When the pandemic was first mentioned in the newspapers, Severus Snape was possibly one of the people least worried about it.

He was unlikely to get the so-called “American Fever” as he only left Hogwarts in the summer holidays, which were still far away.

If he did get it, and if he did die from it – who cared? Certainly not he. His life was misery, anyway.

The only person he had ever loved was long dead, too.

Admittedly, he would miss Dumbledore a bit if the old man were to kick the bucket. And, yes, admittedly, some of his colleagues ... almost all of them.

Even McGonagall. After Slytherin had won the house cup a couple times, Severus got the impression that McGonagall actually respected him as her equal, and he liked that feeling way too much to want her gone.

Still. With the exception of the Malfoy family, who no doubt had already fled to some holiday home on a remote island, everyone he (somewhat) cared about lived at Hogwarts, and Hogwarts was not in danger until the summer holidays, at which time the pandemic would probably be over.


As it turned out, Severus had been mistaken.

In October, Madam Pomfrey reported the first case at Hogwarts. A Gryffindor student who had snuck out to drink a butterbeer in Hogsmeade.

Severus suggested to have the boy’s dormmates and his friends quarantined, too, but as usual, no one listened to him.

A couple days later, it turned out several of them had been infected.

At this point, Severus realized that the death of a student, especially one of his Slytherin students, would make him ... deeply uncomfortable, because it would make him look like a failure, no other reason, of course.

And just after he had reluctantly acknowledged that fact, he read in the Daily Prophet that children were most likely to die from the American Fever.

Most at risk were those under the age of eleven. Well, at least that was something, other than Draco he didn’t know any children under ... oh.

Well. There probably was no danger. But, still ... he had sworn to protect ...

Severus stayed behind longer than was his wont, and instead of going to start his potions lesson, walked with Dumbledore when the old man finally finished breakfast. “Heard anything from the Potter girl recently?”, he asked as nonchalantly as possible. “She’d be in the highest risk group, wouldn’t she?”

Dumbledore looked at him over his half-moon spectacles. “You never asked about her before, Severus.”

“There was no reason. You told me you had made sure she was safe. But this ... perhaps it would be ... advisable to ascertain that the Potters don’t expose her to any unnecessary risks.” James Potter certainly would take her to a Quidditch match or something foolish like that if he were still alive. His relatives might be as foolish.

“The Potters? Oh, no, Severus, she is the last of that family line. I put her with Lily’s relatives.”

“Lily was an orphan when she died, which relatives are you talking of?”

“Her sister, of course.”

No. No! He couldn’t have! “You cannot be serious.”

“Petunia is her last living blood relative. And this way, the Girl Who Lived will have a semblance of a normal childhood.”

That would be a valid argument if not ... “Yes, but ... Petunia!” He vividly remembered the nasty girl. His own dislike for her, he could leave aside, after all he did not like the Potter girl, either. But Petunia had broken Lilys heart. Slowly and cruelly. So often Lily had cried because of her ...

Putting Lily’s daughter with Petunia was about as wise as putting Potter’s daughter with Severus.

“In any case, since you tasked me with protecting the girl, I feel it my duty to pay the family a visit. Just to make sure they even know how to get her to St. Mungos.”

“Muggle hospitals are well equipped to handle the disease.”

Severus hesitated. If he insisted, would Dumbledore give him the address? Or would he refuse and make sure Severus did not find it out any other way?

“Very well, then. I just want it on the record that if Petunia gets the girl killed, it will not be my fault.”

Dumbledore chuckled. “Of course, Severus. Of course. ”


His first class that day was Hufflepuff-Ravenclaw, first years, so no one dared ask why he was late.

Severus ended the lesson early and flooed to McGonagall’s office.

“May I have a look at the book of names?” he asked when she looked up. “It just occurred to me that I should talk to those of my students who have younger siblings about staying at school over Christmas.”

“It is October!”

“And soon it will be November, and then Christmas will be there in no time. The earlier I get things done, the better. You surely don’t think the epidemic will vanish in a couple months?”

“They will find a cure.”

“Typical Gryffindor”, he muttered. “Too optimistic for your own good.”

McGonagall smiled fondly. “And you are a grumpy pessimist, always preparing for the worst. Have a look if you want, but let the quill do its work.”

