Snape exhaled in frustration and snatched the boy up in his arms. Startled, Harry instinctively wrapped himself around the professor’s body, and as Snape marched steadily towards the fire, he gasped in fear and buried his face in the man’s neck.

Harry heard the professor snap out, “The Burrow”, but the rush of heat that he expected never came. Instead, there was a weird rushing noise and then suddenly the professor was walking forward again, then halting. Harry cautiously peeked out and saw two redheaded adults staring at him, expressions of utter shock on their face.

Encouraged, Harry straightened up and saw that they were now in a cozy living room, with magical toys and books scattered throughout the room, along with a multitude of family pictures. “Wicked!” he grinned. “That was amazing, Pr’fessor!”

Snape cleared his throat. What in Merlin’s name was the boy still doing in his arms? He’d run out of patience at the boy’s dithering – understandable though it might be to someone who was so new to the Wizarding World – and had snatched him up so that they might make it to the Weasleys sometime before Voldemort rose again. It hadn’t been out of a desire to protect or reassure the brat, but simply that the boy was still small enough to be bodily picked up and forced into compliance that way. When Potter had clung to him like some primate, he had been too nonplused to remonstrate with him. Besides, it had prevented the brat from inhaling soot and then sicking up all over Snape’s good robes.

Their arrival at the Burrow had created quite a stir. Snape would treasure forever the look on Molly Weasley’s face as he materialized through the fire with the Potter brat snuggled into his arms like some bloody infant.

Arthur recovered first. “W-welcome to the Burrow, Severus, Harry,” he said, only a faint tremor in his voice revealing his astonishment at the sight in front of him.

Snape would have liked to have sneered, but realizing he was acting in the capacity as a role model, he forced himself to reply civilly. “Thank you, Arthur. We appreciate your kind invitation. Harry,” he ordered sharply, giving the boy a nudge. Why isn’t he standing on his own two feet? “Say hello to the Weasleys.”

“H’lo, sir, ma’am,” Harry said shyly. He knew perfectly well that he was behaving like a toddler. Any self-respecting eleven year old would have scrambled out of the professor’s arms at the first opportunity, mortified at being treated like a small child. But Harry had never been treated like a small child, even when he was one, and he found he really rather liked the sensation of security that being carried in an adult’s arms provided. What’s more, he knew that once the Weasleys had a chance to talk to Professor Snape, they’d make it clear that eleven year olds were much too old for such coddling, so he figured this was his one and only opportunity to get carried like this. Besides, there were no other children around to witness his embarrassing regression, so to hell with it. He was staying put until Snape pried his fingers from around his neck.

Severus tried to put the boy down, but the little brat merely tightened his grip around his neck and clung harder with his legs. “Potter,” he hissed in the brat’s ear. “Get down.”

To his intense irritation, the boy gave him a cautious glance, then ignored him entirely. What on Earth had gotten into the brat? He’d not shown signs of intense shyness before, but then it wasn’t as if Snape knew him that well either.

“Er, shall we sit down?” Molly suggested, as the seconds dragged on and it became clear to the adults that Harry wasn’t going to get down voluntarily.

“Why don’t you take this chair? It’s the most comfortable one,” Arthur invited, indicating the lumpy armchair that Snape recalled all too well from his previous visit.

“Thank you,” Snape managed to get out from between gritted teeth. He sank into the chair, managing to maneuver the boy so that he was sitting in Snape’s lap. A Potter! Sitting in his lap! HIS LAP! Snape would never live this down.

Harry beamed, leaning back against the professor’s broad chest. He couldn’t believe that Snape hadn’t shoved him away. He’d never sat in anyone’s lap before, not even the department store Santa’s, since the Dursleys explained that Santa didn’t bring gifts for little freaks. He squirmed, finding a comfortable spot – the professor had rather bony knees – and looked around with interest.

Arthur Weasley had gotten over his original surprise and was now trying hard to suppress his mirth. He knew Severus Snape mostly from his work as the Order’s spy in the last war and his sons’ teacher. In neither incarnation had the man been anything other than menacing and grim. To see him now, awkwardly settling a child on his lap… Arthur wondered if the apocalypse were upon them.

Molly blinked and kept blinking. It just didn’t make sense. The Severus Snape she knew – or thought she knew, she admitted silently – would have no patience for a clingy child. Even if he hadn’t brushed him off with a stinging slap, which is what she would have expected, Molly would have anticipated Snape put the boy in his place with a few vicious, cutting insults. Instead, he had tolerated the boy’s blatant defiance – Molly had excellent hearing – and was even now rubbing the boy’s back reassuringly.

Severus fidgeted nervously. He hated social evenings. He was terrible at them, not to mention wholly inexperienced. Dumbledore had forced him to attend a few “parent-teacher” social events early in his tenure, but after he had reduced several parents to tears with his biting remarks about their children’s scholastic prowess, upbringing, and likely career path, even Albus had given up. Snape was given special dispensation to avoid all events which were likely to bring him into direct contact with parents, and so his social calendar for the past decade had been largely confined to Death Eater meetings. Spying and socializing were a poor mix, and even his fellow Death Eaters had quickly learned not to invite him over for dinner.

As a result, he felt like a gauche teenager at these things. What was he supposed to do? Was it his role as guest to make conversation, or the Weasleys as his hosts? Once again, he envied Lucius Malfoy’s effortless savoir faire. Say what you would about pureblood bigots, at least they all had exceptional manners. Not that they often chose to use them, but at least they could.

Dear Pureblood Monthly, he thought, what advice would you have for a half-blood Death Eater (retired) who is invited to dinner at the home of blood traitors and finds himself with The Boy Who Lived glued to his knee? Do I use a fish, butter, or steak knife to surgically remove the brat? Is it considered poor form to cut my own throat rather than suffer through such an excruciating evening? If not, which knife do I use? Is suicide considered more or less of a faux pas if you wait until after the meal has been served?

Snape cleared his throat. He had to say something. Anything. He glanced wildly about the room, seeking inspiration, and realized to his horror that in his nervousness, he had absently been patting the little monster.

