Late July, 1991

Diagon Alley:

Harry went through his list of school items, checking each one off as he bought it. Severus had taken him now to buy some of his school things so they could avoid the mad rush that occurred in August to buy supplies. He was a week shy of his eleventh birthday, and his Hogwarts letter had arrived a few days ago, addressed to Henry Snape, Foxfire Hall, Yorkshire.

Severus had breathed a vast sigh of relief when he had seen the way the letter was addressed. Apparently, the school still sent out letters by Automatic Magical Messaging Service, and the fact that the wizarding world assumed Harry Potter dead meant that the service would not be addressing a letter to him, but to Henry Snape, since that was how the boy thought of himself. Severus had no doubt that of he went down to the Ministry Archives now and looked in the Hogwarts Registry, he would find Harry Potter’s name marked as “missing, presumed deceased” and Henry Snape beneath it.

He still had not revealed Harry’s parentage to him. It was something that preyed upon him daily, but he could not bring himself to destroy the boy’s sense of self just yet. He wished Harry to go to school feeling confident and happy, not experiencing an identity crisis. He had made a promise to himself that he would tell Harry over Christmas break, once the holiday rush was done. And if Harry took the news well, he also intended to legally adopt the boy in the wizarding way and make him the titular secondary heir to Foxfire Hall as well. He was glad Augustus didn’t needle him over it, the old man seemed content to allow Severus to make his own decision regarding it, though Severus knew Augustus would have revealed the secret to Harry months ago.

But for now, he was taking his overeager son shopping for some of his supplies in advance. They had already ordered robes for school, as well as more clothes for everyday wear and robes and pajamas and shoes as well, one pair of dress and three for all day wear, trainers, and two pairs of boots, plus undergarments. Harry was happy to have the tedious clothes part of the trip done with, now he could concentrate on the important things, like books, cauldrons, potion ingredients, and wands.

He had gotten a superb broom as an early birthday present from his grandfather, it was a new model from America, the Phoenix Starfire 2000, and it was a pro Quidditch racing broom, though the safety charms on it prevented Harry from using it at its full speed just yet. It could fly at over 140 mph, but the charms would only permit it to do 110, which was plenty fast enough for a school Quidditch match, Severus had declared. Harry disagreed, though he’d never flown a broom that did more than 60, but Severus remained firm. And Augustus backed him, so Harry quit wishing he could undo the charms himself and just accepted the fact that he had to wait until third year for the safety charms to be removed. He knew he was lucky his father had allowed Augustus to get him an adult broom at all, much less the fine model he had, and his only regret was that he could not take the broom to school.

“First years aren’t allowed to play Quidditch anyway, so there’s no use in you bringing your own broom,” Severus had told him. “The school supplies brooms for flying practice and this way you don’t have to worry about someone trying to steal it.”

Harry understood, but it still bugged him that he couldn’t take his Phoenix with him and show Draco Malfoy the awesome broom he had. Neville and Blaise had both seen it and he had even let them go up a time or two. Still, he was too excited at the prospect of finally starting school to let anything bother him for long.

“What are we down to?” asked Severus, having shrunken the packages of clothes so they fit snugly in his pockets and Harry’s.

“Uh . . .books and potion ingredients,” Harry answered. He looked slyly at his father. “You want to go and get the ingredients at Slug and Jiggers and I’ll get the books at Flourish and Blotts? So you can chat up Miss Miska again and let her take your picture, Papa?”

Severus pretended to frown severely at his impudent son. “What are you implying, Mr. Snape?”

Harry’s emerald eyes twinkled outrageously. “Nothing. Except that maybe you ought to ask her out . . .to lunch or maybe invite her over to the manor when I’m away at school. So you can get to know her better and I don’t have to be around to see you act all mushy and stuff.”

Severus nearly choked upon his bottle of butterbeer. He had been drinking it as they shopped. “What are you up to, Henry Snape? Matchmaking at nearly eleven years old?”

“Well, somebody has to do it,” his son replied impishly. “I mean, you’re not getting any younger, Papa, and you need to start looking for a suitable wife and Miss Miska’s been after you for years, she always asks about you when I go into the shop and she’s probably wallpapered her bedroom with your pictures, she’s taken so many over the years. I’ll bet you five Galleons that if you asked her out she would faint dead away . . .then wake up and start jumping for joy. She really has a thing for you.”

“Henry Snape!” Severus was both astonished and irritated. “I’ll thank you to keep your nose out of my personal life . . .I do not need my almost eleven-year-old son arranging dates for me, for Merlin’s sake!”