“Thank you.” He went to the desk and thumbed through the book hastily.

There it was.

Harriet Potter

The Cupboard under the stairs

4 Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey


Severus copied it with a spell, then went about the task he had told the deputy headmistress about. The best lies were, after all, those that were actually true.

Only once did the pages pull away from him and the book opened at an empty page so a new name could be recorded. Birth rates had been low the past years.

He was done just when it was time for his next class.


Petunia. What had Dumbledore been thinking? This just ... Petunia was bound to have messed up in some way, he was sure.

It wasn’t like he was worried. But he had given his word to protect the girl, for Lily’s sake, and he would keep his word. Even if Dumbledore thought there was no danger. The man had erred before.

Because he was not worried, he would not go immediately.

And tomorrow was a Saturday. His absence would barely be noticed, then.

In the evening, he took a Dreamless Sleep potion, as he always did during this time of the year, and went to bed.

It was seven a.m. on Saturday when he finally walked to the boundary of the Hogwarts lands and apparated to London.

Not having been able to find a photo of the house he was looking for, he had to take public transport. Annoying, but at least it would ensure he would not arrive too early.

Petunia’s undisturbed sleep was of little consequence to him, but if he drew too much attention, Dumbledore might hear about it.


It was already late morning when Severus had located the house and rung the doorbell, then stepped back. He had cast a shield charm on himself to avoid infection, but he didn’t want to explain that to Petunia.

The door was opened only a little bit. “You!”, Petunia hissed. “What do you want?”

Charming as ever.

“How is the Potter girl?”, he asked, a bit louder than he would usually have spoken.

“She’s fine. Leave.” Petunia threw the door shut.

What had he been thinking? Had he actually expected ... yes, he had totally expected Petunia to let him enter the house, if only because she didn’t want the neighbours to notice him.

Now, though ... he had seen hardly anyone during his journey. The muggles stayed at home to not spread the disease.

Severus walked away, in case Petunia was watching from a window, then hid between some bushes and cast a disillusionment charm on himself.

One spell later he quietly entered Petunia’s house.

The inside was, just like the outside, disgustingly neat and clean and boring. There were two doors to choose from – kitchen and living room, probably, the family would be there at the moment – and a staircase.

If the Potter girl was down with American Fever, she was probably in her bedroom upstairs.

Except ...

Surely not.

But since he was here, anyway ...

Severus tried the door to the cupboard under the stairs. It was locked.

The girl must have gotten up to some mischief in there when he had copied the address, and now it was locked to prevent ...

“Aunt Petunia? Can I have another glass of water? Please, I’m so thirsty ... I promise I’ll be good.”

Petunia had done what?!

Severus raised his wand. “Alohomora.”

The door sprang open.

He wasn’t sure what he had expected. To find the girl locked in there for punishment, perhaps?

But that clearly wasn’t the case.

There was a makeshift bed in the cupboard. A bed!

Wide green eyes stared at him.

A small hand reached for the glasses on a shelf behind the bed. A shelf that was inhabited otherwise by a collection of things a child might have been collecting – a pretty stone on top of what looked like newspaper articles, the feather of a raven and a seashell.

And, of course, an empty glass.

It dawned on Severus that this was not a punishment, not even quarantine – it was where the girl usually lived.

Just as she put her glasses on, the girl’s body was shaken by a violent bout of coughing.

American Fever? Perhaps.

Even if not, this was no place for a child.

“If you try anything”, the girl said at last. “I will cough at you. I have American Fever, it will kill you.”

“As far as I am informed, it is more likely to kill children, such as you.” Damn, he had to get out of this habit of scaring first years. She wasn’t one of his students.

“It’s still dangerous for adults”, the girl insisted. “So you’d better leave me alone. If you want to kidnap a child, take Dudley. The Dursleys will pay for him.”

Dursley. That was the name on the door. The girl must be talking about her cousin. “But not for you?”, Severus asked, trying to gentle his voice.

“Nah, I’am a freak, they’ll be happy to be rid.” The girl rolled onto her back and stared at the ceiling of the tiny space. “If you get me some water, I promise I won’t tell anyone what you look like. Or that I have seen you at all.”

