, say, an illegaly enchanted Ford Anglia, the Knight Bus is the best way of transporting a patient who displays adverse reactions to magic. I already apparated him once, there is no telling how much additional damage another apparition might do when he’s clearly sensitive to magic.”

Dumbledore’s hand on his forehead again. “Constant care, indeed. Severus, I cannot trust Petunia Dursley with such a task. And I cannot trust St. Mungo’s with his protection.”

“You are not saying ... you cannot mean to imply ...” Snape’s voice trailed off.

The hand withdrew. “I am afraid I do mean exactly that.”

“The Malfoys invited me to celebrate the New Year with them. I need to be there – I have no plausible reason not to, and Lucius may well know something about the Heir.” The sound of footsteps.

“I will stay with Harry for the night, should the need arise.” Dumbledore’s voice sounded further away now.

“If anyone finds out about this – what of my reputation? Potter might be almost in a coma right now, but he will wake up.”

“And you will tell him what I asked you to do. Now, if you will excuse me – I need to inform Arabella that Harry has been found, she is beside herself with worry.”

After that, Harry heard nothing.

“You can open your eyes again.”

Harry did so and reached for his glasses. “You said you would get him to let me stay.”

“And so I did.”

“But ...”

Snape glared at him. “Stop thinking about what I said, start thinking about what I achieved.”

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry.” He was very confused now. But the only thing that really mattered was whether he could still get Snape to be nice to him. “Um. I think I need the toilet, sir.”

Snape pushed the blankets, including his own cloak, to the side and hefted Harry over his shoulder. “You are well, otherwise? I researched the disease, magic should only cause nausea, with no lasting damage done.”

“I’m okay, thank you.” He could complain about the way Snape carried him, as if he was a piece of luggage, but if he did, Snape would probably stop carrying him altogether.

He would certainly not start carrying Harry in his arms.

Not that Harry wanted that! Just ...

His thoughts were interrupted when Snape lowered him to the floor. “Call for me if you need help.”

“Thank you.”



Severus put the boy back to bed, wrapped wet cloths around his legs, and went to brew some more fever reducing potion.

He was very pleased with how the conversation with Dumbledore had turned out. It was petty revenge and didn’t really achieve anything, but Severus liked to manipulate the man once in a while, just to prove to himself that he could.

Of course, he might be fooling himself. Dumbledore might have planned to saddle Severus with Potter even before he arrived at Spinner’s End.

Not that it mattered. This time, for once, Severus had made the decision. He had decided to give in to the boy’s pleading and let him stay.

It felt good. Making his own decisions. He felt more alive than he had for years.


When the fresh batch of potion was ready, Severus changed the password on the floo and put the Christmas decorations back up. Perhaps he should have let them on ... but Dumbledore would have noticed, and might have suspected something.

Not that the man had much experience with how Severus liked to decorate, or not, seeing as he had always spent Christmas at Hogwarts ... but somehow, Severus was a bit paranoid about it.

He himself, after all, knew full well he would never have gone to the trouble of decorating if he didn’t have Potter here ... and Potter suffering from an illness brought about by melancholy, at that.

Now that he had all those decorations, though, he wouldn’t let them go to waste.

It was ... nice, having them here. Really did make the room more cheerful.




On the thirtieth of December, the boy managed to keep down some watery porridge without throwing up.

The fever, however, was still there, and while he might have managed to walk to the bathroom on his own, Severus wasn’t too keen on experimenting.


So, once again, he banished the Christmas decorations and sent a patronus message to Dumbledore.

Not long after, the old man stepped out of his fireplace. “Severus, my boy, how are you?”

“Well enough, Headmaster. And please do not adress me in that manner in front of Potter. He was delirious enough to think he was dreaming a couple of days ago, but now, he might actually be awake.”

“That is good news, Severus. Very good.” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled merrily, which immediately roused Severus’ suspicion. “I have given some thought to your request, and I think I will watch over Harry myself.”

Severus nodded. “Good.” He almost would have thanked the man, but that would have implied that Dumbledore hadn’t saddled him with Potter in the first place, and thus exposed his lie.



Harry knew it was safer to pretend to be asleep, but there were some things he wanted to ask Dumbledore.

“Professor Dumbledore?”, he asked quietly, some time after the man had sat down in the armchair where Snape used to sit. “Is this all a dream?”

“An excellent question, Harry. Is all life a dream?”