Harry relaxed with a happy sigh as the professor gently rubbed his back. His muscles were still sore from all the Quidditch, and then he had tensed up again, worrying about the Weasleys. It was awfully nice of the professor to realize this and help calm him down. And he was doing it in front of the Weasleys, even! He wasn’t hiding how he felt or pretending one thing in public and something else in private. Wow. Harry was really lucky.

“So, Harry, how are you enjoying Hogwarts?” Mr Weasley asked, realizing that his normally voluble wife was, for once, shocked speechless by the sight in front of her.

“It’s brilliant!” Harry replied, smiling broadly.

“What’s been your favorite part so far?”

Harry glanced over his shoulder. “Meeting Professor Snape,” he answered honestly, turning back to his best mate’s dad.

Arthur did his best to ignore the choking noises which emanated from both his wife and guest at Harry’s reply. “Really? And why is that?” he continued, feeling that he were dropping ever further down the rabbit hole into some topsy-turvy alternate universe.

“’Cause he’s been really great,” Harry explained. “He’s taking care of me now, you know.”

“Harry, wouldn’t you like it if we took care of you?” Molly asked feebly. She kept her eyes on Harry’s face, ignoring both the deadly glare from Snape and the disapproving frown from Arthur.

Harry shrank back against Professor Snape’s chest. “Um…” He wasn’t sure how to answer. He didn’t want to insult his best mate’s family, and he did want to visit a lot – probably – but he didn’t want to lose Professor Snape either. Even if the Weasleys explained to the professor how the whole parenting thing should work, and stopped him from being so indulgent, Harry still liked having someone so big and scary looking out for him.

Molly shook herself. Harry’s body language said it all and, Merlin help her, Severus Snape had bristled with protectiveness for the boy from the moment he’d come through the floo. Obviously her preconceptions had been wrong. Harry was – amazingly – happy with the dour man, and she’d be damned if she would permit anyone, even herself, to interfere with his choice. Of course, if it ever changed, then she’d be the first one to snatch the boy away, but for now, it was clear that Harry was where he needed to be.

“Well,” she forced herself to inject cheer into her voice, “even if you don’t want us to take care of you all the time, maybe you’ll still be willing to visit part of the time?” She looked at him hopefully. “And of course, Professor Snape can come along whenever he wishes.”

Harry looked back at the professor again, seeking reassurance. If Snape was there too, that was different. He smiled at Molly. “That’d be nice.”

She sighed in relief. Then gasped. “My starters!” She bolted for the kitchen.

“Harry, other than Potions,” Arthur said with a wink, “what have been your most favorite and least favorite classes so far?”

“I think transfiguration is really hard,” Harry admitted, “even if it is taught by Professor McGonagall. She doesn’t give her own House any special treatment,” he said, glancing slyly at Professor Snape.

Arthur laughed, well aware from his sons of Snape’s preferential treatment of Slytherins. “Do you think that having your child in your class will be easy or hard, Severus?”

Snape choked again. His child? Had Weasley actually said that? He wasn’t so far gone as to miss how Harry straightened up proudly at the question. The brat was now beaming at him with – good grief! – a downright proprietary air.

“I have already put Mr Potter on notice that I expect a high standard of behavioral and scholastic excellence from my ward,” he finally managed to get out, though his usual sneer was marred by the tremor in his voice.

Harry sighed and rolled his eyes. “He’s awfully strict,” he told Arthur, leaning forward and lowering his voice confidingly. “I already owe him like 700 lines, and it hasn’t even been a whole week of school yet!”

“I’m sitting right here.” Snape poked the little brat irritably. How dare he refer to him in the third person! To his further annoyance, Harry giggled and Arthur chuckled. Obviously he needed to poke harder. Or maybe a good pinch…

“So what’s your favorite class?” Arthur continued, pleased at how Harry was relaxing. At least raising six boys made it easy to strike up a conversation with one.

“I like flying! We had our first class this afternoon,” Harry answered, his eyes shining. Molly, who had just entered with small plates of savouries, smiled as she saw his animation. She put down one plate in front of the child, just as he explained, with a guilty look at Snape, “I got into trouble though.”

“What happened?” she asked consolingly. “Did you fly too high?”

Harry squirmed. He hadn’t meant to admit this to the Weasleys. He didn’t want them to think he was a troublemaker or anything. “Madam Hooch had to take Neville to the infirmary, and she told us to stay on the ground, and I sort of didn’t listen.”

“Harry James Potter!” Molly scolded in a voice that even Harry recognized as a mum’s “you are in big trouble, young man” tone. “That was very dangerous!”

“Particularly when he nearly smashed against the castle wall in an effort to rescue a silly trinket,” a silky voice put in from behind him, and Harry turned to look reproachfully at his professor.

Snape smirked. That would show the Weasleys that Prince Potter wasn’t such a little angel after all.

Sure enough, Molly looked even more concerned. “Harry! Wasn’t that your first time on a broom? What if you hadn’t been able to stop in time? You could have been hurt! Promise me you won’t do anything so foolish again, or I won’t be able to stop worrying about you.”

Harry hung his head, but inwardly he was exultant. All of these people were worried about him! Even as they were scolding him, it was because they were worried he might have gotten hurt. This was great! “I promise,” he said, as Molly reached out a gentle hand and tipped his chin up. He smiled into her anxious eyes. She really liked him too!

“I won’t do it again, honest,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Professor Snape saw and he was really angry! He smacked me and everything.”

Abruptly the temperature in the room dropped several degrees, and Snape groaned internally as both Weasleys leveled angry glares at him. He glared right back. He wasn’t about to explain himself. Let them go yell at Dumbledore if they wanted to challenge his guardianship.

“Hmf,” Molly huffed, giving him the evil eye. “Harry, dear, would you like to help me bring in the drinks? Butterbeer tends to fizz if it’s accio’d.”

Harry nodded agreeably and hopped off Snape’s lap. Mrs Weasley was as nice as he remembered, and Mr Weasley seemed nice too. Maybe they wouldn’t tell Professor Snape to be too hard on him.

“I see he’s gotten into trouble already,” Arthur said quietly once Harry had left the room. “Are you having second thoughts?”

Snape wasn’t about to admit anything to a Weasley. “I hardly expected an eleven year old child to be a model of perfect decorum.”