Water. Why hadn’t he thought of it?

He took the empty glass, turned to the side and refilled it with a spell before handing it back. “Is there something else I could do for you?”

The girl took the glass and drank greedily. “You could keep Dudley for some months? It would be nice to not be bullied for a while.”

“You will not have to worry about your cousin bullying you ever again”, Severus replied. “You are coming with me.”

She dropped the glass. It broke with a noise that must have been heard in the whole house.

Severus performed a summoning charm on the keepsakes on the shelf, then took hold of the girls’ arm and disapparated.

When they arrived, he pulled her upright.

The living room in Spinner’s End had not looked so shabby when he had been there the last time. Or at least so he thought.

The Potter girl looked around. “Where are we? How did you do that?”

“We are in Cokeworth. And I did it by magic. Easy now. Don’t try to keep it back.”

But it soon became apparent that she would not vomit. Her body convulsed a bit, but that was it.

“Don’t you feel sick?”, Severus inquired. “Most people’s stomach rebels after traveling like we just did for the first time.”

“I haven’t eaten today. Why would you care? You’re a kidnapper.” She drew her thin – too thin – blanket closer around her.

“I am not a – we have been through this. If I were a kidnapper I would have kidnapped your cousin.” He hoped she didn’t know about the other kinds of criminals who abducted children. “Listen, I didn’t plan this. I had no intention of taking you with me.”

“But you did.” She raised her chin defiantly, even though she must feel weak with fever.

“I found out you lived with Petunia, that you were sick, and that she locked you in a cupboard.” Not just put her there, no, locked the door, too. “Do you think your aunt would have taken you to a hospital if it got worse?”

The girl frowned. “I don’t know. Perhaps, if it looked as if I was dying.”


Harriet shivered. More with cold than fear. She wasn’t feeling so good. In fact, she felt so feverish that she just wanted to lie on this worn-out but comfortable looking couch. The faded green fabric seemed the most inviting thing ever right now.

She had learnt not to touch other people’s furniture. Aunt Petunia had yelled at her for half an hour when she had mistakenly assumed she was allowed to sit on the new white couch.

“Get on the couch”, the man said, in a gruff voice, like someone else would tell children to get off his lawn. “You aren’t even wearing socks!”

Harriet obeyed, if only because she was too tired to remain standing. “Sorry, I didn’t know I was going to get kidnapped.”

The man glared at her, but didn’t reply anything. “Wait here”, he said at last.

Harried hadn’t planned on anything else. She wasn’t sure she could walk even to the door of the shabby living room. It felt so nice to be able to lie down on the couch, and pull her cold feet under the blanket.

Magic. The man had said he had brought her here by magic, but magic didn’t exist, everyone knew that!

Perhaps he had drugged her? She had felt weird for a moment, and he had expected her to throw up.

The man returned with a blanket that smelled of mothballs. The smell reminded Harriet of Mrs. Figg. Poor Mrs. Figg – she had been taken to the hospital just before Harriet had had the first symptoms.

“Are you still cold?”, he asked after he had placed it over her other blanket.

“A bit”, Harried admitted. She was still shivering, but she didn’t want to sound ungrateful. The man had been nice. For a kidnapper.
And just in that moment, she had to cough again, and thought of Aunt Petunia who would accuse her of attempting to look pitiful.

“I see ...” The stranger pulled a stick from his sleeve and pointed it at the fireplace. Blue fire appeared. Weird. “Are you hungry?”

Was she? The Dursleys never gave her anything to eat when she was poorly, because she might throw up and they didn’t want the mess.

The empty feeling in her stomach was so familiar that she hardly even noticed it anymore. “I guess, yeah.”

“Don’t get your hopes up, there’s only porridge.”

Harriet never got her hopes up anymore, so she wasn’t disappointed.

The Dursleys never ate porridge, so she had no idea if she liked it, but it was food.

Some time later, the kidnapper emerged from the kitchen and pushed a steaming bowl into her hands.

“I found some ginger. But it’s still just porridge.”

Whatever he had done to it, it tasted surprisingly nice. And it warmed her up. For the first time in what had felt like forever, she was almost comfortable. “That’s rather good, actually”, she said. “Don’t you like porridge?”

