Chapter 1 – Set the Scene

Severus studied the letter in front of him. Folded and refolded many times, crumpled, scrunched, smoothed, frayed, the flimsy piece of muggle paper was battered and already falling apart despite having only received it a month ago.

He had received letters such as this many times over the years, but he had managed to talk himself out of it on each occasion, bought himself more time. Delayed the inevitable. Now it seemed he had pushed his luck as far as he could.

All the lies he had told and the falsehoods were coming back to bite him in the backside. He had already replied to it within days of receiving it, as a matter of fact. Something he regretted almost immediately but knew he couldn’t avoid the issue forever.

Severus had no family willing to do so much as to acknowledge him from his mother’s side. The Prince’s had disowned Eileen, and that was that as far as they were concerned. Severus had no love for either of his parents; Tobias was an abusive bastard who drank himself to death, and good riddance as far as Severus was concerned. Eileen was a neglectful mother who struggled to survive in the muggle world, despite living in it for the sixteen years she was married to his father. She’d been run down by a car when Severus was sixteen.

That left him with no one. Or so he’d thought. Then Nana Bea took him in. He’d seen Nana Bea once a year until he was twelve, and then nothing. But Nana Bea continued to send him birthday and Christmas presents in the form of money, not that he got to keep it. If his father didn’t drink it, his mother used it to buy expensive something of whatever caught her fancy, still not knowing how to budget muggle money. Severus had practically raised himself in that house.

After he was left orphaned at sixteen, Nana Bea took him in. Widowed and living alone, with very little money, the woman hadn’t hesitated to offer her home to him. In fact, until he began living with her, he hadn’t even known he had an Aunt Teresa or Uncle Zachary. He knew they blamed his mother for keeping Tobias and Severus away from them. They were not wrong. And then they found Severus was just as secretive as his parents. They were muggles. He couldn’t reveal that he was a wizard. Hiding his heritage had been difficult whilst living with Nana Bea. Besides lying to her about being a wizard, life with Nana Bea was uncomplicated. He’d lost his one true friend in Lily after losing his temper and calling her … that name.

Nana Bea readily accepted that he went to a prestigious school for the gifted. She’d been proud when he showed the forged exam results for his O-levels, the muggle equivalent. And then his A- levels. His muggle family thought he had a muggle degree in Chemistry, which was close enough to Potions that he could talk about it to them. On the rare occasions he met up with them, that is.

He read the letter yet again.

… Nana Bea won’t admit anything’s wrong, Severus. You know how stubborn she can be… I’m terrified. I think she is as well. She just won’t say. She wants the whole family together this Christmas …Please, can you talk to your ex? Surely, you can bring your son this one time for Nana's sake. None of us has met him yet. It would mean so much to Nana…

Cousin Jacqueline moved on to the topic of her children. She was the mother to twin boys, Brian and Andrew, and a daughter named Maya. Severus didn’t particularly care about them. He had no fondness for children in general.

In Cousin Jacqueline's letter, only two things were important: Nana Bea’s failing health and the not-so-subtle request to meet his son. Severus didn’t have a son, though his muggle family thought he did. And, if the letter was to be believed, Nana Bea was sick, and it was serious. Tellingly, any subsequent letters did not mention the sickness, and any missives he sent enquiring about her health were full of meaningless platitudes and how she seemed to be improving.

His muggles relatives were not subtle people. But they were the kind of people who downplayed their problems. Too proud to ask for help. Severus had an ongoing financial battle with Nana Bea. He sent her money, deposited directly into her building society account, which she stuffed into an envelope with some extra and tried to hand back for Christmas and birthday. Ridiculous woman. However, what made him feel guilty was when she gave him presents for his “son”. Presents he’d hidden away, out of sight. Reminding him of his lies and how she carefully selected something generic but meaningful that boys would enjoy. With money she could barely afford.

It was a farce Severus should have put an end to years ago. It was a farce he should never have begun. All he wanted to do was have her stop worrying about him. All his other cousins were married and had children. She only wanted the same for him. Wanted him to be happy.

