The blazes from the few dim lit candles flickered slightly, causing the shadows to dance on the old tapestry. The darkness mastered over the light in that room, something that the resident enjoyed. In the middle of the room there was an old wooden armchair. Years ago, when the house belonged to the old snobbish family of the village, that armchair looked glorious with its carved back made of old oak wood that formed a beautiful and royal ‘R’. Nowadays the armchair would still looked majestic if its whole back was not viciously scratched and destroyed. For now, the ‘R’ was almost invincible; as if it was a disgusting spot that a housewife had scrubbed but had not managed to eliminate entirely.In that armchair sat a human being that caused horror to anyone that laid his or her eyes on it. That person looked human; and yet he was no human at all. His tall, and extremely thin, a skeleton that was covered with scale-like skin that seemed horrendous. Inside his sockets there were no ordinary human eyes. On the contrary the eyes inside the sockets were red, snake-like and venomous. With a small, almost unrecognizable nose he reminded nothing of the wizard or boy he was many years ago. No one would associate now that man with the old Lord Voldemort or the young Tom Marvolo Riddle. His new appearance satisfied him, because now he looked really like the powerful Dark Lord everyone was afraid of. Previously no one dared to utter his name out loud. Now, no one was going to dare even cast his eyes upon him. There were only a few minor details, and then, none could stop him from becoming the sole ruler of the World. Those details were called Muggles.

Lord Voldemort rubbed his hand against Nagini’s small triangular head making the snake hiss in satisfaction. Then the long serpent slithered away from his master’s seat and outside the room. The man smirked evilly. Nagini’s haunting activities had caused much fear to the villagers. They would wake up in the morning to find their dogs, cats and chicken slaughtered and eaten, their skeletons glowing because of the sun’s beams. Many of those Muggle buffoons had started moving away causing the village to transform, slowly, into a ghost town.

That was what he, the Heir of Slytherin, intended to do. He was going to haunt the Muggles, suppress them and finally eliminate them. And as for those few traitorous, low-life wizards that dared to go against him, he was going to haunt them and, after winning them, humiliate them by degrading them lower than a house-elf. No one was ever going to be safe from his wrath.

He looked around the room and frowned, before he started chuckling evilly. The Irony of Fate was great when it came in terms with Lord Voldemort’s life. His father had dared to abolish him, even before he was born, because of his ‘Nature’. And now, he was going to haunt and destroy his father’s lot. The best part was; that he, Lord Voldemort, was forming his catastrophic plans inside the house he was deprived off as a child.

A faint knock was heard and Wormtail entered the room quickly. The powerful wizard looked the approaching creature with mixed feelings. He would have loved to kick Wormtail, something it would erase that expression of a vermin from the smaller man’s face. Yet he couldn’t. For, unfortunately, he owed a small part of His Existence to that vermin, who had in fear returned back and took care for him when he was close to death. He had once wondered why Wormtail hadn’t abandoned him the moment he had saw him. After all, he was hopeless; he didn’t even have a wand to use. Someone could say it was loyalty. But He knew it wasn’t. Deep down, they both knew that Wormtail had nowhere to go and even if he had, he still feared of his Master’s Return, something that was inevitable. Because Voldemort knew that it was written in Fate’s book that He was going to rule the Wizarding World.

“Master,” Wormtail said interrupting his thoughts. “Master, Severus Snape asks to see you.”

Lord Voldemort motioned for Snape to enter and Wormtail rushed out. Severus Snape entered the room and bowed. It wasn’t really a bow. It was more like a slight, forward move of his torso. It was the way the Snape family used to bow. He had seen Snape Senior bow like this many years ago, and he saw Snape, the son, doing it now. Severus Snape, however, was different. He immediately presented to him the Potion he had been ordered to made and then stood up and waited for orders. Unlike Snape Senior, who used to be one of his closest mates in both school and life, Severus Snape seemed to lack something.