“It sounds as if you’ve made that clear to Harry as well,” the older man commented neutrally.

Harry and Molly returned at that moment with the drinks, and conversation resumed, mostly about the elder Weasleys’ memories of Hogwarts and their adventures there. Harry listened happily, delighted to learn more about his new school, while Severus glared at his butterbeer and longed for the evening to end.

When they moved to the dinner table, groaning beneath enough food to feed an army – or the entire Weasley clan – Harry hung back.

Snape glared at him, but when the boy didn’t join them at the table, he stepped over to him. “Whatever is the matter?” he demanded impatiently, keeping his voice down. “Do you need the loo?”

Harry shook his head. “Where should I go?” he whispered.

Snape frowned in confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Do I go into the kitchen? I could start washing the pots if I do, or do the Weasleys want me to wait in the living room? Or maybe Ron’s room?”

“What are you talking about?”

Harry sighed. Sometimes grownups, even Professor Snape, could be really slow. “While you’re eating. What do I do? Back at the Dursleys, I always was sent to my cupboard when there were guests over for dinner, but I don’t know where to go here. Should I go to Ron’s room to wait, or do you think I should start cleaning the kitchen?”

“You are to join us at the table,” Snape said, too taken aback even to insult the child. “You were invited to dinner, not to watch the adults eat while you act like a house elf.”

“But… You mean, I get to eat with you? Together?” Harry’s jaw dropped. He’d been surprised and pleased when he’d been allowed to join the adults for butterbeer and nibbles. He’d never imagined that he’d actually get to sit at the table for the meal.

By now, their whispered tête-à-tête had captured the Weasleys’ attention. “Everything all right, Severus?” Arthur asked, while Molly eyed Snape distrustfully. Harry’s offhanded comment about the smacking had rekindled all her doubts.

“Yes,” Severus replied in a tone that dared them to challenge him. He dropped a hand to Harry’s shoulder and pulled him along, speaking quietly. “You are to sit at the table and comport yourself like a gentleman. Watch me or the Weasleys if you are uncertain how to hold your utensils, and do not bolt your food like a ravenous beast.” Snape added that last, having remembered what Ron looked like at the Gryffindor table.

Harry dazedly took a seat at the table. This was unprecedented. He cast an uncertain look at the Weasleys, more than half-convinced that Severus had made a mistake and they would send him from the table. But Arthur was smiling at him, and Molly was already passing him the basket of rolls. Harry took one and his resulting radiant smile brought tears to Molly’s eyes.

Harry did quite well, all things considered. He watched Snape carefully, and the professor slowed down his movements, making it easy for the child to mimic him. The Weasleys immediately spotted what was going on, and even Molly began to think she’d been mistaken. Then Harry tried to lift the platter of roast beef and winced.

“Are you hurt, dear?” Molly asked worriedly. “That’s too heavy. Arthur, help him with it.”

“Thank you,” Harry said politely, spearing a piece of meat as he’d seen Professor Snape do.

“Are you all right?”

“Yeah,” Harry said cheerfully. Snape flinched, knowing what was coming. “I’m just still a little sore.”

“Sore!” Molly repeated with a rising inflection, her eyes fixed furiously on Severus. Naturally enough, having heard that Harry had been punished earlier in the day, she leapt to the conclusion that he was referring to the aftermath of that punishment. “You’re still sore?”

“Yeah,” Harry agreed, completely oblivious to the currents swirling around him. “Professor Snape says it’ll take a while until I’m used to it. He gave me some balm for my backside though. That’s even more sore than my back and arms.”

Arthur took one look at his wife’s face and was on his feet, pulling her into the kitchen. “Er, Severus, would you give us a hand. Just keep eating, Harry,” he instructed calmly, “we’ll be right back.”

The instant the kitchen door had closed behind the adults, Arthur cast a silencing spell over the room. He was just in time. “USED TO IT? YOU EXPECT HIM TO GET USED TO IT? THAT’S IT! I’M CALLING DUMBLEDORE RIGHT NOW!”

Snape rubbed his forehead. Theoretically, if this were happening to someone else, it could be seen as quite amusing. Given his role in the drama, however, he found it more than a little annoying. “You have misunderstood the situation,” he told Molly, not really expecting her to listen.

To his surprise, she paused. “How so?” she demanded. “Are you saying you didn’t strike that child? That poor, defenseless child?”

“That poor, defenseless child nearly smashed his miniscule brains to paste against the castle walls! He deserved to be punished.”

“Then let his Head of House punish him! What do you mean by intervening and then punishing him so that he is still sore hours later? What in Merlin’s name did you do to that boy? His back, his arms, his bum – if Albus doesn’t call the Aurors, I will!”

“He’s not sore from his punishment, you ridiculous woman!” Snape snarled. “He’s sore from Quidditch. Minerva McGonagall saw his flying and promptly claimed him for her House team! She subjected him to a two hour tryout, and that is why he is sore.”

“That is the most ridiculous excuse I have ever heard!” Molly retorted. “Have you forgotten that I have seven – SEVEN – Quidditch obsessed children? I know perfectly well that first years don’t play on House teams. Do you have any idea how many complaints about that rule I have heard over the years? Including this year?”

“Madam, you may think me capable of brutalizing a child, but do you really imagine I would be stupid enough to beat the boy and then bring him here to tell you about it?”

To his mingled gratification and offense, that made her pause. “Well, no. Actually, that doesn’t make any sense,” Molly admitted. “And your behavior when you arrived… But I am not taking any more chances with that child’s well-being. You told me yourself that Dumbledore placed him with abusive Muggles for the last ten years, so why should I believe that he’s done better this time?”

Snape was annoyed to realize that he actually had common ground with a Weasley. Worse, she was a formidable opponent, and one that could come in very handy in his future battles with Dumbledore (and McGonagall) over the boy’s upbringing. Obviously he had to co-opt her to his side. His Slytherin instincts kicked in.

“Answer a question for me,” he said abruptly, startling both Weasleys by the change in subject. “If Ronald had disobeyed Madam Hooch and engaged in life-threatening aerobatics, but also displayed remarkable flying ability, what would you have done?”

