Two months later

Potter Manor:

“Now, let’s see that timetable I asked you to work out in regards to Harry’s bedtime and mealtimes and his study hour,” Mathilda said, all business like.

Sighing, James pushed across the table the parchment schedule she had required he work out for her two weeks previous. “I still don’t see why I have to . . .plan out a schedule for him like he was going to Hogwarts. What was wrong with just having him come here and play or whatever?”

Mathilda looked down at the parchment before she answered. “I know that might seem like an easy and fun solution, James, but the fact is that children need structure and boundaries. They like knowing what’s expected of them from their parents and guardians, especially those like Harry, who have two homes and multiple parents. It keeps him from getting confused and upset, and when a child gets that way, they’re prone to act out. Did you discuss this schedule with Lily and Severus, to make sure it didn’t conflict with their own?”

James nodded. “Yeah. I never knew there were things you shouldn’t let kids eat for breakfast and that he had homework on the weekends sometimes. Projects and that sort of thing. Harry never mentioned them before.”

“Probably because he felt you might not be interested in his schoolwork,” Mathilda explained. “Since you never asked about it, he figured you didn’t care.”

“Of course I cared!” James objected. “I just figured he was doing fine and didn’t need me harping on him the way Lily and Sn . . .Severus did.”

“James, asking if your son has homework or a project or a test he needs to study for is not harping, it’s being a responsible parent. You should want to know how Harry is getting on in school, so you can help if he’s having trouble.”

“I understand. What about the sweet thing?”

Mathilda smiled. “Many parents tend to limit the amount of sugar a child has, because it’s been discovered that too much sugar makes young children too hyper and Harry has a very outgoing and active personality, so that’s why Sev and Lily told you not to let him eat too many donuts or scones or have too many pancakes for breakfast. It’ll help you have a calm day and not have to deal with a child turned sugar monster. Or didn’t you notice how Harry behaved when he ate too many sweets?”

James thought. “Well, he was always . . .jumping and bouncing around and he couldn’t sit still sometimes for more than five minutes, but I thought that was how all little kids were. I know I was.”

“I can imagine,” she chuckled. “But no, hyper is not something you want to encourage, James. Trust me on that. I like how you’ve put in some recreation time for each day, Harry enjoys spending time with you.”

“As much as he does with Severus?” James asked, jealousy darkening his tone.

“James, this isn’t a competition. As I’ve told you before, parenting a child this way is something like a collaboration or a partnership. You should all strive to make sure of three things.”

“I know. That Harry is safe, healthy, and happy, no matter where he is or who’s with him,” James recited. “I’m trying, Tildy.”

“I know you are. But you need to stop looking at Severus Snape as your schoolboy rival and start looking at him as a parent like you, who loves your son.”

“I know,” said James, a bit irritably. “But it’s hard for me to look at him that way when I used to make fun of him for being such a serious stick-in-the-mud with his nose in a book all day long.”

“You need to forget that image, Mr. Potter,” Mathilda said sternly. “You shouldn’t be proud of what you did to him in school, it was shameful to bully him. Don’t look surprised, I know what you and your “Marauders” did, Lily spoke to me about it.”

“Aww, Tildy . . .it was just pranks,” James began, awkwardly, for he did not like it when she scolded him this way, it made him extremely uncomfortable.

“Pranks meant to degrade and humiliate,” she said softly. “Not something you want to teach your son. In any case, you are both adults now, and you should learn to put aside these childish rivalries and work together for Harry’s good.”

“I did. I sat down with Snape and Lily and we made this schedule. But I still think an eight-thirty bedtime is too early.” James argued.

“James, Harry is seven years old. His body requires a tremendous amount of sleep, though you might not think so. Trust me on this. He won’t grow properly unless he gets sleep and eight-thirty is a lenient bedtime. I know that he goes to bed an hour earlier when he is at his other home.”

“Because he has school.”

“Yes. Trust me, James, Harry will not object to that bedtime. Nor will he be overtired and cranky.”

They discussed the schedule for several more minutes, until James said, “I’m getting hungry. Want to have a bite to eat with me, Tildy?” He gave her his signature roguish grin that he knew made a girl’s head spin.

Mathilda shook her head, a faint blush staining her cheeks. “You know I can’t, James. It’s . . .unprofessional for me to lunch with a client.”