He shrugged. “It is food and serves the purpose. I was under the impression modern children did expect sugary cereal.”

“Maybe. Dudley sure does. I’m not like other children. I’m a freak. Just so you know. If you try anything, I might make the house explode or something.”

“You are not a freak.” He seemed to hesitate. “You can do magic.”

“Sure, that’s why I let Dudley bully me.” If she could do magic, she would turn Dudley into a pig, or something. No, better a guinea pig.

“Now, do not misunderstand me. You were born with the potential to use magic. You still have to learn how.”

That sounded all too good to be true. Like some made-up story a kidnapper would tell her to lull her into a false sense of security.

He could have drugged her.

“I do not usually live here in winter”, he changed the topic. “Except for the summer holidays I live at Hogwarts.”

“Hogwarts?”

He hesitated. “The boarding school I teach at. Since I cannot apparate us there, you need proper winter clothes first. I didn’t see any clothes in that cupboard ...?”

Apparate? Harriet decided to ask about it later. “They’re under the bed. Those that Aunt Petunia didn’t throw away when I got sick.”

“Why would she throw them away?”

“She didn’t want to get infected when washing them. So she put on gloves and dumped it all in the rubbish bin after I had changed into pyjamas.”

“And this doesn’t ... bother you? Didn’t you have a favourite dress or anything?” The kidnapper did not seem to speak from experience. He was dressed all in black and didn’t look like he cared what he was wearing as long as it was clothes and ‘served the purpose’.

“It is all Dudley’s old things, anyways.”

“Very well. Then nothing of sentimental value was lost. I will procure some adequate clothes for the situation. Do you have a favourite colour?”

“I like green. But only dark green.” Bright neon green made her deeply uncomfortable for some reason.

He nodded. “I will return as soon as possible. Is there anything you need before I leave?”

“Um. Could I have some more water, please?”

“Of course.”


Harriet knew she shouldn’t trust the kidnapper. But the porridge hadn’t been drugged, and she was thirsty. And she could flee while he was away.

If only she felt stronger. The food must do some good, surely? Perhaps she would be able to walk in a couple of minutes.


She drifted into uneasy sleep, then woke from a bout of coughing. How long had she slept? Would the kidnapper be back from his errands, soon?

He had seemed nice so far, but this all sounded much too suspicous. She had to get out of here and get help. Most people would probably take her to a hospital, which was a better than being with a kidnapper and also better than staying with the Dursleys.

Harriet forced herself to get up from the warm and comfortable couch, walked down the stairs one step at a time, and finally reached the end of the stairs.

Strangely, even after this small effort, she felt out of air. A short break, perhaps ... she sank to her knees.

When she woke, she couldn’t get air. Oh, she tried to breathe in, but it somehow didn’t work right.

It wasn’t like having a stuffed nose, because breathing through her mouth didn’t work, either. She could breathe but ... somehow it was never enough air ...

“Potter?! Where are you?”

Oh. The kidnapper was back. Harriet hit the floor with her hand. It hurt, but it did make some noise.

Perhaps the kidnapper would help her. Perhaps the vague hints he had made that she should be taken to a hospital meant that he would take her there.

And suddenly, he was there. “Breathe”, he pleaded. “Just breathe.”

Somehow, all the blankets Harriet had left behind were there, too. The kidnapper wrapped her in them and lifted her up in his arms.

Then there was that weird feeling again. Like being pressed through a too tight rubber tube. By now it didn’t feel so strange anymore, and fortunately, she didn’t feel like throwing up.

All of a sudden, it was really, really cold. Harriet took a deep breath. The air here seemed better, easier to breathe, but it still was not enough.

Trees seemed to move past. Or no, the man carried her past he trees.

It was a strange feeling, that someone actually cared if she lived or died. Somehow, she wasn’t so scared anymore.

The strange man would take care of things.

He paused to place her on a kind of stretcher, then pulled it behind him as he continued running.

Harriet still fought to get air.

She saw purple light explode on the clear blue sky.

Fighting for air for what felt like hours, and the stranger’s concerned face.

A old-ish woman looking at her.

Then, finally, she felt like breathing actually achieved anything. The woman turned her around. Strangely, lying on her stomach seemed to help, too.