“Snape,” Voldemort said looking at Snape seriously, “I believe that you have proved your worth and loyalty so far by making the Potions that I, need. Yet, you rarely take parts in battles against those Muggle-protectors and you speak of them even more rarely. I was wondering whether you are on my side.”

Snape looked at the Dark Lord straight into the eyes, before talking slowly but without hesitation.

“If my Master believes that I am not worthy of his trust, then he can punish me as he pleases. Yet I am ready, at any moment, to follow his wishes and throw myself in battle. If his wish is for me to make Potions, I will brew them. If his wish is to attack, I will follow.”

Lord Voldemort examined the younger man carefully. The thing that troubled him was the fact that Snape’s head was always clear of thoughts. And yet, he was always ready for an answer.

“Yet, sometimes I do believe that you choose the protection of a cauldron than the heat of battle. So different from your father, who was always ready to fight for the Cause.”

Voldemort felt a pang of annoyance coming from Snape’s head but almost immediately the younger man recollected himself and he could sense no more. Severus Snape fell silent and seemed to wait for any comments or orders from the Dark Lord.

“I need you no more for the time being,” Lord Voldemort’s deep ice-cold voice said, “but, soon enough you will have more to do than stay behind a cauldron.” With those words he motioned to the other man to leave the room.

As the door closed, Lord Voldemort’s red irises kept staring at the flickering blazes of the candles. Though not positively sure, he could still sense that feeling of uncertainty creeping inside his veins. Severus Snape seemed less willing, now, to sink deep in the Dark Arts. So unlike Snape senior who breathed and lived for the Dark Arts. For that man, the Dark Arts, and his devotion to Lord Voldemort, were much more important than his family. After all it was in Snape senior’s plans to drag his son in the same path he had followed. And he seemed to have managed it so. Or didn’t he?

“So everything went alright,” Dumbledore asked Snape, who was sitting opposite him.

The black-robed man motioned his head in a positive manner and was about to stand up to leave. Yet Dumbledore talked before he could move.

“Yet I think you are hiding something from me, young man.”

Severus Snape raised his head and he was about to protest, when he met the Headmaster’s eyes. The old wizard was looking at him with concern and he could do nothing more than fall silent. Snape was not used to talk about his problems to anyone. He was the kind of a man that would keep everything inside until he would die out of a heart-attack. He closed his eyes trying to calm himself, while he remembered his meeting with the Dark Lord. Yes he was hiding many things. He was worrying. The Dark Lord had probably understood that his luck of enthusiasm meant that he was not as loyal as he said he was. He had tested him and had called him a coward, trying to weaken his spiritual defenses. And seeing he had failed, he tried to tackle him by referring to Him. The worst part was that he, Severus Snape, had almost lost his concentration at that point. For a moment he felt the Dark Lord’s attempts to penetrate into his head, but luckily he could bash him away quickly.

Dumbledore knew. But how could he speak? He didn’t want Dumbledore, or anyone else, to get all jumpy about his safety. He wasn’t a teenager. He was a bloody grown-up. After all no one ever got jumpy when he was truly a teenager. Nor did he want to talk about Him now. He; was a subject that hurt and ached and he was not willing to get into that part of the discussion.

“No Headmaster, everything is alright.” Snape said at last and left the room, leaving Dumbledore looking at him from behind his glasses.

As he closed the door and paced down the corridor and up to the stairs to Madam Pomfrey’s Hospital Wing a new worry came to add with the others in his head. In shock Snape stopped. He had thought how bad it would be for Potter if something had happened to him in one of the Death-Eaters meetings.

“Since when I care so much about Potter?”

The Potion Master of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry entered his chambers holding a very annoyed 13-month old. One thing was definite for Snape that Saturday evening. It was, definitely, not his day and Potter hated him. He knew that, he experienced that; and he was sure that everyone enjoyed watching him suffer. But this Saturday, the first Saturday of December, was the most embarrassing day he had ever experienced in his entire grown-up life. And this was entirely Potter fault.

