When Rose Parkinson interrupted the Potions class just before lunch, with a quick knock on the door before she opened it, Severus glared at her hard enough to bruise. But then he saw who she had by the hand, and his heart clenched, at the same time as he strode toward the two of them. Could he have not one morning where everything went as planned??

“Harry,” he said in a low tone. “What is the meaning of this?”

The boy looked up at him with confusion, one his hand firmly in Rose’s, and the other clutching his kneazle close to his chest. Severus noted that his clothes were in disarray, as if he'd been in a fight. To Rose then, he said, “What has he gotten into now?”

“I found him outside,” she said, almost whispering.

Nothing surprising there. Unless . . . “Was he alone?”

“No, he had an elf with him.” She looked behind her, as if expecting the creature to still be with them.

“Then I fail to see what the problem is. Why did you drag him inside?”

Rose’s gaze roamed the room quickly, and only when she saw the children – third years – keeping their attention on their potions did she continue, in an even lower voice, “He was talking to a snake. An adder.”

And just like that, Severus’s insides turned to ice, part abject fear, part horror. He remembered, when he’d first found Harry in the backyard of those Muggles, that he’d heard something like Parseltongue coming from just beyond his view, but he’d promptly forgotten those brief noises in the face of the utter depravity of the boy’s captivity. Now it all came rushing back.

And an adder. Of all things for him to . . . he could have been killed! Steeling his voice to measured calm, he said, “Thank you, Miss Parkinson. I will take it from here.”

“I just thought you should know.”

“Thank you, Miss Parkinson. That will be all.” His heart was threatening to beat its way out of his chest, and she wanted a medal?

Giving him a brief – yet almost crafty – smile, she released her grip on Harry and retreated from the room. That one would bear watching. And as for Harry . . .

“Could you sit over there for me, please?” he told the boy, and pointed at a chair near his desk. “Until this class is done. Then we’ll have lunch.”

“Yes, Father,” Harry said dutifully, though he still looked perplexed. As well he might; Harry had no idea of how frightening a prospect it would be to many wizards if he manifested the same odd, Dark power that Voldemort had. It would bring up far too many memories for most people, including himself. And he probably had no idea of the risk he had put himself, talking with such a poisonous snake as that.

Severus had almost turned back to his class, a snarl for them to “Pay attention!” halfway from his mouth, when he noted Harry’s gait was off. With a sigh, he said, “Harry, did you hurt your ankle?”

The boy’s head went down for an instant, before it came up again, and Harry did not meet his eyes. “N-no, sir?”

“Do not lie to me, boy.”

The tousled head shook wildly. “No, sir, I mean, yes, sir, I did hurt it, but I didn’t mean to, please!”

Keeping tight rein on his snappishness -- this was no time for the boy to temporize! -- Severus still gestured to the chair again, sharply. “Sit down!”

Then, before he could register the fear in his son’s eyes, he turned to the class. “Get this mess bottled up. You’ve had long enough. Anyone who did not complete their potion satisfactorily will turn in two feet on the uses of belladonna in calming potions by next class. Those whose potions are satisfactory, which should be every one of you, though I know that is much too much to expect, owe one foot. You should know who you are. If you don’t, you are beyond my help. Go now.”

They scrambled to obey, and Severus watched them carefully. It would not do for there to be an incident just because he was worried about Harry. He had a feeling – given the events of the last few weeks – that he was often going to be worried about Harry.

When the last of the little devils had gone, he turned back to his son. Harry was perched on the very edge of the chair, the kit – Treacle, was it? – held tight in his arms, with his cheek resting on her back, and his eyes wide, tracking Severus’ every move. The creature didn’t seem to mind the close contact, in fact she was purring if the sounds coming from the pair was any indication. The two of them made such a picture that Severus’ anger melted away, leaving only the overwhelming concern he had for the boy.

“Harry,” he said, after shutting the door and warding it for privacy. “Let me see your ankle.”

“’M’sorry, sir,” Harry said instead. His face was pinched with fear, but no tears fell from his over bright eyes. “I shouldn’t’a falled. Was an accident. Was just s’prised is all.”

“Harry,” Severus said again, and this time knelt on the floor in front of the boy. “I’m not angry. Please let me see where you’re hurt.”

Slowly, biting his lip, Harry held out the ankle that had been hurt once before.

Taking it carefully in his hands, Severus winced at the swelling. Parkinson should have brought him to the infirmary instead! “What surprised you?” he asked as he took off the boy’s shoe and rolled down the sock, as gently as he could.