“But Papa . . .she’ll be good for you. Grandpa says you need to get out more.”

Severus turned red. “The two of you are worse than ten witches reading Rita Skeeeter’s gossip column!”

“Don’t you like her, Papa? I think she’s cute . . .for an older woman.” Harry teased.

“Miss Miska is a fine looking witch,” Severus admitted.

“Then why don’t you date her?”

“Because right now you are my priority, Harry. Later, when you’re at school, we’ll see.” Severus said. “I’ll go get the potions ingredients while you pick up the books. Charge it to the Prince account.”

Harry’s eyes gleamed. He loved going into the bookstore. “Umm . . .can I buy some books for myself that aren’t on the syllabus?” He knew this was one area where Severus never refused him, because the older wizard wished to encourage his love of the written word.

“No more than five, do you hear?” Severus told him, knowing if he didn’t set a limit, Harry was likely to buy half the Recreational Sports and Magical Fiction and Mystery section.

“Okay, Papa. Have fun talking to Sandra,” he called, then he bolted away before Severus could give him a playful smack for being so insufferably impudent.

Severus shook his head, then turned to begin walking towards the apothecary. He had known for years that Sandra Miska “had a thing” for him as Harry put it, but he simply had felt he couldn’t engage in a relationship with any woman while raising Harry, he did not want to get a third party involved in his “Great Deception”, and he couldn’t have a relationship with a witch unless he could be honest with her. Oh what a tangled web we weave when we first practice to deceive, he thought ruefully. Walter Scott, you were a wise man. And too damned right. I’ve built Harry’s life around this lie and I just hope that when he knows the truth, it doesn’t all come tumbling down like a house of cards.

Still, his son was amusing in his persistence and Severus enjoyed sparring with him, there were times Harry reminded him a bit of himself at that age, though without the cynicism and wariness. At least he had spared Harry that, he would not have wanted his worst enemy to live his childhood. Or much of his adolescence either. If nothing else, I gave him the childhood he would have had if Lily and James had not died.

He was so intent upon his own musings that when he reached Slug and Jiggers, he didn’t notice that Sandra was speaking to an old acquaintance of his until he had already entered the shop, and by then Amos Smithers had looked up and saw him. For one instant Severus stiffened, the old dislike flaring within him, and he was tempted to turn about and walk out, for the last thing he needed was Smithers giving him an attitude.

To his surprise, the scarecrow-like apothecary looked uncomfortable as hell. As uncomfortable as Sandra was welcoming. He coughed and looked away, not saying anything.

Severus stood like a nitwit in the doorway until Sandra beamed at him excitedly. “Severus, do come in! I was just telling Amos here about that new potion you invented, the Allergy Suppressant Solution. It’s done wonders for me during the summer, I’m allergic to dust and am always sneezing . . .”

Severus took a few steps into the shop, giving his old boss a brief nod. “Mr. Smithers.”

“Snape,” Smithers said in that familiar raspy tone. “Looks like you made quite a name for yourself since leaving my employment.”

“Severus is brilliant!” Sandra gushed before Severus could reply. Then she looked at Smithers. “You never told me you had Severus working for you, Amos.”

Now Smithers looked even more uncomfortable, as if he had swallowed a Bitter Tears Draft. “Wasn’t much to tell,” he mumbled. “He only worked for me six months or so.”

And during that time you made my life hell, Severus recalled.

“But I’ll bet he was the best potion maker you had,” Sandra stated.

Severus opened his mouth to tell the apothecary why he had come, when Smithers actually responded to the lovestruck woman’s comment.

“He was.”

Severus fought to keep from gaping. Had the world turned upside down? Had he really heard Smithers give him a compliment? Skinflint Amos Scarecrow Smithers who never had good to say about anyone, and especially not his former employees?

Smithers looked at the younger potion maker then and said, very softly, “Never tol’ you that, Snape, but it’s true. Knew you outclassed me the first time you brewed a batch of Memory Restorative. That’s part o’ the reason I was so hard on you, I wanted to make sure you worked up to your potential and didn’t become lazy.”

“Lazy!” Severus snapped. “That would have been impossible, the way you worked all of us like dogs.”

Smithers stiffened. “It was the way I was taught.” Then he shook his head. “Never mind. Did your boy tell you what he’s been up to around the holidays? Did he tell you about the . . .Christmas presents?”