“Says who? Your dried-up sexually deprived boss?” James challenged. “No one will ever know except us.” He leaned in closer, looking her right in the eye. It was Friday afternoon, and not one of the weekends when he had Harry.

“James, quit trying to sweet talk me,” she ordered, looking away. “You might be able to charm a goblin into giving away gold for free, but not me.”

“Why not? It’s not like I plan to kidnap you and tie you to my bed,” he laughed, then he looked her up and down and added wickedly, “Though I’ll admit, the idea has crossed my mind.”

“James Potter, you are a wicked rake!” she shook a finger at him. But he could tell she was more flattered than outraged.

“Come on, Tildy. It’s just lunch. No strings. Please.” He fixed her with his most heartbroken look.

“You are so . . .oh, I don’t even know of a word to describe your outrageous behavior!”

“You just did. Please, Tildy? I don’t like eating alone.”

“So why don’t you call your two pals, Mr. Black, and what’s that other one you hang around with, Peter Something-or-other?”

“Pettigrew. Sirius is away for the weekend at some resort, and I have no clue where Peter is, he wasn’t home when I called earlier.” James persuaded. “I’ll keep it professional. I’ll let you choose the menu. It’ll be a . . .what’s the term you workaholics use . . .oh, a working lunch.”

“James Darius Potter, you are too much!” she gave in. “You’re lucky I’m a senior children’s worker.”

“And you like me,” he put in impudently, his hazel eyes glinting.

“Well, of course I like you, you’re my client,” she began.

“You like me as more than a client. I can tell.”

“Don’t even go there, Potter.” She warned.

He held up his hands. “Okay. Don’t get your robes in a twist. I’ll behave.”

“For how long?” she shot back.

He shrugged. “As long as you want me to.”

“Oh no, Potter. This is why you need all my classes. Because you have no self-control when it comes to wanting things. Your parents really ought to have disciplined you more as a child.”

He snorted. “Ha! Tildy, admit it. You like me because I’m a wild thing. All those gentlemen you know who follow rules are boring.”

She slanted a glance at him. “Rules keep you safe, Potter. They are the backbone of society.”

“Yeah. Yeah. But just once, Miss Bagshot, don’t you want to abandon the rules?”

She felt herself flush all the way up to her hairline. “Not here, not now.”

He looked disappointed. “All right. But one day, I’m going to teach you something you never learned in school.”

“What’s that?”

“How to let yourself live a little,” he answered, then he turned to summon Blink.

Mathilda sighed. James Potter was a very dangerous man. She could see how Lily had been charmed by him as a teenager. He was like a sweet willful child, sincere one moment and careless the next. And he was damned attractive. But she knew those like him. They would be fun to be around, so long as their attention was captured, but woe to you if they grew bored. She would not take that chance. No matter how much she wished to.

Ah, Potter. If you ever learned self-discipline and patience, I might take you up on your offer. But you’re still immature and you’d drive me insane. Still . . .it’d be fun . . .until your attention was caught by some other pretty young thing. I won’t have that, Jaimie boy.

She cleared her throat and turned to the waiting house elf. “Blink, I’d like an apple walnut salad with balsamic vinegrette and some chicken strips mixed in.”

“Very good, miss. And you, Master James?”

“I’ll have a steak, rare, and a side of scalloped potatoes and those crispy rolls of yours. Oh, and a cold ale.”

“Right away, sir. And you?”

“I’ll have a glass of white wine, please,” Mathilda said, smirking. Ha! Bet you thought I was going to order something non-alcoholic, didn’t you, Potter? See, I’m not such an old maid as you thought. But I know better than to have a fling with you.

She folded her hands in her lap and sat there demurely, waiting for the elf to bring their lunch, and trying to ignore the longing glances her client was shooting her from beneath his lashes.

* * * * * *

Peter Ignatius Pettigrew, newly arrived back from a Sartorial Wizard’s Seminar, he was trying to develop a new look for himself so he would appear attractive in wizarding attire, instead of rumpled and awkward, was eager to show off his new wrinkle-free gold and red brocade robes with the added shoulder-width charm on them to James. He hoped the other was free today, and not involved with playing daddy to his little brat Harry. Really, he wished James would just sign away custody to Snape and his wife and then all his problems would be solved and he could go back to being a carefree bachelor. The way it used to be once he had divorced the little Mudblood witch.