FLASHBACK

Due to Madam Pomfrey’s advice it was time for baby Harry to start eating something more solid that the mashed food he was currently devouring. It was just Snape’s luck. The boy finally decided that he loved mashed food and they had to change his diet once again. To sum up with the bad luck, it seemed that baby Harry had decided that it was ‘Mischief Day’. Since it was baby Harry’s first ‘solid’ meal Snape chose to mash some potatoes. After all how much havoc can a toddler create with mashed potatoes? Snape soon found out that Potter was creative enough to cause much catastrophe to be remembered for years. And it all started by baby Harry’s demand.

“Me wans spoo!”

It is a fact that with a silly demand; comes a silly result. Snape gave baby Harry the spoon. Of course he had to admit that at first baby Harry behaved himself. Yet after a while the little toddler came to the decision that playing with food is much better that eating it. Baby Harry had evil deeds to perform with it.

“Ady!” the boy shouted happily. After a whole week of hearing this, it caused no real effect to the students anymore. Yet most of them turned around awaiting to see their professor getting into an uncomfortable position. And they did.

Snape at that point was having a rather interesting conversation with Professor Sprout about the uses of a newly discovered plant in Potions. He was still speaking to her when the little boy called for him. He turned his head round, still speaking, and found himself being muffled by a spoonful of mashed potatoes that baby Harry had fed him. At that moment Snape discovered that the combination of eating, talking and swallowing at the same time is not a successful one. He felt a small piece of a potato going down his throat as he was verbalizing an ‘O’. The consequence of that was the piece of potato going up his throat and then immediately down causing him to choke. Snape placed his hand in front of his mouth as a combination of splutters and little high-pitched noises escaped from it. He continued coughing, paying no attention to the laughing students. When he stopped he rubbed his teary eyes and he could not believe his eyes. While most of the professors seemed to try not to laugh, the Headmaster had covered his mouth and seemed to have fallen into a hysterical chuckling fit. Fortunately he had pretended to have dropped his fork and luckily the only ones to have seen him were the faculty.

Yet the real catastrophe happened a few minutes later. Baby Harry, who took the advantage to the fact that his guardian had once again stopped paying attention to him, took his spoon and threw some of the food to the back of a Slytherin’s head. The boy, who sensed the potatoes on his head turned around. Thinking it was one of the Gryffindors for the nearest tables, he took the closest piece of food he could find and threw it to the Gryffindors. A sixth-grader, who was currently talking to her boyfriend, was hit by it and attacked back. Someone called “Food-fight” and the rest was history.

END OF FLASHBACK

Snape touched the back of his head and removed a thick layer of custard someone had hit him with. Baby Harry, who was also smeared with pudding traces, was now in his guardian’s arms shouting:

“Me town! Me town!”

“Oh no Boy!” Severus Snape said calmly raising the boy to his eye-level. “What you did today was very, very bad.”

“Bad?” the toddler asked. Through the week he learnt that when his guardian did not want something, it was bad.

“Little good boys do not throw food to other people. After we both take our bath, I will give you your punishment.” Snape said seriously as he moved through the bathroom.

Yet there was a small detail that Snape had not considered off. What kind of a punishment does someone give to a 13-month old? While Snape was combing his long black hair he kept thinking of that. As a professor, the only thing he knew about punishment, except removing points, was assigning detentions. For a moment he pictured the little ‘green-eyed havoc’ holding a duster and trying to help Filch clean the windows. Yet there were two small details. Potter was too small, and Filch was a very bad detail to a baby’s karma. Then again there was always the good, old, trusted, essay-writing.

“Severus, I doubt that Potter can write a summary of one of Silvy the Unicorn’s Adventures. Even if he wants to!” Snape commented sarcastically to himself.

The hook-nosed man let out a sigh and whispered to the skies.

“What did I do to deserve this Fate? I am not a parent! I am a professor for Merlin’s Sake!”