Severus nodded. “He did. If you wish me to tell him to stop, I shall. I would imagine you find him a nuisance, giving you gifts you don’t want or need.”

“No. I . . .don’t mind. He reminds me of . . .my son Will. He was your boy’s age, just ten, when the fire took him and his baby sister Amalie from me.” There was an odd look in the apothecary’s face as he said that.

It took Severus a moment to recognize it and then he saw that it was pain. An old pain, buried deep, now resurfacing. “My condolences on your loss,” he said automatically.

“It was a long time ago. I just . . .wanted you to tell him thank you from me. I had forgotten . . .the good about the holiday till your son gave me a present.”

“Harry’s such a sweet thoughtful boy,” said Sandra.

Severus felt proud then. “Yes, he can be when he wishes to.” He looked at Smithers. “I shall tell him you said thank you.”

“Much obliged, Snape.”

“Amos, maybe you ought to get yourself a little apprentice,” Sandra began. “Someone to keep you company in that old creaky house of yours. There are plenty of orphans to adopt over at Angel Haven.”

Smithers stared at her as if she had just said Voldemort danced the polka in women’s underpants. “Are you daft, woman? Me, adopt a child? Children are scared to death of me! And I have no patience to raise a brat anymore. Back when I was young . . .before the bloody fire . . .but not now . . .As for company, I have myself and my books and my old owl. I don’t need anything else.”

Undeterred by his dismissal, Sandra continued, “Really, Amos. Being a hermit has made you forget the good things in life. A child would remind you of them, like Harry has.”

Smithers snorted. “You’re barmy, Miska. What child would ever choose to live with me? Who in their right mind would allow it either? Leave off with that fool’s notion and go and grind up some ingredients or something. Good day.”

And with that, he swept out of the shop.

“Well, I think I riled him up some,” said Sandra, sounding pleased.

Severus gave her a searching glance. “You did that on purpose.”

“Of course. Amos needs to start feeling something else besides bitterness and hate. Your son helped me see that when he gave Amos a gift. Now I do it too, and he grumbles and threatens to return it or throw it away, but he never does. He thinks if he pretends to hate people, he’ll forget the way it was before, when his family was alive. He thinks that by shutting out the world, he’ll shut out the memories too. But he’s wrong.”

“Some memories remain, despite all you do to banish them,” Severus agreed. Suddenly he had a very sneaky idea. “Maybe I should ask my grandfather to write him. He experienced a similar loss and behaved like a hermit for years until Harry and I came to live with him. Perhaps he can help Smithers rejoin the rest of the world.”

Sandra laughed delightedly. “Smithers get a letter from Lord Prince? Oh, but he’d keel over!” She leaned on the counter, her eyes merry. “What do you need today, Severus.”

He handed her the list of ingredients he had compiled based on the Hogwarts curriculum, which he doubted had changed any since he had attended. “These are for Harry for school, I know the potions professor will supply the students with ingredients from the school stores, but I prefer to get Harry fresh ones, at least for the first term. And don’t you dare discount these, Sandra Miska. You’re undercutting your profits!” He waved a finger scoldingly at her.

“Discount? Why, Mr. Snape, I’m not giving you a discount, because I got these on sale, sir,” she answered, smirking. Then she went to fill his order, leaving a very bemused Potions Master staring after her.

* * * * * * *

Harry met up with Severus outside the apothecary, his arms laden with books.

“Got everything?”

“Yes, Papa. And I only got four books for me,” Harry said, then he sighed in relief as Severus cast a Shrinking Charm and he could put the books away in his pocket. “Now can we go to Ollivanders?”

“Yes, and then we shall have lunch,” Severus said. He had saved the wand choosing for last because if he had done it earlier, Harry wouldn’t have been able to stand going into all the other stores. “I’ve ordered the parchment and inks and quills to be sent to the house, so we won’t need to stop at the stationary shop.”

“Thanks, Papa.” Harry’s eyes fairly glowed as he ran down the street.

Ollivander greeted them warmly, he was quite pleased to see Harry as a customer this time instead of a caroler. “Welcome, Harry Snape! All ready for school? Good. Now, step over here and we’ll see what wand chooses you.”

Harry’s brow wrinkled. “But I thought we got to pick our own wand.”

“Well, Mr. Snape, sometimes the wand chooses the wizard,” Ollivander said mysteriously. “Your father’s did. Went through almost every wand in my shop before one chose him. And it was one that my grandfather had made way back when. Thirteen and a half inches, heart of ebony with a sea dragon scale core. Great for defense and for all enchantments involving water, especially potions.”