Peter never could stand Lily. He thought she was too smart and too arrogant for a mere Muggleborn. She should have been grateful James had been willing to overlook her blood status and marry her, but no, she had insisted on trying to bring her horrendous Muggle ways into the manor and force James to abide by them. And she didn’t understand a damn thing about a man’s needs either, Peter thought disparagingly. But then he wasn’t surprised. He was the only one who had ever understood James Potter.

He sighed and brushed a speck of dust off his new attire. He wished that James would notice him for once. Notice the devotion and longing he felt whenever he looked at the other wizard. When they were in school, he had admired the athletic, popular, handsome boy, wishing he possessed a tenth of the other’s looks and confidence. But that admiration had quickly turned to something else, something that Peter hardly dared to admit to anyone, even himself. He was in love with James Potter. Hopelessly so, for he knew James was straight. Even so, he could not help himself.

It was torture, but he could not bear to be away from James for long and he grew jealous when James showed any kind of affection to anyone except himself and Sirius. Sirius was all right, because he was no threat to Peter’s fantasy. Sirius loved women the way Padfoot loved a meaty bone, he was always hungry for another, and Peter considered him a brother.

But James was a different story. James’ marriage to Lily should have given the deathblow to Peter’s infatuation, but it had not. Wormtail would not permit it to die, and especially not to some little Mudblood who hung around Slytherin rejects like Snivellus Snape. It was too bad she had not married him instead, he had thought after her wedding. Half-blood and Mudblood scum belonged together, wallowing in the dirt from whence they came.

So Peter had plotted to free James from his unsuitable wife as soon as possible. The couple having a baby had complicated things a bit, but he had encouraged James to stay away from home, using all his wiles to keep the other plied with drink, and Quidditch games, and pretty girls. He was very aware of James’ weaknesses, and he had used them to his advantage, to drive a wedge between Lily and her husband.

He had cheered when the bitch had walked out on Potter, and then he had made sure James never lacked for companionship and accompanied him to the best sporting events and restaurants, and it was as good as when they had all been in school, and gone to Hogsmeade. It was as close as Peter could get to having James to himself.

If only that bloody nuisance Harry had not been allowed to come to Potter Manor, then none of this nonsense about James being an inattentive father and irresponsible would have gotten out. It was all the bloody Snapes fault, with their insistence on rules and their sticking their big noses (well, Snivellus’ big nose) into other people’s business. Big deal the kid took a tumble from Buckbeak! Teach him to be careful next time, Peter thought derisively. It was almost too bad the kid hadn’t broken his neck.

But then there might have been an inquiry and James might have been charged with something by the bleeding Ministry and that would not have been good at all. Peter shook his head. It was Snape who had made the bloody woman from Wizarding Services come over and start with her stupid lectures and observations. Peter loathed Mathilda and wished he could make her disappear. She should just leave James alone. What did she know anyway? She didn’t have kids.

He debated whether or not to Floo call James before he went over to Potter Manor, then decided against it. As a Marauder, he had a standing invitation to visit any time of the day or night. He went over to his fireplace and tossed down some Floo powder.

He would give his Jaimie a bit of a surprise, let him see the new Peter, and then maybe they could go to London, have a drink or two at the Leaky Cauldron, and play a few hands of cards or take in a match or something. He loved to watch James play Quidditch, it was like watching poetry in motion, and he loved anything to do with the object of his affection.

He quickly stepped through the Floo into the Potters’ front parlor, brushed off the soot with a quick Robe Cleaning charm, then went in search of James. He was certain he’d find him outside, either riding his broom or his hippogriff. It was a gorgeous afternoon, too fine to be cooped inside.

He walked past the drawing room, heading for the back of the manor, when he heard voices in the small dining room, the one James usually reserved for friends to eat in. Suspicion reared its head, and Wormtail paused, then blurred into his rat form.

Whiskers twitching, gray tail dragging, he scuttled into the dining room.

Where he saw James and that Bagshot women having lunch. And not only were they eating together, he saw to his horror, but James was . . .was flirting with the bloody witch! How dare she accept such a thing from him?

Wormtail was hard pressed not to go and bite her ankle and make her scream. Why were women always attracted to his Jaimie? Why couldn’t they stay away from him and give him a chance to notice the one standing to the left of him, the only one who truly understood the complex and glorious man that was James Darius Potter. Why?

