He would never know how this whole thing had spiraled to here. Maybe it was that unsung desperate hope for familial connection, for approval? Maybe it was his pride, strong and unwilling to undo such a silly little misunderstanding? Really though it was his cousins Bertha, Howie, Donald, and Bertram Snape, along with a bottle of whiskey and a dare.

Massaging his head, Severus stared at the open letter sitting on his coffee table.

The blasted letter, bringer of doom, instigator of the worst headache he had ever experienced.

The lilac purple cursive, written with a gel pen, scrawled across the page was written by grandma Werthman, the sister of Tobias Snape's mother, and Severus’ great-aunt.

Eight years ago his cousin Bertha had somehow figured out what his address was and, being the overly friendly woman she was, she had inducted him into their family. They were muggles, but they had faint memories of a young Eileen and her strange abilities, and also the strange things that a baby Severus had done. An extensive, low class muggle family; friendly, loving, rough around the edges, and ultimately something Severus had never realized he needed.

Letting out another melodramatic sigh, he glared at the letter again.

Merlindammed Irish whiskey, and Bertha, and Bertram, and the rest of the Werthman cousins, and their ridiculous summer parties. They'd bet he'd never made it with a girl, and he said he had, then they demanded proof, and what followed was the most eloquently given cock and bull story about women, and a one night stand, a child, a falling out and the dramatics of him never seeing his son, and then the mother's dramatic death. The last bit had been the clincher to the story, the cherry on the top, but it had also been his undoing. Severus had always been excessively loquacious when he became three drinks past tipsy.

Ever since that July night his entire family had been hounding him to find his long lost son. And now Grandma Werthman had driven the final nail in the coffin. This Christmas they would be welcoming the boy to the family.

Despite the woman's sweet appearance, she was a devil to not fulfill her wishes. The disappointment she cast was like a dark cloud which stung more than any belt Severus had been lashed with. So now he was left with two months to find his darling 12 year old child to bring back, one which did not exist.

He hadn't lied about having various romantic intrigues, but those had never lasted, nor had they led to a love child. He half wished they had. Where did one find 12 year olds on loan for family gatherings?

He shook his head. Clearly he needed to start figuring something out. Disappointing Grandma Werthman wasn't an option.





Harry stared in perturbation at the headmaster as he continued his speech. It was something about being calm and supportive during such difficult times. Harry however was stuck on the bit that came before that. Christmas break the school was closing. As awful as the prospect of Christmas with the Dursleys was, he knew it wasn't possible. They were vacationing in Brighton, they wouldn't be home to collect him, and they certainly wouldn't drive from Brighton to pick him up.

Maybe he could ask to stay with the Weasleys? But weren't they going to Romania to visit Charlie? There was always Hermione, but she'd been gushing about a holiday to France her parents were planning.

As he sorted through his options, Harry started to panic a little. What was he supposed to do, sleep in the backyard at Privet Drive and eat out of garbage bins?

Clenching the sleeves of his robe as he worried, he barely even noticed when the speech ended and dinner was served.

"Harry, you should eat something."

Hermione's hand came into view, a pot pie being deposited on his plate.

Harry frowned, shaking his head and looking up at his friend.

"I'm not all that hungry."

Hermione had already mastered her matronly look of disapprovement and she flashed it at him while shoving a roll into his hand. He took it and began nervously nibbling at it after another pointed look from his bushy haired friend.

Dinner passed, Ron voraciously tearing into his food, Hermione conducting some “light reading” and Harry staring off, nibbling at a roll, and pondering on his predicament.

Hermione glanced up, “you know, whatever it is you’re worried about Harry, you should talk to a professor.”

Harry’s face soured and he lowered the roll he had been eating. Ron rolled his eyes, and opened his half stuffed mouth to give an unintelligible retort on Harry’s behalf. Hermione let out a sigh and shook her head, book being pulled up to cover her face.

“I’m just saying Harry, it wouldn’t hurt to ask.”