The Weasleys exchanged a glance. “Scolded him until his ears were ringing, sent him to bed without supper, confiscated his broom for a week, and then tried to find the money to get him extra flying lessons,” Arthur answered for both of them.

“Would you have permitted him to join his House team, assuming an exception was granted by the Headmaster?”

“Yes,” Arthur nodded.

“Would you have permitted him to join his House team without punishing him?”

“I should say not!” Molly huffed.

Severus nodded. They would do. “Very well. I believe this co-parenting idea may work.”

“I beg your pardon!” Molly interrupted hotly. “I was about to call the Aurors!”

“You are operating under a misapprehension. Minerva wanted to ignore everything except the boy’s flying prowess – oh, beyond a token chastisement. I made it clear that that was unacceptable. I did not however,” he added hastily, “injure the boy. He received two swats, one for disobedience and one for putting himself in danger, as well as lines and an essay. He then went to the tryout and was pummeled mercilessly. Of course he is sore – they kept him on an unfamiliar broom for two hours forcing him to catch the snitch over and over.”

Molly paused, considering his words. She still had a suspicious look on her face. “You expect me to believe that Minerva McGonagall was willing to overlook deliberate disobedience in one of her lions?”

“Have you seen her expression when she looks at the House Cup?” Snape asked wearily.

“Well, yes…” Molly hesitated. “But what about your treatment of the boy, Severus? I’ll not have him pay the price for his father’s treatment of you!”

Snape flushed. How dare this witch sit in judgment of him? “Oh, and you’re not trying to atone for your own disregard of him for the past ten years? I thought you were so close to the Potters, yet you were obviously too busy with your own children to spare a thought to the welfare of their orphan.”

Molly gasped. “That’s a terrible thing to say!”

Snape smirked. “A little truth hurts?”

“You greasy haired bat –“

“You fertility goddess-wannabe –“

##

Once he had felt reasonably certain that Molly and Severus would not hex each other into oblivion, Arthur let himself out of the kitchen and rejoined Harry at the table.

“Did I do something wrong?” Harry asked worriedly, looking over to the quiet kitchen.

“Only in flying class, from what you tell me,” Arthur replied easily, reseating himself and putting a few more vegetables on Harry’s plate.

The boy made a face but obediently started eating them.

“Harry, I don’t think I quite followed what you were saying before. Why are you sore?”

Harry looked up in surprise, broccoli dangling from his fork. “Didn’t I say? I made the Gryffindor Quidditch team!”

Arthur’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “As a first year? You’re joking!”

“No, honest!”

Arthur looked at him, then asked a shrewd question. “Is Ron chuffed for you, or green with envy?”

Harry had to laugh. “A little of both, I think. I didn’t have much time to explain stuff to him, because I had to hurry to come here.”

“It’s been a very long time since a first year was allowed on a House team, Harry. You must be very good. Had you flown much before coming to Hogwarts?”

Harry proudly shook his head. “Not at all. Oliver Wood, he’s our captain, he and Professor McGonagall tested me for like two hours this afternoon. They had me fly and chase stuff over and over and over. But at the end, they said I could be on the team, since Professor Snape said it was okay. When I finally was able to get off the broom, I felt like I’d gotten smacked with the world’s biggest hairbrush. I’d never been on a broom before, see. My relatives – “ he looked awkward “- they don’t like magic.”

“Some Muggles are like that,” Arthur said comfortably, and Harry relaxed again. “Well, that explains why you’re so sore. I think if I had just spent the afternoon in Quidditch tryouts, I’d be lying on the couch moaning.”

Harry laughed. “Professor Snape gave me a potion – it tasted awful, but it made me feel better right away. And he even rubbed my sore muscles until they didn’t feel so bad.” He looked anxiously at Arthur. “What are you going to tell him?”

“Who? Severus?” Arthur didn’t understand. “About what?”

“About how to raise me. He does a lot of stuff he shouldn’t,” Harry admitted unhappily. “Are you going to tell him to stop?”

Arthur threw a glance at the kitchen door. No sign that they were about to be disturbed. “I could tell him to stop,” he agreed carefully, lowering his voice and leaning towards Harry. “What does he do that he shouldn’t?”

Harry gulped, feeling tears gather. He knew it wasn’t fair of him to take advantage of the professor’s ignorance, but he dreaded the thought of losing the gentle touch, the cuddling, and the light swats in favor for more orthodox shouting and whacking and being told to act his age.

“Harry?” Arthur’s voice was soft. “What should the professor stop doing?”

“I – I guess you should tell him about real punishments,” Harry choked out, wiping away a tear. “He doesn’t really get that.”

“What do you mean? How did he punish you earlier today?”

Harry looked at Arthur fearfully. The man seemed nice, but would he punish Harry all over again? This time for the disobedience towards Madam Hooch?

“Harry?” Arthur’s voice was gentle but insistent.

“He- he just said I had to write some lines and an essay,” he admitted, lowering his gaze. “But that’s just going to help me practice my handwriting. And I’m supposed to write the essay in his quarters, so I get to spend extra time with him. He doesn’t realize that punishments are supposed to hurt.” He sniffled back more tears. “I’m sorry that I didn’t tell him. Please don’t be too mad. Are – are you going to have him punish me again, but show him how to do it right this time?” He waited bleakly for Mr Weasley’s stern agreement.

Arthur sat there and blinked. Harry was worried that Severus Snape, whose name alone was enough to scare the pee out of several years of Hogwarts’ students, was unfamiliar with fearsome punishments? That he, Arthur Weasley, was going to teach Severus how to really discipline a child? His own kids were more scared of Snape than they were of him. Even Ginny, who had never met the man, was leery of Snape through the tales of her brothers, but viewed her own father’s stern scoldings with maddening calm – or artful penitence.

“But Harry, I thought you said he spanked you.”

Harry sighed. “He doesn’t even smack right,” he confessed. “He thinks it’s not supposed to hurt, just show me that he’s really mad. He says that if he wanted to hurt me, he’d use magic, but then he said he’d never do that, so that means he’ll never really hurt me, not even if I’ve been really bad.” He forced himself to look at Arthur. “I know you have to teach him how to really smack – you know, so it hurts and all – but please, could it not be too hard? I mean, I know Professor Snape can hit as hard as Uncle Vernon, but he thinks that’s wrong and he said he won’t ever do it again. So maybe you could just tell him to hit harder than he does now, but not as hard as he could. Please?”