“Rose. She said I could call her Rose. Do you think that’s okay, sir?”

Another wince for the realization that he had frightened Harry back into old habits. He pitched his voice to as mild a one as he could manage, low and soothing. “What are you supposed to call me, Harry?”

“Father. Sorry, Father.”

“It’s all right.” He cast a quick spell to bring down the swelling, and then another to see where the damage was. Merlin. That tendon was going to need more than his skill to repair, that was certain. Looked like another trip to Madam Pomfrey was in order. In the meantime, he immobilized the ankle and foot with an area specific Body Bind, which should hold it until after lunch at least.

First, he and Harry needed to discuss the morning’s events, and he had a free period just after lunch, so he’d bring the boy to the Medi-witch then. When his head was nudged by a soft, butting chin, he looked up into Harry’s green eyes, and at his face, almost hidden by white kneazle fur. He pushed he kneazle away from his cheek, but not with any rancor.

“We’ll have lunch in our quarters,” he said. “But I don’t want you walking on that ankle, so I’ll need to carry you.” He looked pointedly at Treacle Tart. “But I don’t give rides to kneazles.”

“S’okay, Father. She can follow us. She’s real smart, huh, Tree?”

Treacle seemed to agree, giving Harry a head butting, along with a substantial purr.

“So long as we understand each other,” Severus told the kneazle.

It stared at him, blinked slowly, then jumped out of Harry’s arms and looked up at both of them steadily, as if waiting for them to get a move on.

Shaking his head slightly at her antics, Severus scooped Harry into his arms, concerned once more than the boy felt too light by far -- weren't the House-elves making sure he ate properly? -- and walked them both back to his quarters. The kneazle stayed on his heels and darted through the door like she owned the place when he opened it.

Severus settled Harry on the couch, ordered up lunch for the two of them, and sat down in his favorite easy chair when it appeared. “Now,” he said quietly, once Harry had begun eating his apple slices. “Why don’t you tell me about the snake.”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “He’s real pretty, all gray and with zigzags and stuff on his back. I think he was going to look for voles. They hibernate, did you know?”

“I did know.” He paused, not sure how to approach this. “Were you just pretending to talk to him? You know, how you talk to your kneazle?”

“No, Father, it’s real! Tree doesn’t talk back through her mouth like the snake did. He said I'm the only one he's ever talked to, but he was getting ready to sleep, and then Rose scared him away, and that's when I fell over.”

Severus thought as much, but it was still a blow. “And have you spoken to snakes before?”

“Yes, Father. There was one in the garden at Spinner’s End, and one . . .”

“Yes?”

Harry’s face took on a different sort of mask. Hard, yet almost brittle. “I thought . . . I thought I was dying.”

Severus’ heart skipped a beat. “Explain.”

“At . . . at my . . . my Uncle’s. I was so hungry, and it had been a long time since I’d even got water, and I thought maybe boys could only talk to snakes when they were dying.”

“Just before I took you away from there, yes?”

Harry nodded, the slice of apple forgotten in his hand. His lower lip stuck out just a little. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t know I wasn’t s’posed to talk to snakes. I won’t do it anymore.”

With a sigh, Severus rubbed a hand over his eyes. “I have not forbidden you to speak to them. It’s a gift for wizards to be able to do so. I would ask, however, that you be a little . . . circumspect in your conversations.” At the boy’s confused expression, he added, “It means, you shouldn’t let everyone know you are a Parselmouth. Some people would not understand.”

Harry drew a slow breath. “Like with the Dursleys, and any magic.”

Snape's gut reaction was to tell the boy that no one and nothing would ever treat him the way the Dursleys had, but he knew that he could not make promises like that. Not and be honest. He knew -- as did Dumbledore -- that the Dark Lord would rise again one day, and that Harry would be caught in the thick of it again. The very idea chilled him, and yet, he knew it was true. Too, the world was a fickle place, and those who sang praises over Harry's success in the past would be just as likely to condemn him in the future.

Thus, against all desire, he admitted, “Similar, yes. You must pay close attention to who you allow to see your special powers. I also want you to be very careful when you decide to befriend wild creatures, Harry. The snake you were talking to today is poisonous and the venom from its bite could have killed you. Made you very sick at least.”

“Oh. But it wouldn’t have bitten me.”

“You don’t know that.”

“But it was nice!”