It was less than a month before winter break and Harry was no closer to figuring out what to do than he had been when he’d first gotten the awful news about the school closing. With a monster roaming the halls, and the incidents escalating, it was also even more unlikely that Dumbledore would change his mind about it. Harry had considered just marching up to the Headmaster’s Office, demanding that the school be reopened, and Dumbledore acquiescing with a surprised smile.

The fantasy certainly wasn’t getting him anywhere, that was for sure, and after concocting half a dozen plans to just bum it out on the streets in London, his Gryffindor tenacity had been outdone by the small bit of self-preservation which existed in him; it was supposed to be a bitterly cold winter, the worst seen in many years according to the gossip among the students.

So Harry was left with dwindling options, really only one at this point, and as a result he was standing outside Professor McGonagall’s door, nervously clenching and unclenching his hands.

After several more moments of thought, he raised his first and rapped at the door.

It opened.

“Mr. Potter? What are you doing here?”

“Uh, well,” Harry froze up a little bit, mind fastforwarding to what was seemingly an inevitable negative answer.

She raised her brow and Harry flushed with embarrassment.

“Come in, Potter, and we can discuss whatever it is.”

Feeling as though he were walking into the Lion’s Den, Harry meekly entered.

Once inside and the door shut, McGonagall swept over to her desk and took a seat, hand waving at him to do the same. Harry sat on the very edge of the chair and stared at his Head of House in consternation.

“Do tell, Mr. Potter, what brings you to my office?”

Harry shifted in his seat and his eyes flickered between the items on her desk and the woman herself.

“Well, you see, Professor, I can’t go home for winter break.”

“Why ever not?” she asked with a frown

He shifted again, “well, um, my aunt, and uncle, they’ll be on holiday, and they can’t come pick me up.”

She smiled in amusement, “that is very easy to fix, Mr. Potter, a teacher can easily take you there and pick you up at the end of the break.”

Harry frowned, stomach swooping as he lost his grasp on his arguing point. Uncle would beat the tar out of him, and Aunt Petunia, oh boy, there was no telling what she would do.

“But, you see, I can’t,” he said lamely.

Her eyebrow raised and her lips thinned. Harry desperately cast his mind around for some sort of reason which would keep him away from the Dursleys.

“My aunt’s sick,” he blurted out.

Her expression changed and it galvanized Harry into finishing his awkward lie.

“Real sick,” he said emphatically, “and, the trip, it is to help her get better. They wouldn’t be able to, keep me, it would be hard on them.”

The moment understanding crossed Professor McGonagall’s face Harry knew he had managed to pass it off.

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that Mr. Potter, of course we will try to arrange something to help keep the burden from your family.”

Harry tried to look like a good little grief-stricken nephew and quickly exited the office.








Severus had less than a month to find a brat to pose as his son. He was getting desperate and highly considering “borrowing” one of his students, just confounding them and passing them off as mentally ill. An easy memory charm at the end and a quick lie and no one would be the wiser.

He shook his head as he strode toward the Great Hall, he’d pondered the idea and every time he came to the conclusion that it was an absolutely idiotic idea.

But what else could he do? Say the boy had also died in a tragic accident? Merlin have mercy the whole thing was completely out of hand.

Shaking his head again, he paused as he heard Minerva’s voice coming from the teachers’ lounge. He paused and back tracked. She had said something about a student needing somewhere to stay.

As she continued speaking, outlining the plight of their resident Potter menace, he felt an idea alight in his brain.

Severus grinned, an awful, horrible, grinch like grin of triumph. Turning the corner he glided into the teachers' lounge.

"My, my it seems to be quite the predicament, Minerva."

The transfiguration teacher cast him a withering glare.

"And what would you care of Mr. Potter's placement over the holidays?”

His lips turned up in a cold smile.

“Why, the safety of all our students is of the highest priority to me.”

Severus could tell that she was restraining herself from rolling her eyes.