The rat trembled, overwhelmed by a surge of jealousy and hatred. He could not stand it happening all over again. He was fine with James having a casual affair, he knew those never lasted, but this . . .this looked serious. And it would need to be stopped.

He quickly raced from the room, unable to bear looking at them anymore. Bloody damn Snivellus! This was all his fault! His and the Mudblood and the snot-nosed brat! It was a conspiracy to ruin everything Peter had done to make James’ life a happy one.

Wormtail bared his teeth. Well, two could play at that game. He would relish the chance to get back at Snivellus, the Slytherin coward, who dared to rise as high as a pureblood and think himself the equal of such. One would have thought he’d learned better in school, when the Marauders had given him lesson after lesson. But no, he was still grasping and slithering his way up the dungeon stairs, instead of staying where he belonged.

Maybe it was time for another lesson, Wormtail mused.

Then he blurred back into Peter and straightened his beautiful robes. “James? Are you there?” he called amiably.

“In here, Peter,” James called back.

Peter strolled casually into the dining room, noting with satisfaction how quickly the two quit making eyes at each other. He gave Bagshot an oily ingratiating smile, and James a real one.

Mathilda hurriedly finished her salad, thanked James, and left, saying she would see him again next week. She couldn’t stand being in the same room with that Pettigrew fellow, he made her skin crawl. There was definitely something off about him, he gave her the creeps, the way he stared at her with his beady eyes and his enlarged canines reminded her of a rabid rat’s. She didn’t know what James saw in him, or why he allowed Pettigrew to hang about him. Maybe it was pity, because she didn’t know how anyone could like the whining sniveling man.

Peter breathed in a sigh of relief when the witch had departed. “So, Jaimie, old man, how have you been?” he asked, sitting down next to the other.

“Good. I had a nice lunch with Tildy there. Maybe I can convince her to trust me alone with Harry soon, and then we can see about meeting in a more, ah, shall we say, casual setting.” James grinned, his eyes faraway.

“Oh, yes. Wouldn’t be that nice,” Peter said, longing to howl. He pointedly brushed a sleeve. “Uh . . .I’ve been trying to turn over a new leaf, so to speak. What do you think?”

James looked him over. “Very nice, Wormtail. Now maybe you’ll get the chicks to notice you, huh? All you need to do is cut your hair a bit and file those teeth. . . .”

Whatever you wish, James, Wormtail thought ecstatically, basking in the other’s notice.

* * * * * *

Hours later, after getting pleasantly drunk, Wormtail Flooed back to his mansion.

He drank another brandy and then stared into the fire morosely. The brandy was the same color as James’ eyes, he thought wistfully. Somehow, there must be a way to make Snape pay for his audacity at daring to make James look like a fool and a bad father. Peter tapped his front tooth thoughtfully. What did that greasy-haired big-nosed coward value most?

Obviously his family, but Peter knew threatening to harm them was way out of his league. Maybe if he had more connections with the dark underworld of Grindelwald and Dumbledore, but he was not important enough for them to notice. What else then? In another minute he had it.

The bloody apothecary. That was Snape and Lily’s baby, the business they had started from scratch, that gave them such pleasure, and was the most well-known for quality potions in all of Britain.

Maybe he could destroy the shop?

No, while vandalizing it would be fun, it wouldn’t have the needed impact. And it would incite sympathy for the Snapes. That wasn’t what Peter wanted. He wanted them crushed, ruined, their pride in tatters, unable to rise from the muck and threaten him ever again.

He needed to figure out a way to drive customers away from the apothecary, so it would go under.

He pondered some more. Late into the night he pondered, his devious mind coming up with all kinds of schemes and rejecting them.

Then suddenly he had a brainstorm.

Reputation!

A business was only as good as its reputation.

What if he destroyed that reputation?

Wormtail chuckled. There was much darkness in Snape’s past. He had grown up poor, with a witch mother who had been cast out of her family for marrying a Muggle. A Muggle who had, if rumor were correct, abused both her and Snape. He had learned of that little tidbit one day at school, hiding beneath a garbage bin while Lily and Snivellus were having a discussion over their cauldron in the potions classroom. He had nearly forgotten about it till now.

He rubbed his hands together. Oh yes, this was prime. Snape already was known to favor using corporal punishment on his stepson, Peter had been there when James had blown up after Lily had left that day, and had raged for a good hour against Snivellus’ highhanded drill sergeant tactics with his son. And was it not a fact as well that those who had been subjected to abuse as a child turned out to be abusers themselves?