“The bubble head charm? You use a simple bubble head charm?”, the man cried.

“Of course not. This is my own, improved version of the charm. The concentration of oxygen is much higher than in the standard spell. I also created a version that does not only cover mouth and nose, but the whole head, but where the concentration of oxygen is normal. I am using it right now, and so should you.”

“To prevent infection”, the man murmured. “I think I can infer how it works ...” He drew his stick – magic wand, Harriet suspected – and moved it in a way that seemed random, but Harried was now sure was everything but.

Magic!

So he had not lied to her. Not about that, at least.

“You will have to teach me the oxygen charm. But first, we need to take her to the hospital wing.”

Hospital. Hospital sounded good.

The woman frowned. “There is a problem with that”, she stated. “The hospital wing is overflowing.”

“Can it not be extended?”

“That is not the problem. Do you really suggest that we put Harriet Potter with the general student population?”

The strange woman knew her name? How was that possible?

“Ah, yes, that might pose a problem. Didn’t you have that separate room next to your office?”

“Currently taken by Professor Flitwick. And quite honestly, I am at the limit of my capacity as healer. There are just too many.”

Harriet closed her eyes, but tried to stay awake. She needed to find out if he had told her the truth about everything. It did sound like they really were at a school ...

“What? What happened while I was away?”

“Your predictions about the incubation time proved correct. I must to apologize, I should -”

“No need. It is not I who suffer from the consequences. And the neglect was not yours alone. Did you not, in fact, plead with the headmaster to act according to my predictions?”

“Yes – I thought you were just being pessimistic but thought it wiser ... I should not have let myself be talked out of it.”

“Very well. I can acommodate the girl in my personal quarters. Of course, you will have to wash her and help her into a clean nightgown ...”

“Hygiene is not a priority. And you are well capable of helping a child put on clothes.”

“She’s a girl, Madam Pomfrey! I cannot possibly ...”

“Fine. Step aside. I will make sure you won’t have to deal with any issues of female hygiene.”

Steps. The man walked away.

“Harriet? Can you hear me?”, the woman – Madam Pomfrey - asked gently.

She blinked and pretended to be just now waking up. “Madam? Who are you?”

“I am the Hogwarts school nurse. Don’t worry about that for the moment, dear. We don’t have much time, I’m afraid. I need to ask – do you have your blood moon already?”

What? Ah, right, magic people. Of course they had weird things. “Um. What is that?”

“Well, dear, when a girl becomes a woman, her body prepares for pregnancy each moon cycle, and ...”

“Oh, you mean my period. No, not yet. I hope, never.” Dudley and the other boys at school bullied her horribly because she had no breasts. They bullied the girls who already had breasts, too, and she didn’t even want to imagine asking Aunt Petunia for pads.

That same Aunt Petunia who had made sure Dudley didn’t go to school the days they had sex ed. She had kept Harriet at home, too, but unlike Dudley, Harriet actually read the school books and therefore had a good idea of what would happen. It was unthinkable to talk to Aunt Petunia about something like periods.*

“No need to be dramatic. Every woman has to deal with it. Just come to me when it starts, dear.

Why did she assume Harriet would still be here, then? “Okay.”

“I will put a spell on you that informs me when you need help”, the nurse informed her, and pointed a stick – wand – at her, mumbled an incatation and nodded, apparently satisfied with her perfectly invisible spell.

“All good”, she called over to the man. “Now, watch as I demonstrate the oxygen spell, I really need to be leaving, my other patients need me.”

Harried dozed off while they talked, comforting herself with the knowledge that she really couldn’t glean any useful information from things she didn’t understand at all.

When she woke, she was floating through a dungeon.

Now that looked more like a proper kidnapping!

However, the impression was ruined when the kidnapper said a nonsensical word and the dungeon walls parted to reveal what looked like a perfectly nice living room.

It was old-fashioned, with mahagony wood and dark green velvet. There was dust on every surface that wasn’t regularly used, Harriet noticed, and felt uneasy for a moment before remembering that no angry aunt Petunia could appear to scold her for it.

The kidnapper pointed his wand at the couch and said something in what Harried suspected was Latin, and suddenly ...