“If Mr. Potter is in need of a home for the Winter Holidays, I am more than happy to offer my own.”

The teacher’s lounge entered a state of shocked silence. Even Trelawney, who had been muttering to her teacup about the quickly hastening doom of her classroom rug (one of her more precise prophecies in Severus’ opinion), stared in utter silence, eyes blinking behind her enormous glasses.

Severus had never enjoyed much gawking, especially now. Turning on his heel he swept from the room.

It would take some convincing he was sure, and the matter would need time to ruminate in the minds of the teachers, but the end all situation was that no one wanted to take on a brat for the first holiday of the year where they didn’t have to interact with children.

He knew each and every one of them had intricate plans; McGonagall a trip to the Bermuda’s with her partner, Flitwick a train trip along the magical Trans-Siberian railroad, Trelawney, well, he wasn’t sure what she did, but giving her a child for the holidays was out of the question, she would bring them back in a body bag claiming that their fate had been decided by her brew of hibiscus and lemon grass, and her cat Kittymeister the Third.

The fact of the matter was that he was their only choice.

Walking away with a grin of satisfaction, Severus couldn’t help but feel like he’d undone the proverbial Gordian knot of his present life.




A week before the start of the Winter Holidays, after an anxiety riddled two weeks of waiting and waiting, Harry was called to the Headmaster’s Office. This was it, this was the answer. In half-excitement he imagined that he would be staying with Professor Dumbledore himself. What sort of home would the ancient wizard have? Going by the many strange objects in the man’s office, Harry had no doubt that the man’s house was a proverbially magic menagerie. He began ascending the steps to the headmaster’s office.

Dumbledore was also a lover of candy, the entire winter break was no doubt going to be filled with delicious foodstuffs, no rules, and as much candy as he could eat.

By the time Harry reached the door, he had convinced himself that it would be the headmaster he would be staying with.

He knocked, and a moment later the door swung open. Standing inside was Professors Snape, McGonagall, and Dumbledore.

Harry froze.

“What’s Snape doing here?”

“That’s Professor Snape, Mr. Potter.”

The cool, smooth tone which always promised humiliation and punishment made Harry’s stomach drop. The only reason he could be here was if-

No, it was too awful to consider.

Snape wouldn’t, couldn’t.

“Harry please come in, and do remember to address your professors respectfully.”
Harry took a few faltering steps into the office. Glancing at McGonagall he noticed the sympathetic look on her face. He felt sick.

“Now my boy, Professor McGonagall has told me all about your predicament. Fortunately Professor Snape has opened his home to you.”

Harry paled, mouth dropping open, and horror overtaking him. He was about to say something when a sharp look from his head of house caused him to stop short. It appeared that her sympathies only went so far. Harry felt betrayed.

Glaring at his potions professor, he couldn’t help but feel jipped. A holiday with Snape was sure to be ten times worse than anything Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia could dole out.

“What do you say Harry? Professor Snape is being very generous.”

Harry turned his glare on Dumbledore who merely smiled even wider. He looked to Snape, whose sneer was equal to Harry’s own upset.

“Thank you, professor Snape,” he said monotonically.

“There,” Dumbledore said with a happy grin, “that settles everything.”

Harry stood on the platform waiting for Snape to show up. The man had given explicit instructions to Harry stating that he was to wait until the man arrived because “rules” needed to be explained on the way there. What could the man possibly need to say during an hours-long ride which he couldn’t say in ten minutes at his home?

Sniffing, Harry hiked his shoulders up, wishing that he’d worn his thicker set of robes. He hadn’t because they were harder to pack, and he figured Snape was going to make him change out of anything remotely Gryffindorish.

Glancing around, Harry knew that the train would be leaving soon. The whole thing was already filled, and only a few older students were on the platform, most of them ones who were snogging or something similar.

Harry let out a small sigh, shivering and wishing he had had more forethought.

“Mr. Potter.”

Harry turned around, shrinking as he watched Snape glide forward, a heavy black winter cloak billowing around him.