So he lied. Told Nana Bea he loved a woman once. How she broke his heart and left him. Married another man. Had a child with him. Then Severus found out the child was really his, but she refused to let him see his son. So, as far as his family knew, he was embroiled in a bitter custody battle for his non-existent son.

Severus only groaned out loud because he knew he was alone. What had he done? Where was he supposed to produce a teenage son from?

Still, he had some time to try and talk his way out of bringing his fictitious son to the Snape Christmas Gathering. Perhaps, if Nana Bea’s health improved, Severus could get away with coming alone for Christmas.

The bell for the start of the lesson rang, and Severus shoved the letter into a locked drawer, securing it with a tap of his wand. Time to take out his frustrations on a hapless Longbottom. The sooner that boy was gone from his Potions lessons, the better. Him and that blasted Potter.

ooOoo

Harry read the notice board with dismay.

“I’ll ask my mum and dad,” Ron was saying. “You can come to the Burrow for Christmas. They won’t say no.”

Harry nodded, feeling a little hopeful. Christmas at the Burrow would be a hundred times better than Christmas at the Dursleys. At the Dursleys, his relatives would do everything they could to make him feel unwelcome while taking advantage by making him do all the chores and cooking. He’d be worked to the bone, expecting to have everything done to Petunia’s ridiculous standards, which she set only for him. He’d be forced to make all the meals, including the Christmas dinner, which, if he was lucky, he might get scraps of. On top of all that, his trunk would be locked away, and he would have to sneak his homework into his bedroom and under covers by way of a torch.  There’d be less opportunity to pick the locks on his cupboard during the Christmas holidays than during summer.

That is, if they would even allow him through the door after what happened with Aunt Marge.

It had not been a great year, to be quite honest. Sirius Black was after his blood, having broken into the Gryffindor tower only a month ago during Halloween, forcing all students to spend the night in the Great Hall. Dementors were making everyone miserable to the point several students had been pulled out of school in protest. Harry was not allowed to go to Hogsmeade because of Black (never mind that the Durselys hadn’t signed his permission slip). His Patronus lessons were going miserably, and Harry had yet to produce more than a wisp. Even that drained him if he tried to hold it longer than a minute – that is when Lupin didn’t cancel the lessons, as he seemed to fall ill more often than not.  Dementors had swarmed the pitch during the last Quidditch match, resulting in Gryffindor losing against Hufflepuff, and the strong winds had blown his Nimbus 2000 into the Whomping Willow when he’d fallen off his broom.

In a fight against the Whomping Willow, his broom had lost resoundingly and been smashed to pieces, and Harry felt like he had lost a friend.  

And to top it all off, Harry and his friends were trying to save Buckbeak from being executed because Draco sodding Malfoy couldn’t follow simple instructions and got hurt. The bloody ponce was still milking his injury using his father's influence. Harry had suffered much worse injuries and would never get away with half of what Malfoy was allowed to get away with within Snape’s class.

And now, Dumbledore was shutting down the castle for Christmas. After the Quidditch match, the Ministry and Dumbledore had been hounded by letters and howlers from concerned parents, refusing to let their children back to school unless the Ministry removed the Dementors. Harry knew they were only here because Sirius Black was after him. 

Dumbledore had been against having the Dementors in the school anyway, and though Harry had been too busy to see it, being unconscious after falling from his beloved broom, Ron and Hermione told him the Headmaster had been furious. With the parents’ support behind him, which also meant his Pureblood voters, Fudge had been forced by Dumbledore to remove the Dementors from the school. In return, the Headmaster had negotiated for the Ministry to pay to upgrade the wards around the school.

That brought Harry to his current predicament. Upgrading the wards meant the castle had to be fully vacated. All students had to return home during the Christmas holidays. That meant Christmas with the Dursleys. A miserable Christmas with the Dursleys. A miserable Christmas with the Dursleys full of pain and hunger, after which he would return to Hogwarts with a physical reminder of how much the Dursleys appreciated his company.