She must be dreaming! Magic, okay, but had he just turned the couch into a four-poster bed? Perhaps he had drugged her after all ...

In her dreams, that sort of thing often happened, but dreams were dreams. She was pretty sure she was awake, now.

“Miss Potter?”

Harriet didn’t react in time, only to see his face grow concerned. “Can you hear me?”

“Yes?” No one ever called her Miss Potter! The Dursleys mostly called her ‘girl’, and when they really needed to use a name, they used her full name or just ‘Potter’.


“Are you able to change into a nightgown by yourself?”

“I guess so?” She felt weak, as she always did when she was sick, but she had managed to walk down the stairs, so ...

“Very well.” He took something from his pocket, pointed his wand at it and it grew, and grew ... into a green nightgown.

“Here, that should be your size.”

She sat up and he handed it to her, then turned around on his heels to, seemingly, stare at a wall.

Huh. Weird.

Harriet pulled the pyjama top over her head, which wasn’t all that hard, considering it was Dudley’s, and put on the nightgown, which was a bit harder because it was actually her size.

Did kidnappers usually give you privacy? Harriet only knew about them what she saw on the TV when Dudley watched his favourite crime series. And of course Dudley had seen fit to inform her that kidnappers were mostly after girls, but he probably just said that to scare her.

Anyway. Normal kidnappers were rude? This one wasn’t exactly polite when it came to talking, but somehow, Harriet thought a typical kidnapper would leer at her and call her a pretty little thing in a creepy tone that implied he would later on threaten to cut off her nose.

So, while not exactly polite, the man was also not quite rude enough for a criminal.

And then there was the whole ... magic thing. The nurse seemed nice, and if she wasn’t lying, then the man must be telling the truth, too.

After all it would be pretty stupid to tell someone who was not a criminal that he had kidnapped a girl, right?

Except he totally had kidnapped her. He had said he was taking her away because the Dursleys were horrible, but Harriet knew how those things worked. Kind of. He should have called the authorities, and then some nice lady would come to the Dursleys and find out if they really mistreated Harriet, and ...

And Aunt Petunia would have told them that old story where Harriet was a freak and a difficult child, and the nice lady would have believed it because a woman with such a sparkly clean kitchen and an immaculate white couch in the living room could not possibly be the kind of person who mistreated children ...

Huh. It must have happened before, perhaps when Harriet had been too young to really remember. Why else would she be so certain that everyone would believe Aunt Petunia?

The teachers usually did, but ...

Well. Perhaps the stranger had been right to just kidnap her.

But he should have asked. If he had just asked politely ...

“Who are you, and why do you know my name?” She had intended to be more polite, but really, there was no nice way to word it.

For a moment, she was not sure if he would answer. He did not turn around. “My name is Severus Snape. As for the reason why I know your name ... I knew your mother.”

“I’m dressed”, Harriet informed him. In fact she felt better dressed in this than in Dudley’s old clothes.

The nightgown was very thick flannel, soft and comfortable, and the same colour as the furniture here. So the man – Mr. Snape – did have a favourite colour, after all! And it happened to be the same as hers.

“You knew my mum?”

He turned around. “Good. Now, get under the covers, girl, do I need to tell you everything? Will you trust me if I show you a photography of your mother?”

“You have a photo? I mean, yeah, sure.” Anyone could have a photo, in theory, but Aunt Petunia had been adamant that none existed, so perhaps not.

The bed was very warm and comfy, especially considering it had been a couch moments ago.

It was stupid to trust someone just because he had given her a nice warm bed, but it was tempting.

“Here.” Mr. Snape had walked to a bookshelf and opened a book. He took something out of it and pointed his wand at it.

Magic!

This time, Harriet didn’t see anything happen.

“This is a magical copy”, he informed her when he handed her the photo. “It will vanish upon my death, but for the moment, it should suffice.”

Harriet took the photo. There was a girl on it, not much older than she herself. “Wait, that can’t be ...” Oh, no, how silly of her! Of course her mum had been young, once. “So you really knew my mum? When she was my age?”

“Obviously.”