“Follow me,” he said curtly.

Harry thought about complaining, but the chill wind made him change his mind. He didn’t want to have to sit out here while Snape insulted him. That could at least wait until they were somewhere warm.

Once inside, he followed Snape all the way down to the end of the train. A compartment had been reserved for them. Stepping inside without a backward glance at Harry, Snape levitated his trunk into the space above and promptly sat down.

Harry entered after, sitting down as far as possible from Snape. The man crossed his legs, those dark eyes settling on Harry like he was a little bug. Harry glanced nervously at the man, adjusting himself on the seat, still quite chilled.

Snape raised his wand and flourished it. A warm sensation spread over Harry, like being doused in warm water. After it passed he realized that he was completely dry, and now comfortably warm. Gratitude swept over Harry and he opened his mouth to express it.

“I won’t deal with you being ill, Potter. Next time dress for the weather.”

Harry snapped his mouth shut, a scowl coming onto it. Snape was just like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, he would never do something nice for Harry just because. The man was a big, mean, greasy bat.

“Now, Potter, the situation we will be entering is… unique.”

Harry sensed the man’s hesitancy and felt his curiosity grow.

“Before I give you any details I would like to warn you, Potter, of the severity of the consequences which would befall should anything I say leave the confines of this compartment.”

Snape paused, letting Harry take it in. Harry for his part wasn’t sure how to feel, mind racing through the possibilities. Had Severus learned of what was haunting the halls of Hogwarts? Was he being brought on some special mission?

“I will not hesitate to rifle through your mind and destroy any evidence of this and any events that follow. The possibility of damage being done is, severe. This is not to include the many detentions that would follow, loss of house points, and of course, any potions I should decide to concoct as punishment.”

Harry paled as the man spoke, the idea of Snape rifling through his mind disturbing him more than anything else. He had a feeling it wasn’t an empty threat.

“I hope, Potter, that I’ve made myself clear.”

Harry gulped, feeling more vulnerable here, alone with the man on his way to a month-long vacation. He didn’t have Ron and Hermione by his side, or all the teachers to step in if Snape decided to actually hurt him. Not that the man ever had, but Harry still wasn’t sure about him. Still, all of this was ridiculous, and yet Harry’s curiosity kept him from bursting out in indignation.

“Yes.”

Snape raised a brow.

“Sir.”

“For the next month, I will be presenting you as Harry Snape, my long lost son.”

Harry stared.

“We haven’t spoken for the last twelve years, as your mother and I had a falling out. We’ve reunited at the behest of my great-aunt. You will behave respectfully as we reside in her home, alongside my other relatives, over the holidays. It will be two weeks, starting tonight. Do not speak of magic, or anything regarding the magical community. Avoid giving personal details and hopefully we shall both survive this.”

The angry look the man levelled at him barely registered. Harry couldn’t think. Him? Snape’s son? Why? And out of all the students Harry knew, why would Snape pick the one student he hated most?

“But, why?”

“Don’t ask questions. You’ve escaped the suffocating adoration of your relatives, so you will live with what you chose. As they say, lay in the bed you’ve made.”

Harry frowned again, trying to puzzle over the strangeness which had just been thrust on him. It seemed that for the next two weeks he was going to pretend to be Snape’s son. He also wished he could go find his friends on the train right now and tell them. Snape’s threat loomed over him though. He glanced at the door and shook his head, deciding against even asking. There was no way the man would say yes.

Glancing at the window, he side eyed Snape before sliding over to it. Outside snow was falling in fat flakes, winnowing in a light wind among a forest of slender empty tree tops. He had nothing else, everything packed away in his trunk. Best to entertain himself as he could.







Severus was surprised at the lack of complaint thus far. In fact, Potter had quietly gone to the window, and after about a half hour had fallen asleep. Surveying his passenger, and so to speak partner in crime, Severus wondered at the ugly scrawniness of the boy, all knobby skinny limbs, short legs causing his toes, clothed in awful trainers, to barely brush the ground. He was a tad small, albeit, but children grew, Merlin they grew into disgusting adolescents.