His back ached just thinking about it. He shivered in memory of the belt his uncle liked to use.

ooOoo

“Is my life a joke to you?” Severus asked, questioning his life choices. This included the decision to befriend a not-hilarious Lucius Malfoy and his equally not-hilarious wife, Narcissa. He was also wondering how to go about disowning his godson because Draco was undoubtedly not endearing himself to Severus either.

Looking at Lucius, he realised that if the other wizard didn’t stop laughing, something he wouldn’t do in public, Severus had excellent blackmail material. Perhaps Dumbledore would let him borrow his Pensieve. The Headmaster must know a way to photograph memories from the Pensieve. Photographs, which Severus would accidentally leave lying about, perhaps in the doorways of several shops in Knockturn Alley that Lucius liked to frequent. Maybe, even litter them around Gringotts. And Draco could certainly lose some respect within the Slytherin Common room if pictures of him cuddling his toy dragon begin to circulate – from the summer. Narcissa was harder to blackmail, but Severus would think of something eventually.

Severus waited impatiently for them to collect themselves. Luckily, they were in a private room in the Three Broomsticks, which Lucius and Severus set up so many wards with it would take a Cursebreaker to get through.

“How did you get yourself in this predicament, Severus?” Narcissa asked semi-sombrely, having sobered up first.

“My grandmother wanted to see me settled down and start a family. A family was the last thing I wanted. She tried to set me up with the vapidest women I’ve ever met; Circe knows where she was finding them. So, to finally get her off my back, I told her I was recovering from a broken heart and trying to get my son back from a harpy of an ex-girlfriend,” Severus explained, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Narcissa knows many eligible witches if you want to be set up,” Lucius laughed.  

“It is not a witch I am looking for,” Severus said through gritted teeth. “It is a son I can present as my own.”

Lucius burst into a fit of laughter once more. Severus sighed wearily. He needed to find new friends. Dumbledore had been just as unhelpful when Severus presented his dilemma to the Supreme Mugwump.

He reached for his tea, wishing it was Firewhiskey instead, but unfortunately, he was on patrol duty when he got back to the castle. As much as he would love to get sozzled and wake up after Christmas - after the madness had ended, he was too responsible to let that happen.

“Oh, Severus,” Narcissa sighed, shaking her head in amusement, reaching for her teacup.

Draco ended his fit of giggles with difficulty. Before the brat could open his mouth to no doubt make an ill-advised joke, Severus picked up a scone and stuffed it into the boy’s mouth.

“Have a scone, Draco,” Severus told him, practically choking the boy.

He ignored the indignant look his godson aimed at him.

“Draco could fill the role for the day,” Lucius offered, his usually pale face suffused with pink.

“No!” Draco spluttered, sending crumbs of his scone flying across the table. “Sorry,” he mumbled sheepishly when his mother gave him a look of disapproval.  “I’m not spending Christmas day with muggles.”

“It won’t just be for Christmas day,” Severus shook his head. “It will be the whole holiday period, at the very least.”

“You can have him for Christmas week,” Lucius added mildly.

“I said no,” Draco snapped. “I’m not spending a week with muggles.”

Severus shook his head again.

“Draco’s too blond. He doesn’t look my son at all,” he pointed out.

“You could use glamours,” Lucius suggested. “Or Polyjuice. You have plenty of time to brew it. And find some unsuspecting teen whose hair you could use.”

“No!” Draco said, horrified. “Mother, tell them no.”

Severus gave it some serious thought, shooting his furious godson a speculative look. He’d have to find someone dark-haired, at least, to match his colouring. Then, resignedly, he shook his head once more.

“No. Glamours for a week would be draining, and Polyjuice is too risky. Draco would have to drink Polyjuice every hour for the whole week. My grandmother's house is too small, nights would be difficult, and my cousin’s children are too nosy. It’s not a viable plan. Besides, Draco wouldn’t know how to operate in the muggle world.”

Draco let loose a sigh of relief.

“Pity,” Lucius said forlornly.