He looked forward and frowned. His magical mirror, probably the worst one in the whole Magical World, had been teasing him again. Snape’s mirror image was holding a comb in his hand and pretended to sing, while he shook his head and body to an unheard imaginary tune. Snape harrumphed and stared at the mirror venomously. His image stopped abruptly. It was probably the fact that Snape was wearing the ‘I-Will-Break-You-To-A-Thousand-Pieces-If-You-Don’t-Stop-Doing-That’ look. Severus turned to his heels and was about to leave the room when he heard the mirror whisper.

“Party-Pooper!”

It was the moment he saw baby Harry that Snape smirked evilly. He had just found the perfect punishment for the boy. It was going to be strict, painful and would inflict no damage to Potter. He leaned down and scooped the baby boy, who was currently searching around for something interesting, and placed him inside the playpen. Baby Harry examined his environment and frowned. His eyes turned deep ink green, something that showed his anger.

“Out!” he shouted at his guardian and blew a raspberry, “Out! Out! Out!”

“Oh no young man! You are certainly not going to get out of this playpen for the next fifteen minutes. I want you to sit there and think of your actions.”

Snape watched as baby Harry pouted and turned his back to him. He suppressed a smile, while he heard the toddler whispering something under his breath. He guessed that this was “Mean daddy. Mean, mean daddy” and chuckled faintly. Yes, he was truly mean. Because there is no bigger punishment for a hyperactive, I-Want-To-Search-Every-Centimeter-Of-These-Castle, baby than having to crawl into a limited space.

Ten minutes later however, Severus Snape understood that punishment has to be given after a certain age. For baby Harry seemed to be unaffected by the whole ‘punishment’ experience. It was true that at first he felt extremely annoyed but later on he fell silent and started babbling to Bibi, as if he and the toy had invented a language of their own. Snape, of course, was amazed. It seemed, though he was reluctant to ever admit it out loud, that the boy had outsmarted him in that situation.

“Don’t be ridiculous Severus,” his ego popped in, “He is a baby. He has no real knowledge of what he is punished for. No Potter will ever outsmart you!”

The Potion Master heard little Harry’s giggles and shook his head. He leaned down the playpen area and took the boy into his arms. Yet, Snape was about to realize that putting the toddler into a playpen area was the biggest mistake in his entire life. As soon as his little legs touched the floor Harry literary ‘sprinted’ across the room. At first Snape was shocked. Maybe it was the fact that he could never imagine that the miniscule infant, who had so recently started to walk, to run so ‘quickly. But then something similar to horror overtook Snape. He had just remembered something. Infants know how to walk but they don’t know how to stop. And baby Harry was sprinting towards his chamber’s open door. He rushed in front of the boy expecting him to collide on him and stop. Yet Snape had forgotten a minor detail. He stood with his legs wide apart causing the toddler to sprint between them.

“This is getting ridiculous!” he sarcastically said to himself as he snorted and turned to his heel.

At that moment he stopped dead in fear. Baby Harry was ‘sprinting’ towards the stairs. His mouth started moving as if he was trying to say something but his brain would not allow him to.

“Stairs Potter! Stairs!” he finally squeaked; only to receive baby Harry’s excited giggles.

“Great, just great!”

Taking a deep breath, and adding to the fact that he still could not move his legs form the shock; he took out his wand and shouted the first spell he could think of.

“WINGARDIUM LEVIOSA!”

A white beam escaped from the tip of Snape’s wand and encircled the moving baby causing no effect.

“Oh Merlin, I am dead.” Snape thought instantly as he pictured himself trying to tell Dumbledore that the Boy-Who-Lived had turned to the Boy-Who-Tripped-At-The-Stairs-And-Broke-Every-Bone-He-Had. That, definitely, was not a nice Mental Image.

Yet at that moment baby Harry started flowing slightly. Snape, at that moment, felt his legs weaken from relief and found him self sitting on the floor, sighing in relief. He moved his wand and lowered baby Harry on his laps. He looked at the boy not knowing whether to thank Merlin, or put the ‘little menace’ into the playpen area once again as a punishment. Baby Harry looked at the man while his olive-green eyes shone in excitement The black-robed professor sighed. He was sure now. A walking Potter was threatening his sanity.