“Let me be sure I understand this,” Arthur said, once again feeling like he was in an alternate reality. “Severus has told you he won’t use magic to hurt you.” Soberly, Harry nodded. “Did he talk about anything specific, like stinging hexes or Crucio? Or did he just say he wouldn’t use magic at all?”

Harry frowned. “He just said if he wanted to hurt me there were spells that would do that, but that’s not what adults are supposed to do.” He sighed. “He really doesn’t understand. Every time I do something bad, he does something nice. Like when I told him I hadn’t known to buy good clothes when I was in Diagon Alley, he just said he’d take me shopping instead of punishing me for being stupid. And when Draco and I disobeyed Madam Hooch, he was madder about me maybe getting hurt than about my not listening to a teacher.” Harry bit his lip as he watched Mr Weasley’s expression. The man’s face was all twisted up in bemusement. He must not have realized how much help Professor Snape needed.

“So Severus said he won’t hurt you with magic. Any magic. And he also said he won’t hit you hard?”

Harry nodded again.

“When he swatted your bum today – “

“It didn’t hurt. Not for more than a few seconds. He didn’t even put me over his knee or anything. He just sort of reached around and gave me a little slap,” Harry acknowledged sadly, wishing he didn’t have to betray the professor’s ineptitude. Poor Professor Snape! Mr Weasley would think he was a real no-hoper.

“You’re worried that I’m going to tell him that he’s supposed to smack you a lot harder?”

“I know you have to teach him how to be a dad,” Harry explained, trying not to cry. “But I like that he lets me hug him and he didn’t even get mad when I got snot all over him from crying. And he lets me act like a real baby sometimes without telling me off. Like when he carried me through the floo thingy, he didn’t make fun of me or anything. I know you’ve got to tell him to stop all that, but –“

“Harry.” Arthur interrupted. “Is there anything that Severus does that you wish he didn’t do? Anything that makes you sad or hurts your feelings or makes you uncomfortable?”

“No, sir.”

“He doesn’t say anything strange or touch you in certain places or have secret games that you’re not allowed to tell anyone about?”

Harry frowned in bewilderment. “No, sir.”

“He doesn’t harm you in any way? Your only worry is that he’s too nice to you, and I need to tell him to stop that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Because he doesn’t hurt you or insult you or make you feel stupid or unsafe?”

“No, he makes me feel safe,” Harry protested. “And he said if anyone tries to hurt me, even an adult, I can protect myself.” A half-smile tugged at his lips. “I guess you’ll need to tell him that you and Mrs Weasley c’n whack me.”

“Harry, I think you are confused about something,” Arthur said slowly. “It’s not Severus who has the wrong idea about being a dad. It’s you.” Harry looked at him in confusion. “Dads aren’t supposed to hurt their children. If you ask Ron, I think he’ll tell you that he’s not scared of me or his mum. That we don’t hurt him. That we often urge him to stop trying to act so grown up. That no one is allowed to attack him. All these things that Severus has told you – they’re true. He’s being a good dad. There’s nothing I have to teach him.

“In fact, it’s probably true that he can teach me a few things, because there have been times when I have lost my temper with Ron and the others. I probably have given them swats that hurt longer than a few seconds or said something that hurt their feelings or made some other kind of mistake. And Harry, it may be that as Severus takes care of you, he makes a few mistakes too. But I bet that if you remember that he’s doing his best to be a good dad, and you keep trying to be a good son, then the two of you will do just fine.”

Harry’s mouth was open in shock. “You mean it? He’s doing it right? But Uncle Vernon said –“ he gasped and both hands flew to cover his mouth. “Don’t tell Professor Snape I said that!” he begged. “He’ll go spare!”

Arthur couldn’t help but smile at Harry’s agitation. “Will he really?”

Harry nodded vehemently. “He’s really mad at the Dursleys, and he says that what they told me is worse than any bad word I could say. I’ve already got to write 500 lines about them being stupid liars, and he said if I quote them again, he’ll wash my mouth out with soap.” He glanced over his shoulder at the kitchen door. “I don’t think he’d really do it, but I don’t want to find out.”

Just then the kitchen door flew open, and Molly and Severus stormed out. Arthur was pleased to see that both were still standing and no blood was visible.

Harry, taken aback at the sudden resumption of noise as the silencing spell was canceled, jerked in surprise, and his hand knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice. Molly reached over his head to grab it, and Harry flinched violently. Everyone froze.

I’m such an idiot! Harry thought miserably. He knew – well, he was pretty sure – that Molly hadn’t been going to hit him.

Arthur and Molly exchanged shocked looks. The Dursleys’ treatment of Harry had to have been worse than they imagined for him to have such ingrained reactions.

Then the silence was broken by a calm voice. “Excellent reflexes, Mr Potter. As I told you, I expect you not to just sit there and let someone harm you. You moved out of the way quite speedily. I’m glad you are following my instructions so well. Next we will work on distinguishing friend from foe, but I’m certain Mrs Weasley was impressed by your ability.” And with that, Snape reseated himself.

“Er, yes, Harry, dear,” Molly agreed. “That was very well done.” She slowly moved to right the glass and a quick wave of her wand vanished the spilled juice.

Harry straightened up and sent a look of gratitude to Severus. Leave it to the professor to save the day! Now the Weasleys wouldn’t think he was weird or stupid – they’d understand that he was just practicing. He smiled up at Mrs Weasley. “Dinner was really great,” he told her.

She cupped his chin in her palm and looked deep into his eyes. “I’m very glad you enjoyed it, Harry.” She planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. “Did you save room for pudding?”

He grinned. “Yes, ma’am!”

“Let me help you with that,” Arthur said, and the two vanished back into the kitchen.

Harry looked after them thoughtfully. Adult wizards certainly seemed to like spending time in the kitchen. “Sir?” he said to Snape.

“Mm?” Snape was prodding his cold dinner with a distinct lack of enthusiasm.