Peter was certain he had read something like that somewhere.

In any case, it didn’t matter if it were true or not. All Peter needed to do was make people believe Snape was capable of abusing children in that manner. And that would be the end of his reputation as a reliable apothecary. Because who would trust such a savage wizard to treat their children or their wife or relative? He would make up witnesses, outright lies that could never be traced, he was good at that. During school, he had made detentions written out by teachers disappear, along with their memories, and thus the Marauders had gotten away with almost anything they wanted, unless the Headmaster himself happened to catch them in the act. Even Peter wasn’t stupid enough to try and Obliviate Headmaster Riddle.

He was the only wizard Wormtail had ever feared, because Riddle had this uncanny way of looking you in the eye and knowing things about you . . .private things . . .as if he were rummaging about in your head, and no one had ever been able to lie to him.

But this . . .he could handle this. He would make the Snapes flee their cushy spot in Diagon Alley, make them run away with their tails tucked between their legs, disgraced forever.

Then he would have what he always wanted, James Potter to himself.

He pulled out a quill and began to write. He hoped he could get it all down before the Prophet closed at ten o’clock.

* * * * * *

Moments before the clock struck ten, a brown owl with a distracted air about it flew into the offices of the Daily Prophet. It delivered an anonymous article to the desk of one Ms. Rita Skeeter, writer of the most read gossip column in the wizarding world.

The young woman looked up when the owl gave her the missive, tossed it a cracker, then opened the envelope.

Her smile grew wide as the Atlantic Ocean when she read what was enclosed inside. She hadn’t had a story like this in months. She began to dictate to her Quick Quotes Quill.

* * * * * *

The next morning

Snapes’ Apothecary, Diagon Alley:

Severus moved to restock a shelf of powdered dittany, wondering as he did so why he felt the eyes of so many customers hovering on him this morning. It was just after nine-thirty, and it seemed as if every customer who had come into the apothecary that morning had looked at him strangely. And some of them had downright glared at him.

Now he had the occasional surly and grumpy customer, the ones who were inclined to bitch and moan about anything and everything, but this morning must be a record or something. And he had not even snapped at anyone yet, or given a misbehaving child one of his famous glares for touching the breakable vials and pilfering from the container of licorice whips on the counter when they thought he couldn’t see. Matter of fact, he was in quite a good mood, despite having been up since five AM brewing batches of Deflating Drafts and Fever Reducers. He had eaten the toast and drank the strong coffee Lily had brought him before going into the shop to open, and the effects had not yet worn off. He only started to get snippy later in the afternoon, after dealing with customers who thought they knew how to prescribe medicines better than he did, or mislabeled bottles from his newest apprentice, or irate customers who wanted a special draft brewed right bloody now and thought he could just snap his fingers and it would appear.

Even Molly Weasley, who was one of his regulars and always happy to chat with him about this or that ailment one of her brood had picked up and what did he recommend for getting potion stains out of her aunt’s brand new robe had been uncharacteristically cold and uncommunicative this morning.

Severus couldn’t figure it out. People were acting as if he had offended the Minister or hexed an innocent bystander. It was starting to irritate him.

He turned and met the eyes of a teenager that lived a few blocks from the shop. “Matthias, how may I help you?” He reached out to brush a bit of dirt from the boy’s cloak.

To his shock, Matthias jerked away. “I . . .I’m fine, sir! I forgot what it was my mum needed. I’ll . . .come by later!” he stammered, then he took to his heels and fled out the door as if a demon were nipping at his heels.

Severus stared after him. What the bloody hell was with people this morning? He had known Matthias since he was Harry's age and the boy had never behaved that way before. Severus had fixed several scrapes and bruises on the boy and his mother had always bragged that her boy kicked up a fuss for everyone but Potions Master Snape, who had the gentlest hands.

Just then the door was thrown open and Severus opened his mouth to give the rude person a lecture about entering an establishment.

Only to see that it was Amy Miller, his new apprentice. “Amy? What’s happened?”

She was panting, her black robes askew on her skinny frame, and her dark hair coming undone from its bun. “Master Snape . . .I came as quick as I could . . .I couldn’t believe it . . .people are so stupid . . .they’ll believe anything . . .”