“Why are you trying to get rid of our son for Christmas?” Narcissa asked, raising her brow at her husband.

“Wasn’t last year, when Draco stayed at Hogwarts, peaceful?” Lucius pointed out.

“Hey!”

“Have another scone, son,” Lucius said, stuffing another scone into Draco’s open mouth as Severus had. “Besides, it would be a wonderful opportunity for Draco for some cultural enrichment. Whilst he would spend quality time with his godfather in the muggle world, we could go to … France? Spain? Italy?”

“I’m sitting right here,” Draco cried resentfully.

Severus snorted. Draco had nothing to worry about. Draco chose to stay at Hogwarts last year, and Lucius had been terribly maudlin without his son that Christmas. Severus remembered Lucius before he got married and had Draco. He had been a cold bastard who didn’t care who got in his way.

After Draco’s birth, Lucius’s cold demeanour melted faster than candlewax in Fiendfyre, dangerously so. The Dark Lord’s defeat at Potter had saved more than the Light side. Lucius wasted no time claiming to be under Imperius, though the stigma of being a Death Eater would always be there. Last year, Lucius had devised a ridiculous plan to offload the Dark Lord’s item to Crabbe, planning on getting the man arrested. It had not worked. Crabbe, caught under the artefact's influence, planted the item on the Weasley girl, who used it. The only good thing that came out of the whole fiasco was that the last of the Dark Lord’s items had been destroyed. Supposedly there was a basilisk, but Dumbeldore hadn’t confirmed that, so Severus only put it down to rumours concocted by the Potter brat, who once more tried to play hero and only got Lockhart a one-way trip to the Janus Thickey ward in St Mungo’s. Not that Severus was complaining about that. Severus was hard-pressed to answer whether he preferred Lockhart over the Merlin-be-damned werewolf Lupin.

Severus inserted himself into the conversation before the Malfoys started bickering.

“You can sort your Christmas plans later,” Severus snapped, slapping his palm down on the table several times to get their attention. No, he was not acting like a toddler. “Help me first!”

Lucius and Narcissa exchange a glance, as they do sometimes when they try to leave others out of a conversation.

Turning back to Severus, Lucius spoke first, “If you’re determined to go through with this ridiculous charade, then your choices are limited. As you’ve pointed out, you need someone who will be comfortable in the muggle world. Flitwick runs a drama club, and you need a boy to act as your son. Find someone who fits your criteria, preferably an orphan who wouldn’t want to return to an orphanage for Christmas. Surely you will be able to find an incentive big enough for whomever you choose who will be able to pretend for a week.”

“You should be able to find the name of someone who hasn’t left Hogwarts during the holidays,” Narcissa picked up the reins of the discussion. “And even if you don’t find someone who looks like your son, you can use certain potions to dye his hair if needed. I’m sure you know of one which will last a week.”

“Draco can dye his hair,” Lucius proposed quickly.

“Father!” Draco looked scandalised, patting his precious hair protectively.

“Morgana give me strength,” Narcissa said, covering her face with her palm.

Lucius looked unrepentant.

But Severus was already going through a mental list of boys in Slytherin who he might be able to trust to do this for him and what incentives he could offer. Extra tuition in Potions? Special privileges? A place on the Quidditch team? A pass to the Restricted Section?

He had three weeks until the holidays began to find the right boy. It could be doable.

ooOoo

“I wish you could have come with us,” Ron was saying forlornly.

Harry nodded, unable to say anything past the lump in his throat. The Weasleys were heading back to Egypt. They still had some leftover money from the Prize Draw from the summer, and instead of staying in a hotel like last time, Bill had offered his own flat, which he apparently shared with several colleagues who were all leaving for Christmas with their own families. Even Charlie would meet them there, and he would be bringing his magical tent, which they would pitch in one of the spare rooms to give them all extra space.

Harry appreciated Ron’s thoughtfulness. Even though his friend didn’t know everything the Dursleys put him through, he knew enough to realise Harry would have a miserable Christmas. He didn’t want Ron to feel guilty, though. It wasn’t his fault that the Weasleys couldn’t take Harry.