“I like the Weasleys.”

“Hmf.” Snape did his best to ignore the cold chill the words sent up his spine.

“Do you think they like me?”

“I’m quite certain they do,” he replied with as much disinterest as he could muster.

Harry beamed. “Good!” Now that he didn’t have to worry about Arthur turning the professor into Uncle Vernon, he was enjoying this visit a lot more.

“Sir?”

“What?” Snape snarled.

“Will we be able to go soon?”

“What?” This time, Snape didn’t sound impatient, he sounded stunned.

“I like it here,” Harry hastily explained, “but I just thought if we could leave soon, then maybe I could stay in your quarters for a while. Before going up to the Tower.” He glanced at the professor from under his fringe, assessing the man’s response. “I could do some of my lines,” he offered.

“You can do those in the Gryffindor Tower,” Snape pointed out, eyeing the boy. What did the little brat want? Why on earth was he willing to leave the Burrow in order to linger with Snape in the dank and clammy dungeouns?

Harry pouted. “I want to have some time with just us,” he admitted. “Unless you’re still mad at me?”

Snape decided that the warm feeling in his chest must be heartburn from Molly’s cooking. After all the shouting, the two had finally reached a somewhat tentative truce, though Snape still didn’t quite understand how.

After several minutes of hurling insults at each other, she had abruptly burst into laughter, hugged him (!), and said, “I begin to understand what Lily saw in you, Severus! There aren’t many men who can hold their own against a redheaded witch.”

He had no idea what a woman’s hair color had to do with his own parenting ability, but it seemed that she had decided that he was in fact treating Harry well. She had even accepted his word that he hadn’t beaten Potter to a jelly – in her place, he would have insisted on physically examining the boy, but she hadn’t even suggested it. Instead, she muttered something about Harry’s body language and dropped the subject.

Heartened by her unexpectedly conciliatory attitude, he had rather uncomfortably explained the situation with Harry’s wardrobe and inquired as to what a normal eleven year old boy should have in his closet. She had promised to owl him a list, and when she heard of his plans to take the boy on a shopping spree, she had begun to grin. “Tell me again how much of a burden you consider Harry, Severus?”

“Do not project your maudlin sentimentality onto me,” he had snapped. “I am merely ensuring that the brat’s material needs are adequately addressed.”

“Hm. So you’re not planning to stop by a Quidditch shop then?”

He colored. “I fail to see what relevance that question has to the issue of the boy’s clothing. If I choose to purchase some – additional items – for the child, it is merely to ensure that he does not get up to mischief while he is in my quarters. I will not have him idle and looking for trouble.”

“Ah. That sounds quite plausible. Keep practicing,” she smirked, and he had fled – er, stormed out of – the room.

After all this upset, it was therefore no wonder that the food was upsetting his stomach. Though the warmth wasn’t actually uncomfortable. Quite the opposite, in fact.

“No, I am not still mad at you for your dunderheaded stunt,” Snape told the brat. “You have been punished, have you not?”

“Sort of. I mean, I still owe you the lines and essay,” Harry pointed out.

“Then perhaps it is appropriate for you to stay in my quarters until curfew and get started on your punishment,” Snape said austerely. Obviously the little monster would need constant supervision.

Harry grinned down at his plate. Ha! He’d gotten him to agree. “You’ll be there, right?” he said, suddenly panicked as a thought occurred to him. “You’re not going to go away to make a potion or anything?”

“Potter, you do not ‘make’ a potion, you ‘brew’ a potion, and if you think I will leave you to roam my quarters unsupervised, you are sadly mistaken. You will remain in my immediate presence until I am confident that you know how to behave yourself to my satisfaction.”

“Will you show me how to hold a quill?” Harry pressed. “I mean, if you’re going to have to read all the lines, you should help me write good.”

“Write well, Potter,” Snape growled. What did Muggles teach in their schools these days?

“Well. Will you?” Harry begged. “Please?”

“Oh all right, Potter. If only to stop your incessant whining,” Severus snarled.

Molly and Arthur emerged at that point. Both looked very happy and rather amused, much to Harry’s bewilderment and Severus’ annoyance. Harry demolished three helpings of chocolate pudding and only declined a fourth when Severus gave him a glare combined with a sharp tap on the ankle.

“So, Harry, would you and Severus like to come back for dinner on Saturday? We’ll have the whole family over at that point, and we can talk about making you honorary members of the family,” Arthur announced.

Harry perked up happily, but Snape choked on his last bite of pudding. “Me!” the Potion Master finally managed to wheeze. “An hon-hon –‘

“Well, of course we’re talking about both of you,” Molly said, an evil glint in her eye. “You’re a package deal, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” Harry agreed quickly. “Right, Professor?”

Snape subsided into incoherent splutterings which the rest of the table optimistically took as agreement.

“Don’t mention anything to the boys, Harry,” Molly instructed. “We’ll be bringing them all home tomorrow night to explain everything, then you two can come on Saturday and perhaps you’ll stay overnight with Ron and the others.”

“Like a slumber party?” Harry asked hopefully. He’d never been to one, but he’d heard kids at school talking about them.

“Yes,” Molly agreed. “Just like that.”

Harry looked over to where Severus looked like he was chewing on his napkin and decided now might not be the best time to ask permission. “I’d like that,” he said honestly. “Thank you.”

“We’ll be glad to have you here, Harry,” Molly said softly. “Before you leave, do you want to take a wander around the house?”

Harry glanced at Severus and receiving a nod, he shot off.

“I suspect that Fred and George may find they’ve met their match in Harry and Ron,” Arthur said, hoping to change the subject to something that was less likely to infuriate their guest. “I understand from Harry that you’ve made it clear he’s not to be bullied or picked on.”

Snape nodded, looking grim. “His Muggle cousin used to do something called ‘Harry hunting’, and his parents prevented any retribution. I have made it clear that he is no longer bound by those rules.”

Arthur looked weary for a moment. “Considering that there are wizards out there who truly are ‘Harry hunting’, that is a lesson he needs to learn quickly and well.”

Molly looked at the two men. “Do you think it’s starting up again? We’ve had ten years of near silence…”

Snape raised on eyebrow. “Silence doesn’t necessarily mean there’s nothing out there.”