“Harry!” Severus took a slow breath. “Please. I don’t . . . I don’t want to lose you, son. Just please be mindful of the danger. There are all sorts of creatures around Hogwarts that are not nice, and will bite you, and poison you, given half a chance.”

A mulish expression stole over Harry’s face, and it angered Severus. How was he to keep Harry safe if the boy insisted on charging into dangerous situations with squids and snakes and who knew what else? “I am completely serious, Harry. You will obey me in this.”

Cowed, the boy nodded. “Yes, Father. I’m sorry.”

“Good. Now, eat your lunch. I’ll be in my lab. You are to remain on that couch until I return.”

“Yes, Father.”

---

Harry watched him go, feeling stupid and in the way and not hungry anymore. He was a freak, even among wizards. He should have known it was weird to talk to snakes, but he liked them, and they were nice, all the ones he’d met. But Father had said to be careful of them, ‘cause they might bite. Yet, how was he to know which ones would and which ones wouldn’t, unless he talked to them first? He buried his head in his arms and curled into the corner of the couch.

Treacle didn’t let him stay like that, but leapt onto the couch and butted at his arms with her head until he acknowledged her. He ran thin fingers through her fur, loving the softness of it. Sitting back up straight, he fed Treacle some of his lunch – she didn’t want apples, but did want the slices of sausage and the pepper crisps, and he poured a little of his milk onto the tray for her to lap up, then finished the rest of that.

And then he realized he had to go to the loo.

How long till Father came out of his lab? Harry wondered. He could hold his pee in pretty well, had learnt how at the Dursleys, but it had been hours since he’d been last. And he really had to go. The lunch was gone, the tray and plates vanished, and Treacle had curled up against his knee on the couch, cleaning her whiskers by licking her paws and then rubbing them over her face.

How much longer?

It got to the point where he was gripping himself hard to stop from peeing on the couch, and biting his lip, too, 'cause sometimes pain let him keep his mind of awful things, like what would happen if he went all over his father's couch. He rocked back and forth, eyes squinched shut. Please hurry, please, Daddy, please hurry, please . . .

Suddenly Treacle jumped down from the couch, and the sound of her paws hitting the floor startled Harry enough to make him lose control. Tears welled in his eyes, to run in hot streams down his cheeks, as warm liquid spilled into his trousers and dripped down his legs. Once the flow started, he couldn't stop it until he was empty and sopping.

Sorry, I'm sorry, oh Father, oh, sir, please, I'm so sorry, please . . .

---

Severus had lost track of time. This was not an infrequent event when he was engaged in making potions, especially one as tricky as the Fidelity Draught. His lab was soundproofed, of course, and spelled to stay as fume free and humidity controlled as he could make it, with various bubbling cauldrons always going. The lighting was good for his eyes, whether he was hunched over books of potions or those same cauldrons, and, all in all, the room was perfect for his work, allowing minimal distractions.

Indeed, when he noticed the time again, he realized he had spent not only the whole lunch hour, but also most of his free period in his lab, and he still had to set up the ingredients for his next class. It was a Gryffindor/Slytherin combined class of second year students, who he just knew he would have to watch over every second to make sure they weren't hexing each other or blowing up their cauldrons. He had less than ten minutes to finish up here and get it all assembled for them.

Thus, he was rushed getting out of the lab, practically tripping over that damned kneazle, who was scratching at his door, and rushed when he burst into the sitting room, and he was not inclined to be understanding when he saw the boy sobbing with his head down . . . and possessed of a rather pungent, all too familiar smell.

On the couch.

"Merlin's pants, boy! Don't you know how to use the toilet?"

The only response came through chattering teeth, Harry's head still down, and now covered by his hands. "Sorry, sir, sorry, please, I'll be good, please don't hurt me, m'sorry, sir . . ." over and over again like some sort of litany of his failures.

"Good grief," Severus murmured, and reached for the boy's arm, only then recalling the bad ankle, and how he was supposed to take Harry to the Infirmary, and now there wasn't time before he had to be at class, and where were those infernal elves!?

With a grimace, Severus grabbed the tops of both of Harry's arms and swung him up from the couch and carried him bodily -- though keeping the boy's small, wet form as far away from his own robes as he could -- down to the bathroom, where he plunked the boy on the floor in front of the shower.

"Nelli!" he called, and when the House-elf arrived, hiding her face in her hands much like Harry still was, he growled at her, "See that he gets cleaned up, then have Madam Pomfrey come down and take a look at his ankle. I'm late for class." He was half way out the bathroom door before he added, "And clean up that couch as well!"