“She’s very pretty.” She was not the beautiful woman Harriet sometimes dreamt of, but a girl whom Harriet would have envied very much if she had met her at school. “She was very popular at school, wasn’t she?” She was smiling on the photo, in that carefree way of people who were never bullied at school, Harriet thought enviously. And she didn’t have any traits someone could bully her for. Like needing glasses.

“She was, indeed. Everyone liked her.”

“And ... did she bully the children who weren’t popular?” She knew TV wasn’t like, real-real, but the popular girls in the American series were always cruel to the ugly girl with glasses. At her school, it was only Dudley and the boys who bullied her, but you never knew.

“No. Your mother was never a bully.” Somehow, this sounded more true than anything he had said before.

“Good. Aunt Petunia told me my dad was an useless drunk, but that’s still better than a bully.”

“I knew James Potter”, Mr. Snape said slowly. “And for all I know, he never had an alcohol problem. He was well liked by many.”

**

Severus cursed himself. Why had he said that? If the girl asked, he would have to tell her the truth, and the truth was worse than Petunia’s lies.

But she didn’t ask. “I guess I somewhat suspected Aunt Petunia lied about them. She never wanted to tell me more.” She placed the photo on the bed, carefully away from where she was lying, and closed her eyes.

Severus transfigured the couch table into a nightstand and put the photo there.

What had he done? Dumbledore would have his head. As soon as he heard about it. Which was not likely to happen soon. Madam Pomfrey knew Severus often ran errands for Dumbledore, and had obviously assumed that taking the Potter girl to safety was one of those.

From her point of view, there was no urgent need to inform Dumbledore of anything. And with how busy she was, she would probably not have time for idle chatting anytime soon. Probably.

Severus sat down in his armchair. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Would have to do that sometime soon.

What a day.

Why had he taken the Potter girl? Because ... Petunia was not fit to care for a child. Yes, but, what was he going to do now?

He couldn’t keep the girl here. He was not any more fit to care for a child than Petunia was.

And he had to teach!


The girl seemed now fast asleep, lying on her stomach, her head to the side, with the glasses on. It looked rather uncomfortable. Severus raised his hand. “Accio glasses”, he whispered.

Slowly, as he had intended, the glasses moved away from the girl’s face and into his hand.

Without glasses, there was almost nothing of Potter in that face. Comforting, considering he would have to see quite a lot of that face in the next couple of ... weeks, probably.

And then? Dumbledore had defended his decision to give her to Petunia, but blood relatives or no, Petunia was just ... no.


Severus ascertained that the Potter girl was asleep, then tiptoed out of his rooms. He didn’t like going to the kitchens, all that attention from the house elves was a little too much for his taste, but there was no helping it.

It was just as bad as he remembered it. He was practically drowning in house elves. Good thing he had used Madam Pomfrey’s abridged bubble head charm, so that he couldn’t infect them. If the new virus could spread to house elves, and if it affected them similarly to children, he didn’t want to imagine the horrors.

And the fact that Professor Flitwick was in the hospital wing meant that people who were not fully human could catch the virus. And probably were more severely affected if they were small.

“I just want a sandwich”, he said in his strict teacher voice. “And in a couple of hours, a meal for a sick child will be needed. I trust you know what would be suitable.”

Did they ever. Especially those who were new to Hogwarts (their masters had probably perished in the recent war) had lists and lists of traditional recipes for just such an occasion.

“It’s a disease that affects the lungs”, he added, hoping that would reduce the number of recipes being debated, then fled the kitchen.


One of the few perks of being a teacher at Hogwarts was that the food was good. Even this simple, triangular sandwich was perfect in its own way. The lettuce and tomato were fresh, the cheese was ... whatever cheese had to be.

That he rarely cared enough about food to make himself some proper meal didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate good food.

Which reminded him ....

His rooms were a mess. At least the bathroom was clean. He had decided to allow the house elves in there after realizing that, left to him, it became rather disgusting rather quickly, and he couldn’t risk Dumbledore needing the bathroom on one of his visits.

The kitchen was filled with experiments for a potion to combat the new disease, as was, of course, his private laboratory.

And the living room ... well, it had gathered quite a bit of dust. He didn’t mind the dust and thought it quite sufficient that the house elves cleaned it in the summer holidays, but ... the child might judge.

And make fun of him.

Heaven forbid that she should see his bedroom.