“I know. But he’s such a small boy… Teach him well, Severus.”

“I intend to,” he retorted shortly, but without his usual snarl. “As you can see, however, there is much work to be done. His relatives were appalling. He has not felt physically safe for most of his childhood.”

“I’d say he’s beginning to feel that way now,” Arthur smiled. “He tells me that you said no other adult has the right to touch him. He sounded very impressed.”

Snape fought back a desire to preen. “That is quite correct. And that is true for his time here as well. If he misbehaves, he is to be returned to me for punishment.”

Molly raised her eyebrows. “If he misbehaves in any way? You do remember he’s an 11 year old boy, correct?”

Severus scowled. “Over the past ten years he has been beaten, starved, locked up, and used as slave labor. It is important that no current punishments remind him of life with his horrible relatives.”

“How about this?” Arthur suggested. “We certainly won’t strike him or deprive him of meals, but if he gets into minor trouble with our kids, then Harry will face it alongside our bunch. If he and Ron get sent to bed early, for example, or have to de-gnome the garden, will that bring back bad memories for him? If he’s being punished right alongside Ron, wouldn’t that be a way for him to see that he’s part of the family?”

Snape grudgingly agreed that might be acceptable. Molly and Arthur shared a not-very-well-hidden grin.

“Should we –“ Molly’s question was interrupted by an almighty crash from the stairwell.

The adults rose as one and rushed to find a guilty-looking Harry struggling to his feet. “’M sorry,” he blurted as soon as they appeared.

“What happened, Harry?” Molly asked, hurrying over to check him for injuries.

He shrank back. “I tripped on my way down the stairs. I’m really sorry. I think I might have broken the banister.” He hesitatingly pointed to one of the spindles that ran along the stairs, but he kept a wary eye on both Weasleys and tried to sidle closer to Severus.

“That’s all right, Harry. We’re just concerned you might have broken you,” Arthur said. “Did you get hurt?”

“No, sir,” Harry said quickly. “I’m fine.”

“Harry, your leg!” Molly pointed to a rip in his trousers.

“I’m sorry,” he said nervously, looking at Severus. “I can fix it, honest!”

“Harry, you’re bleeding,” Molly persisted.

“It’s okay,” Harry protested, but Severus already had his wand out and was casting a diagnostic charm.

“Mr Potter,” he snapped a moment later. Harry flinched at the tone. “I believe I have indicated my intolerance for falsehoods?”

Harry gulped and nodded. “But it wasn’t a real lie, sir. I just –“

“Mr Potter,” Snape leaned over to make eye contact, “is this one of the Dursleys’ rules? No admitting when you are injured?”

Harry trembled as he gazed into his professor’s snapping eyes, but he was unable to look away. “Y—yes, sir,” he finally admitted.

“And what did I tell you about their rules?”

“To forget them.” Harry’s voice was very small and apologetic. The professor snorted.

“If you are injured or distressed in any way, I expect you to tell me about it,” Snape said sternly. “I will consider failure to do so as not only a lie but also an example of your putting yourself in jeopardy. Do you understand?” he asked pointedly.

Harry unconsciously covered his bum. “Yes, sir.”

“Then perhaps you would like to answer Mr Weasley’s question again?”

Harry nodded hastily. “Yes, sir. Um, my wrist and my leg hurt, sir.”

“Your wrist is strained. I will give you a potion when we return to Hogwarts. As for the cut on your leg –“

“Leave that to me,” Molly invited. She took Harry’s hand and smiled at him encouragingly. “After seven accident-prone children, I’m practically a certified Healer.”

She led Harry over to the living room couch. “I’m not as flexible or as slim as I used to be,” she explained to Harry, “so rather than bend over to see your knee, why don’t we both sit on the couch?” She sat down, had Harry sit next to her, then helped him swivel around so his back was against the armrest and his bent knees lay across her lap. She gently raised his trouser leg and tutted over the small cut.

Harry watched, amazed and delighted, as she gently scourgified the wound, removing all the blood, then magically sealed the laceration with a murmured spell, tracing the tip of her wand over his injury. “How’s that?” she asked.

“Great!” he beamed. That would sure have come in handy plenty of times in the past!

Another spell and his trousers were cleaned and mended, and Harry was even more sold on magic than he had been. “That’s brilliant, Mrs Weasley! Thank you!”

He started to get up, only to be gently pushed down. “Oh no, Harry. We’re not done yet.” Arthur grinned and nudged Severus.

At Harry’s puzzled look, Molly explained, “In this house, if you get hurt, you have to sit for a few minutes and let the healing spells take effect, and there’s a rule. When you get hurt, you get cuddled. Is that all right?”

Harry blinked. Ron’s mum was willing to give him a cuddle? But wasn’t she only supposed to do that with her own kids? And wasn’t he too old anyway?

She must have seen the indecision in his eyes, for Molly leaned over and whispered, “Don’t tell him I told you, but Ron twisted his ankle two days before going to Hogwarts, and he didn’t mind the cuddle.”

Harry felt his heart start to beat faster. He was finally going to see what it felt like to get hugged by a mum! Of course, it was someone else’s, not his own, but that was almost as good, especially since he was practically an honorary Weasley. “Well,” he said carefully, “if it’s a rule…”

Molly grinned and held out her arms. A moment later, Harry was cuddled against her and she was rocking him, crooning in his ear.

Snape thought he might sick up at all the sentimentality, but an odd feeling of envy was also making itself felt deep in his chest. He could have done that. Not that he would have wanted to, but he could have.

Harry felt wrapped up in clouds of love. He hadn’t known that it was so soft and felt so safe to be hugged like this. When he had hugged Snape, he had felt safe and warm, but this was different. This was… softer.

After several minutes, he heard Professor Snape clear his throat, and he dutifully looked up. To his surprise, Molly’s face was wet with tears as she smiled down at him. “You’re such a good boy, Harry,” she said, and she kissed him.

Harry decided that he might have to fall down the Burrow’s stairs on a semi-regular basis.

As Harry got up and crossed over to join an impatient Snape, Molly let out an exclamation. “Oh! I nearly forgot!” She hurried over to a small cabinet and lifted out a flat box. “I have something for Harry.”