“Um. I meant, more, like ... me being here. Sna- Professor Snape being ... nice to me. Sort of. Am I actually ... asleep somewhere else?”

Dumbledore looked at him earnestly. “Does it really seem so unbelievable to you, Harry, that Professor Snape might be kind? He has, after all, saved your life once before.”

“Yeah, but that was to pay my father back. Now they’re even.”

“Ah.” Dumbledore nodded. “Do you remember how you ended up here, Harry?”

Harry closed his eyes. “No”, he answered truthfully. “I didn’t even mean to sleep, I just wanted to lie down for a bit. Then I woke up here.”

“Professor Snape found you and brought you here before summoning me. It turned out that it would be rather damaging to your health to move you more, so I asked him to host you until you are better.”

“But ... he ... he hasn’t even insulted me, I think.It’s not normal.”

“Professor Snape normally insults you?” Dumbledore sounded worried. Damn.Would Snape get in trouble, now?

And why did Harry feel like that was a bad thing?

“Kinda. Thought you knew. Goes on about me being a celebrity and stuff. No bad words or anything, just, he’s ... not very nice. Normally.” Why was he downplaying Snape’s behaviour?

“Professor Snape has little patience for students he thinks are not trying hard enough.” Dumbledore did not sound so concerned anymore. “But you are not in school right now, and you are ill.”

Dumbledore made it sound like Snape was just strict, like McGonagall. But the man hated him!

It just didn’t make sense!


What made even less sense was that he somewhat wished Snape hadn’t had to leave. He had liked the feeling of being ... yes, fussed over. Now, he had a fever reducing potion and there would be no need for fussing anytime soon.

And he also didn’t want to drink any tea, because he didn’t want to need the bathroom, because he didn’t want to ask Dumbledore to help him walk there.

The Dursley’s habit of limiting his access to the bathroom served him well, now.

When Harry woke with a full bladder, Dumbledore was gone. The only problem was that Snape was gone as well – to bed, probably.

Well. He was more recovered than they had made Dumbledore believe, wasn’t he? He could walk.

And so he did. This time, he made it to the bathroom without having to sit down.

After using the loo, he washed his hands. Washing one’s hands was important.

But after that, he could take a break.


**

Severus sleepily hit his alarm clock, only to hear its annoying voice repeat its message: “Time to wake up, Severus.”

It had been a gift from Dumbledore, when he had started teaching at Hogwarts. And it spoke with the man’s voice.

He had kept it because he couldn’t be bothered to get a new one, but usually, he was awake before it even had a chance to annoy him.

So why now ...

Ah. Right. There was a sick child on his couch. Harry needed another dose of fever reducing potion before Severus could go back to sleep.

Not sleepy anymore, Severus stood and walked down the stairs.

There was a heap of blankets on the couch, and even though he knew, deep down, there would be no boy under them, Severus still checked.

What had Potter done now?

Had Dumbledore said something that had upset the boy? Caused him to run away?

Or could ... no, there were no signs of a fight, the tea and the fever reducing potion were still on the table where he had left them. Potter was not so weak he wouldn’t wake and fight if someone tried to abduct him, now? On the other hand, he hadn’t woken when Severus had apparated him here ...
Still, the house was well-protected, someone breaking in would have caused some disturbance in his spells.

If the boy had left on his own volition, he couldn’t have gone very far.

Severus’ intuition told him that things could not be so very bad, but that didn’t stop him from worrying.

Where would Potter have gone? Now was the time to use this muggle detective method he had told Dumbledore about.

Ah.

Of course. The bathroom. It just had to be the bathroom. Even the alternative of Potter out on the streets with his naked feet ... no, it had to be ...

And it was.

Severus let out a breath he hadn’t noticed he had been holding. There, slumped against the bathtub, was the boy.

He knelt next to him and checked, just to be sure. The fever hadn’t risen too high, the boy had a heartbeat. Good.

Just an early morning excursion to the bathroom.

Typical for a Potter, to overestimate his own abilities and ...

Severus shook his head. No, he was being unfair. The boy must have needed the bathroom, and even if he had called, Severus might have slept through it.

Had he managed to get there in time?

Severus checked. There was no puddle on the floor. Good.

“Come, now.” He gathered the boy in his arms, gangly limbs dangling everywhere – he was probably doing this wrong – and carried him back to the couch.