The scene bore a striking resemblance to his and Lily’s own train rides, especially the early ones. Second year had been a golden one, bullying yet to grow to attempted murder, and the two of them as close as ever. Once upon a time things had been simpler.

Turning his eye from the boy, Severus focused back on the little leather-bound book he kept his notes in. His mind was already thinking about the after. One look at Potter, though he was an noxious little brat he was still a child, and Grandma Werthman was no doubt going to demand to see him again as soon as possible.

There were many things Severus could do, and all the ones he wanted to do the most were unfortunately not plausible. One more tragic story and he would be playing the clown having a fake funeral for the Potter brat. They would expect the boy’s caretakers to be present at the least. If Severus recalled correctly, Petunia had taken the child in.

The thought of seeing her again filled him with misery. She was an awful person, but in some regards she had her reasons for hating Severus in particular, though she didn’t know them.

No, no fake funerals.

Perhaps something closer to the truth would be easier. The boy studied and lived abroad (hah, as if Scotland counted), or his relatives decided against allowing Severus to see him. Maybe he could just break the law and confound all of his relatives.

This whole ruse hadn’t even started and already it was a full blown mess.

Severus turned away from the book and glared out at the scenery. It had changed, rough country giving way to cities as they approached London. They were almost there.

Shutting his book, Severus spent the next few minutes checking over his things. With a loud whistle, the train began to slow. Prematurely students began exiting their cabins and the hallway became flooded with adolescents. Severus let out a huff, glancing over at Potter.

The boy was still asleep, mouth gaping open, glasses askew, and one side of his face pressed up against the glass. He looked like a bloody idiot.

Snape however did not wake him up, waiting for the hallways to empty a little before he stood, sweeping down his luggage and letting it bang on the floor. Potter startled awake and Severus couldn’t help the pleased sneer which came onto his face at the idiotic look of bewilderment on the boy’s face. Just as stupid as his father.

“Wha-where are we?” Potter mumbled out, rubbing at his eyes in a way which was strikingly juvenile.

Snape let out a tut of disgust, but said nothing in response to the question.

The boy yawned, stretching, his school robes now thoroughly crumpled.

“Get changed, Potter.”

The boy sent a rather weak glare at him before rubbing once again at his eyes. He let out an inaudible grumble of dissent but all the same stood up and began to try to heave his trunk down from above.

Severus watched in disbelief. The boy was standing on the seat, and the trunk, if he even managed to dislodge it, would surely crush the dunderhead.

“Move!” Severus snapped, stepping forward and flourishing his wand.

The trunk floated down, alighting on the floor. Potter barely spared him a glance as he opened it and began rummaging around in the disorganized mess, not so much as a thank you issuing from the sleep addled boy. Severus minded his own things and barely noticed when the child left the compartment to change in a bathroom.

While the boy was gone, Severus shrunk everything, transfigured his clothes into something more muggle, along with that, he swept his hair back in a loose ponytail, knowing that it wasn’t quite a common muggle style, but better than having it down as a man.

Potter then re-entered.

Severus stared. The boy was dressed in jeans which seemed to swamp him, a pair of ragged trainers, a t-shirt so faded he couldn’t tell if it was originally grey or black, and a stained and holey plaid button up, the sleeves rolled to the boy’s forearms.

Potter had the audacity to look completely nonchalant, merely pushing his glasses up his nose and blinking myopically up at Severus with a mildly indignant look, as if daring Severus to say something.

Severus sneered in response. If the boy chose to dress like a hoodlum that was no matter to him. At this point the adults entirely responsible for such behavior were his aunt and uncle. Severus was merely the kind, long lost father, struggling to keep such a rowdy child in check.

He chose to glance out the station window. The platform itself was emptying, which meant the train would leave soon.

“Where’s my trunk?”