Harry didn’t move closer. “It’s not my birthday, Mrs Weasley,” he said, mystified.

She laughed. “I’ve been saving this for you for a very long time, Harry. We can count it as a birthday present you’ve just not picked up, okay?” She seated herself back on the couch and patted her lap. Obediently, Harry went over to her.

She pulled him onto her lap, so that his back was against her front, and she brought the box around to sit in his lap. “Close your eyes,” she instructed.

Harry glanced at Professor Snape. Severus frowned and drew closer. Not that he didn’t trust Molly Weasley, but he wasn’t about to take chances either. He stopped about a foot away, his hand resting inconspicuously on his wand. “Go ahead.” He nodded once.

Harry closed his eyes tight. Molly whispered a spell and took the lid off the box, holding it up so it was just beneath Harry’s nose. “What do you smell, love?” she asked softly.

Harry sniffed. A fragrance rose to meet him and his heart lurched. Somehow, on a level too deep for conscious thought, he recognized the sweet, citrusy smell. His whole body tensed, and he dragged in another, deeper breath. His throat tightened. “Mummy,” he whispered, tears beginning to seep from under his closed lids.

Snape froze. It couldn’t be.

Molly’s brimming eyes met his, and she lowered the box enough for him to see. A sweater, carefully folded, lay in the box. “Open your eyes, Harry, love,” she whispered. “This belonged to your mummy. I’ve been keeping it for you.”

Harry reached out a single finger and with gentleness approaching reverence, lightly brushed the blue wool. “How - how did you get it?” he asked, his voice thick with tears.

“Your parents were in the Order with us,” she began.

“What’s the Order?” Harry interrupted, glancing up from where he was still staring at the sweater as if it were a holy icon.

Molly caught Severus’ headshake. “It was… a group that we were all in, Harry. Your parents, Severus, Arthur and I – we were all members. And your mum and I were friends. We were both pregnant at the same time – although I was a few months farther along than she was – and before your parents went into –“ she broke off abruptly. “Before your parents went away, she would often come over to the Burrow. On one of her last visits, she left her sweater behind. I was planning to give it back to her, but… I never got the chance. When I heard that she had died, but you had survived, I put the sweater away with a stasis spell so that you would have it when you were older.”

Harry choked back a sob. Somehow, being able to smell his mother – a scent that he had completely forgotten on a conscious level – suddenly made him miss her a thousand times more. It was as if she had just stepped away and could come back any second, except he knew she never would. It made it infinitely worse and immeasurably better, all at once. It was as if she were there in some way, but not in the way he wanted. But it made her real, in a way she hadn’t been to him, not since he was a baby. For the first time in a very very long time, Harry Potter desperately wanted his mother. “Mum!” he gasped out, and then he had twisted around and buried his head into Molly’s chest, letting the tears come.

Molly instantly pushed the box out at Severus and folded Harry into her arms, rocking and murmuring to him as he wept. Arthur took Snape, now holding the precious box like a religious relic, into the kitchen. He took one look at Severus’ face and left, returning a moment later with a tumbler of fire whiskey. He put the glass at Severus’ elbow and left him alone.

Snape delicately stroked the fine wool in much the same way Harry had. Lowering his face to just above the box, he inhaled deeply and let Lily’s fragrance fill his mind. Memories overpowered him. The Muggleborn child who had first befriended him, the teenaged Lily of their Hogwarts days, the young woman he caught an occasional glimpse of at an Order meeting… She was here – and yet she wasn’t. Her eyes lived on, and her compassion, her boundless capacity for love – they all lived on in Harry. Her child. Her son – who he suddenly knew was now the most important thing in his life. Lily’s presence pressed upon him, and suddenly, although far from a spiritual man, Snape was convinced that she was there with him. Watching. Waiting.

“I promise, Lily. I promise I will care for him as you would have. I promise,” he made his second Unbreakable Vow, and he could swear her fragrance intensified. He closed his eyes, desperate to see her one last time even if only in his mind’s eye. He felt something brush his cheek, but when his eyes flew open, he was alone, Lily’s sweater sitting beside him in the box.

It was some time before Snape left the kitchen, his eyes reddened, the sweater safely returned to its box and stasis spell, and the fire whiskey still burning his throat. He found Arthur and Molly sitting quietly in the living room, Harry fast asleep in Molly’s arms.

“He cried himself to sleep,” Molly explained in a whisper. “It’s been such an emotional day for him.”

“Indeed,” Snape said stiffly. He held the box out to Molly but she shook her head. “It’s Harry’s, Severus, and I know no one will safeguard it for him better than you.”

He fought down an uncharacteristic lump in his throat. “This was very – thoughtful – of you.”

“To know Lily was to love her, Severus, but I think you, Harry, and James knew that better than anyone.”

He automatically bristled to hear his name linked in any way with James Potter, but he couldn’t find the energy to sustain his outrage. He nodded and shrank the box to fit it in his pocket. He reached down and scooped Harry up into his arms. The boy lolled bonelessly and he shrugged him around until Harry’s head lay against his chest.

“Thank you for your hospitality,” Severus said formally.

“It was our pleasure. We’ll see you again this weekend,” Arthur said. Molly waved as Arthur threw the floo powder into the fire for him.

Severus stepped out into his quarters and contemplated the small child in his arms. He knew the proper thing, the Snape-like thing, to do would be to shake him awake and send him up to his dormitory. The boy was eleven, after all, and long day or no, he was old enough to put himself to bed. So why on earth was Snape laying him down carefully on his couch and tucking him in with a heavy afghan?

Severus scowled as he pulled off the brat’s glasses and placed them on the adjacent table. He was not going soft. It was just that it was nearly curfew and he had no intention of hearing McGonagall complain about his keeping her students out after hours. Besides, he was the boy’s guardian, so it was nobody’s business if he chose to keep the brat here. Better to do that than run the risk of the Weasley brats interrogating him on where he had been. Yes, that was it. He was keeping the boy here so as to prevent him from having to face awkward questions from his Housemates. Perfect. That was it. It had nothing to do with a blue sweater and a raft of memories. Nothing at all.