After setting the boy down, he checked the bare feet. They were cold to the touch. Should they be? How long had the boy spent on the bathroom floor?

He still had not woken.

But he needed to take the potion. Severus didn’t feel up to staying awake for much longer. He had excused himself from the party as early as was possible without being rude, but had had to discuss his findings with Dumbledore afterwards, and three hours of sleep ... he could run on that little sleep, but it was not wise. Not with the boy running a fever.

Being jostled around wouldn’t wake the child, so what ... ah.

Severus flicked his wand to switch on the light.

“Wake up, time for your potion.”

And indeed, the boy’s eyelids fluttered open. “What ...?”

“Just drink this.” Severus uncorked the fever reducing potion and held it to the boy’s lips.



Harry swallowed the potion. Was it morning already?

But no, Snape switched the light off and told him to go back to sleep. Huh.

Had he dreamt going to the bathroom? But he didn’t need to go, now. Strange. He couldn’t remember walking back.

Probably he was just too sleepy to think properly, Harry decided before drifting back to sleep.


When he woke up next, daylight was streaming through the dirty windows. Harry put on his glasses.

Snape looked tired, and there was an untouched breakfast in front of him.

“Sir? Are you alright?”

Snape’s head snapped up. “I am merely tired. How are you?”

“Um. Fine, I guess?”

“Do you think you could keep down some porridge?”

“I think so?” He had been able to last time.

“Good.”

Snape left, but returned shortly after with a bowl of watery porridge that he put in front of Harry. “You didn’t talk to Professor Dumbledore much?”

“No, sir.” Harry smiled when he noticed the Christmas decorations had been put back up. It wasn’t Christmas anymore, and soon, school would start again ... “I just asked him if ... if I am dreaming.”

“Good thinking, he’ll have thought you still delirious.” It sounded almost like Snape approved.

“Yes, but ... I didn’t ask because of that. I just ... there aren’t really parallel universes in the magical world, are there?” Unbelievable as it seemed, this must be the one and only real Snape.

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Not that I know, no.”

“So you never really believed I was someone else?”

“Of course not.”

“Then why ...” It wasn’t just the hot water bottle. It was the tea. The present. Even the potions. Why would Snape do all that?

“Even during the holidays, you are still my student.I couldn’t very well leave you to die of starvation. Or do you think Arthur Weasley would ignore something like, say, a cursed carpet that eats muggles just because he is on a holiday?”

“Um, no, sir, but you could have sent me back to the Dursleys. Or written to Professor Dumbledore.”

Snape frowned. “I know how it is”, he finally admitted. “To have the kind of home you would prefer the streets to. As you did not make a nuisance of yourself, I saw no reason to send you back there.”

Harry was incredibly confused. Had Dumbledore been right? Was Snape just a strict teacher and not so bad, after all?

“And if I, um, try very hard not to make a nuisance of myself when we are back at Hogwarts ...?” The idea that Snape, real, regular Snape could be reasoned with was intriguing.

“Do not expect me to change my teaching methods. I did not get to be the youngest Head of House by being ... soft.”

The youngest? Harry hadn’t ever even thought about Snape’s age, but it was true, he was a lot younger than most other teachers. Not younger than Lockhart, but Lockhart didn’t really count.

“Besides, if you wish to retain any hope of mending your friendship with young Weasley, it would behoove you to be seen as my enemy.”

Of course. Being more respectful of Snape would just convince Ron entirely that Harry must be the Heir of Slytherin.

The cunning bastard!

Manipulating people like this seemed wrong, but at the same time, Harry couldn’t help admiring the sheer skill that went into it.

“However, it would save you a considerable amount of time and energy to just cross me off your list of suspects for whatever sinister scheme to cause students grievous bodily harm is currently going on at the school. Focus instead, if you will, on your studies, so as to thwart my evil plans of giving you a failing grade”, Snape continued drily.

Harry chuckled. “Yes, sir.”

"And perhaps, if you feel able to ... remember that I do not always mean what I say. As you witnessed in my conversation with the headmaster. Seeing you treated unfairly by me will, I am sure, do wonders for young Mr. Weasley's willingness to see reason, and, later on, will encourage him to maintain his friendship with you."

That was, Harry figured, really the best he could hope for.

If Ron forgave him, and he didn't have to take Snape's snide remarks all that seriously anymore, then perhaps ... next Christmas might be the best Christmas ever.