Hermione, too, would be going abroad for Christmas. Back to France. To visit her cousins. Harry couldn’t begrudge them spending time as a family together. They were lucky they had families who wanted to spend time together. Not something he’d ever experienced with the Dursleys, who did everything they could to make sure Harry knew he wasn’t a part of their family and never could be. 

“It’s all right,” Harry attempted brightly. “At least you’ll both be away from Dementors. I'll be fine if Fudge doesn’t send the Dementors to Privet Drive with me.”

“He wouldn’t do that,” Hermione assured him, though she looked uncertain.  Crookshanks jumped onto her lap, staring intently at Ron’s pocket where Scabbers was hiding. “Muggles can’t see Dementors, and – he just wouldn’t do that.”

“It would look worse for him if they Kissed the muggles, especially after they disobeyed Fudge by coming onto school grounds when they weren’t allowed,” Ron argued.

Harry cynically wondered if Fudge cared about the muggles when he seemed more concerned about looking like he was doing something rather than actually doing something. Certainly, Hagrid hadn’t liked the presence of the Dementors, not when with his incarceration in Azkaban after the Chamber of Secrets disaster last year. Harry rubbed the scar, hidden under his sleeve, from the basilisk fang. Phoenix's tears might have neutralised the venom from his body, but they hadn’t healed the scar completely.

“Just remember to bring me back good Christmas presents from France and Egypt,” Harry ordered in an attempt to sound uncaring that he would not have his friends around for Christmas. “Not another sneakoscope, though.”

Ron snorted but smiled at him.

“We’re sorry, Harry,” Hermione said sadly, stroking her cat absently.

“You coming to Hogsmeade tomorrow?” Ron asked, abruptly changing the subject. “It’s the last one before they send us all home.”

“Yeah,” Harry said quickly before Hermione could say anything. “Yeah, I’ll come.”

Hermione pursed her lips in disapproval but didn’t say anything to dissuade Harry. He knew it was reckless of him to go to Hogsmeade with Sirius Black and the Dementors roaming about. Yet, if he was returning to a miserable Christmas as an unappreciated and abused House-elf with the Dursleys, he was entitled to have some fun before they were due to leave on the train in a few days.

ooOoo

It was not undoable. Maybe. It would be tricky.

Severus was looking through the members list in Flitwick’s drama club. There were no boys on the list in the second or third year suitable for the task Severus needed them for. They all had families. Not a single orphan on that list. And even if he was of a mind to try to persuade one of them, they were not suitable for the role.

Rollins, a second-year Ravenclaw, stuttered worse than Quirrell. Merlin knew why that boy joined the drama club, not when it took him a week to get a sentence out, never mind repeating lines from a script. Severus longed to shove a potion down his throat for his stuttering, but that would be seen as assault and would also be a temporary solution. Severus didn’t fancy brewing that particular remedy; though less time-consuming than Polyjuice, it was no less fiddly.

Jackson was a third-year Hufflepuff prone to looking at Severus in terror whenever the Potions Master was within ten feet of the boy. No chance that idiot would get over that defect and mingle with his family. Worse, the boy was a notorious gossip. Nothing less than Unbreakable Vow might convince the boy to keep shtum, and even then, Severus had his doubts.

Grant Hardy was the only boy who had caught his attention; he was an orphan, a muggle-born and a Slytherin. The only issue was that he was too old, a Seventh year.

However…

Severus could whip up a modified Deaging potion; just a couple drops would do. The boy was discreet; he had to be to survive as a muggle-born in Slytherin. The boy was studying for his NEWTs, and though his grades were good, perhaps additional tuition in his classes would be welcomed. The boy had ambitions to work as a Mind Healer. Severus could introduce him to several Healer connections he’d cultivated in St Mungo’s. Besides, wasn’t free room and board and a home-cooked Christmas dinner better than returning to a Merlin-forsaken orphanage? Though he wouldn’t wish Cousin Jacqueline’s cooking on anyone. Hardy didn’t need to know that.