“Couldn’t believe what?” Severus demanded, coming and putting his hands upon her shoulders. Unlike Matthias, she didn’t pull away. “Breathe, girl, and then tell me what’s got you so flustered. You’re not normally a flibbertigibbet.”

The girl, who was just turned seventeen, took a few moments to compose herself. Then she handed him a copy of the morning paper. “Master Snape, this just came out and I didn’t think you’d gotten around to reading it yet, since you said you’d be busy brewing this morning so . . .here, sir, just read it . . .it’s made me sick and I had to give my mum a Calming Draught afterwards, she was so upset . . .”

Severus took the paper, wondering what new disaster had befallen wizarding Britain. Had Dumbledore begun his campaign for world domination by using poisoned lemon drops to make all his opponents become idiotically happy and forget he ever existed?

He scanned the front page.

Known Apothecary Accused of Brutally Beating Son!

Severus Snape, Potions Master and apothecary for over six years, proprietor of Snapes’ Apothecary in Diagon Alley, was revealed to have had a violent past and a history of enduring abuse by his alcoholic Muggle father. Such abuse had hardened him to the suffering of others and made him strict and unbending, especially when it comes to disciplining his children. Snape is the father of three children, two are his by blood, the third is his stepson by his wife’s prior marriage.

Months before, a reputable source says he witnessed a quarrel between Snape and his stepson, Harry Potter, six years of age. Young Harry had gone and exploded a cauldron and Snape was most displeased. He was seen shouting at the child and dragging him upstairs to the flat above the shop, declaring loudly that he would “teach the brat to touch what didn’t belong to him!”

Moments later, the source declares he heard “screaming and crying coming from the flat and the sound of a hard object, like a paddle or a belt, striking flesh.”

Little Harry was not seen for many days after, and when a friend did chance to see him at Fortescues, he looked “scared and withdrawn” and refused to say why and also refused to sit down with his little pal and have a sundae. “He kept wincing and rubbing his bottom,” says the friend. “then his mum came and she took him away.”

It is known that those who have endured abuse like Snape had as a child, often turn out to be abusive to spouses and children. They become violent and unpredictable and when they are angry, lash out at anyone within range. It is most shocking to discover such a depraved person serving the community of Diagon Alley as an apothecary. People trust an apothecary to diagnose illnesses and prescribe treatments, but how can you trust someone who takes out his frustration and temper upon a helpless little boy?

How long has this abuse been going on? And what can we, the concerned citizens, do about it? Harry James Potter is the son of wealthy Auror consultant James Potter, heir to the Potter fortune, and Lily Potter Snape nee Evans, a Muggleborn witch and Snape’s partner at his apothecary. Rumor says that she married Snape after recently divorcing Potter for infidelity, and one wonders if she went from the frying pan into the fire? Or does she condone the abuse her husband dishes out to her son?

A customer once overheard her say that children sometimes need a sound spanking to teach them the error of their ways. Most disturbing!

Severus stared down at the page in shock. He could not believe what was written there. It was all a pack of lies, with a few facts scattered throughout it. He could not understand how anyone could believe such obvious slander. It boggled the mind!

His stomach curdled and he felt ill. How had this . . .Rita Skeeter . . .gotten such trash about him? How did this source find out about his childhood? Hardly anyone knew about it besides Eileen, save for Lily, Remus, Henry Evans, Headmaster Riddle, and Poppy Pomfrey. And none of them would have divulged any sort of information about him to anyone. Yet someone had found out.

He rapidly scanned the rest of the nauseating piece, it stated that Harry frequently showed up at his father’s house with marks on his arms and face that he said he got while playing, and that he had told his father once that Snape had spanked him over something and James had told his ex in no uncertain terms that “Snape wasn’t to lay a hand upon his son”.

Severus felt his temper erupt. There were only a few people who knew about that family incident with Potter and Harry. Of those, neither Severus or Lily had spoken with a reporter, and Severus knew the Lupins and Tonks would have never betrayed him. Nor would the Dursleys. So that left two people.

Potter and Black.

“Sir?” Amy asked sadly. “I don’t believe you did what they say. You’d never hurt Harry. Or any kid. I’ve seen you with Rosie and Eric.”

Severus took a deep breath. “Thank you, Amy. Now, can you take over here for a little while? I need to go and show this . . .piece of shit to my wife. Excuse me.”

He bolted up the stairs to the flat, calling for Lily.