The slight note of panic in Potter’s voice was nearly like a balm. Let the idiot child not use his brain and become unnecessarily flustered in the process.

“I have it, Potter.”

The boy glared at him. That particular gambit was getting old, and it was also not going to get Potter anywhere.

“Come,” Severus ordered, turning on his heel and striding down the hallway of the train.

Potter came skipping after, nearly having to run to keep up. Outside on the platform it was chilly, but there was, thankfully, no snow. Where they were going there would be none either. They headed to the passage to the muggle platform and exited.

The muggle King’s Cross Station was bustling with activity, everyone departing or arriving due to the upcoming holidays. Severus spared a glance at his charge as he realized it would be easy for Potter to get lost, unintentional or not, though he wouldn’t put it past the little sprog demon to try it though.

The boy however merely followed after Severus, wide green eyes darting about at the raucous environment.

When they reached a corner where a homeless man lay asleep against a wall, the area relatively clear and most eyes averted, Severus turned, grabbing the boy and pulling him into what would appear to be an embrace. He felt a surprised huff, the boy stiffening, but in the next moment they were gone, the loud crack caused by their apparition only causing the resting man to open his eyes for a few moments.








Harry hadn’t been expecting Snape to grab him, or to then hug him, which was then followed by something he could only describe as an extremely frightening experience. It was over quickly, and he was on his hands and knees horking up on the ground.

As the nausea passed however, his senses slowly came back. He was kneeling in soft dirt, the air smelled different, and it was several degrees warmer. Blinking his eyes open, he realized that he had lost his glasses at some point.

A pale hand appeared in his vision, his glasses held in them.

“Take them, Potter,” Snape said, impatience obvious.

Harry grabbed his glasses and shoved them on. They were somewhere entirely different. Stretching out on the horizon was the ocean, the sun hanging to the west, and that strange smell being something he recognized as salt and something vaguely fishy. He liked it, though he couldn’t recall having been to the ocean aside from Uncle Vernon’s pell-mell trip to escape Harry’s Hogwarts letters.

He still felt a little shaky, but he stood up.

“What happened?” he asked, trying to take it all in.

“That was apparition, a form of wizarding transportation.”

Harry gave a nod, eyes still wandering over this brand new landscape. He noticed the strange white cliffs which stretched out to the left and right. Behind them were houses, roofs stained orange with lichen, and a road.

“Sir, where are we?” Harry asked, curiosity sparked.

“Peacehaven.”

Harry frowned as Snape turned around and began walking up the road and away from the cliffs. Harry stumbled after. That answer hadn’t given him any more idea of where they were. He could only guess that this is where Snape’s great aunt? Grandma? Something? Lived.

He hoped they were nicer than his professor. He also hoped that they didn’t ask many questions.

“Sir, how am I supposed to tell them we met? If they ask, of course.”

“You can tell them that your relatives arranged for us to have a house visit and that has been the only time we’ve met. You know nothing about me, so make nothing up.”

The shortness of Snape’s tone let Harry know that his questions weren’t welcome, or at least that particular line of questioning. Estranged son and father, that should be easy enough.

“What if they ask me about school?”

“Tell them what you tell your muggle friends,” Snape said with irritation.

Harry frowned again. He decided against mentioning the fact that aside from Hogwarts, he didn’t have any friends, unless Mrs. Figg counted. However, Aunt Petunia just told her that he attended St. Brutus’s Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.

If Snape had already told his relatives all sorts of terrible things about Harry they would likely believe that. Harry shrugged, trying to think about what else they might ask. In all honesty though, no one asked Harry questions, except in the magical world, and it was always about You-Know-Who or his scar, or worse, his mum and dad. No one cared that much about Harry himself.

Hopefully that would be the case here.

In a few minutes they came to stop outside an old house, outside of which were parked five or so cars. A group of people were seated on the porch and several teenagers were playing football in the fenceless side yard.

Snape stopped, looking over at Harry.

“Home sweet home,” he said, meaning it rather sarcastically.