Examining the plan from many angles, Severus decided perhaps this was doable. Snapping shut the Drama Club member’s ledger, he replaced it on the shelf and exited the Staffroom with his robes billowing dramatically behind him.  

ooOoo

Harry kept his eyes on his shabby shoes to avoid looking at the disappointed gaze of the Headmaster. Sneaking out to Hogsmeade had been risky enough, but throwing snowballs at Malfoy was stupid, as much as the git deserved it. Harry had run back through the secret tunnel from Honeydukes as fast as he could after his Invisibility Cloak had slipped.

Of course, Snape had to be the first professor Malfoy had run across, and Harry was still trying to figure out if he was lucky that Dumbledore had been close by when Snape tried to haul Harry to his office.

Snape was still ranting about Harry’s recklessness, arrogance, and other defects only Snape could name. Harry tuned his voice out, though. Snape’s anger was nothing new. The last time Dumbledore had looked at Harry with those disappointed twinkle-less eyes was when he and Ron were reprimanded for flying Mr Weasley’s car to Hogwarts.

“You should expel the boy!” Snape snarled, eventually winding down from his rant.

Harry darted a quick glance to see Dumbledore’s reaction to that demand before looking down at his battered trainers again. He hoped his luck, a fickle thing at the best of times, would be in his favour on this occasion. He’d managed to escape being expelled last year after the Whomping Willow incident; he’d managed to avoid getting his wand snapped after blowing up Aunt Marge, and he hoped Dumbledore would give him another chance by not kicking him out of Hogwarts this time either. He couldn’t go back to the Dursleys permanently. He didn’t know if he would survive, for more than one reason.

“Do you have an explanation, Harry?” Dumbledore asked disappointedly.

Harry swallowed before answering, “No, sir. I don’t have a good reason.”

So far, he had been lucky that they had been concentrating on the fact that he had been in Hogsmeade rather than how he got there. Dumbledore knew about his Invisibility Cloak, having been the one to give it to him. He knew he might have to give up the secret tunnel leading from the statue of the one-eyed witch, but he couldn’t give up the Map. He didn’t want to implicate Fred and George in any way.

Snape crossed his arms and harrumphed. Harry felt Dumbledore’s eyes still studying him, but he refused to look up.

“Please step outside, Harry. I would like to speak to Professor Snape,” Dumbledore eventually broke the silence.

Harry hesitated briefly and then left with a whispered, “Yes, sir.”

ooOoo

Severus watched the brat leave the office, closing the door firmly behind him. It would incense Severus greatly if Potter wasn’t punished for this. After all they had done to keep the boy safe, only for the little horror to flaunt it in their faces- for what? To saunter through a village for the sake of chocolates and joke products?

The boy was ungrateful in the extreme. Unappreciative of the sacrifices being made for him. Of Lily’s sacrifice. No matter how much he pushed for the boy to be expelled, or at the very least to be suspended, he knew Dumbledore would never allow that. Still, he would ensure the boy would be punished for this. Detention for the rest of the school year, at the very least. Severus would devise the worst detentions he could think of. The boy would be cleaning bedpans, every suit of armour, every cauldron, scrub every dungeon floor, clean every shelf, and anything else he and Filch could think of- with a bloody toothbrush. To start with. Perhaps he would even have the brat on laundry duty.

Potter was a spoiled brat who never did an honest day’s work in his life. Severus would bet his relatives doted on his every whim and waited on him hand and foot. Perhaps if they had assigned the boy some chores, he might know some humility.

Turning back to Dumbledore, ready to argue his arse off, Severus was startled to see the old man watching him closely.

“How goes your search for a son?” Dumbledore asked, his eyes gleaming at him.

Understanding, and with it, horror, dawned quickly. Severus whipped his head between the door that Potter was standing on the other side of and the Headmaster- several times.

Pointing a wagging finger in the senile fool’s direction, Severus sharply snapped out, “No! No! Whatever you’re thinking or planning, the answer is no! Just no! No, no, no, no, no, no…”