“Papa’s a Water Master,” Harry declared proudly.

“So he is, and that’s what the wand knew that I didn’t.” Ollivander said, smiling. Then he began taking boxes down from the shelf.

Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted a wand to choose him quickly or not, but after almost thirty wands, he just wanted one to pick him, of whatever variety. He began to fear that he was a fluke and no wand would choose him. He looked up at Severus with panicked eyes. “Papa . . .”

Severus came and put his hands on his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Harry. One will be found that’s right for you. Stop fretting. Every wand here is unique, and you’re a strong wizard, so it must be as well.” He scanned the shelves and spotted a box sitting all the way on top of the last shelf, it looked dusty and untouched. “What about that one?”

Ollivander summoned it down. “Ah. This is the last wand made by my father. It was the best one and the most difficult, he said, and after it he never made another, for this, he said, was his magnum opus—his great work.” He opened the box reverently. Inside was a gleaming spiral wand of a dark wood with a lighter creamy reddish wood handle. “Holly and elder, twelve inches, with a core given to him by a celestial dragon—a single tear, encapsulated in a diamond. We called it the Dragon’s Tear and it has never known a master. This wand, he said, was meant for one who would change the world with his magic.” Ollivander gazed at the small wizard in front of him. “Take it up, Mr. Snape.”

Hesitantly, Harry’s hand curled about the wand. The wood felt warm to the touch. Cautiously, he waved it.

Silver, green, and gold sparks erupted from it and half the boxes on the shelves flew off and whirled madly overhead for an instant before settling down.

Harry nearly dropped the wand, he was so startled. None of the others had ever reacted like that. “I’m sorry!” he apologized. He started to put the wand back.

“No, young Snape! Don’t apologize. Finally the Dragon’s Tear has chosen its master!” Ollivander was grinning from ear to ear. “You shall do great things with this wand.”

“I will?” he stared at the wand in awe. It felt so right in his hand, warm and eager to be used. He began to smile too. “Like what?”

“I don’t know. Only time will tell.” The old wandmaker said.

Severus hugged him. “You see, Harry? Nothing to worry about.” He told his son, but he was uneasy. Of all the wands, that one had chosen Harry. Did it mean that the blasted prophecy was right? Was his child destined to fight bloody Voldemort after all? Severus had never believed in the half-baked prophecy Dumbledore touted. Mad wizards were meant to be fought by trained adults, not children, no matter how magically talented. My son will not be a pawn of prophecy! He’ll have to find some other way to change the world. “Put it away, son. You can play with it later, when we’re home.”

Reluctantly, Harry obeyed, sliding the wand back into its velvet-lined box.

Severus looked expectantly at Ollivander. “How much for it?” He expected the price to be very high, considering.

But the wandseller shook his head. “No charge.”

“What? You cannot be serious!”

“I am, Potions Master Snape. For that was the one condition the dragon set when he gave the tear to my father. He said, when the wand finds its master, it must be given freely, and no profit made or else the magic within shall be void. So. For over a century that wand has been here, waiting. Now it goes home. May it serve you well, Harry Snape.”

Severus stared at the old wizard for a long moment before realizing that he was deadly serious. Then he gave a brief nod. “Thank you, sir. Good day. Come along, Harry, you must be starving.” He gently ushered his son from the shop.

Now that the nerve-wracking wand choosing was over, Harry heard his stomach growling loudly. He grinned up at his father as they headed over to the nearest café to grab a bite to eat. Now he was a real wizard, with a wand that could change the world, whatever that meant.

Augustus was also both proud and uneasy when he learned of the wand’s choice. But he did not think it referred to the prophecy. He thought it meant something more, but what that something was he did not know.

“When will you tell him, Severus?” he asked for the second time since that night seven months before.

“At Christmas,” answered his grandson.

“Fitting, I suppose, since the greatest change of both your lives came upon that day,” said the lord of Foxfire Hall, and then he followed Severus from his study and down to supper.

* * * * * *

September 1st, 1991

Platform 9 3/4

Kings Cross Station:

Severus knelt and placed his hands upon the shoulders of his excited and nervous son. “Remember that you are to comport yourself with decorum and dignity, Henry Snape, and try your hardest to not break any school rules. They are there for your safety, as mine are at home, and I expect you to follow them. I do not want to receive a letter informing me that you were caught sledding down the roof or catapulting from your broom into the lake, or dueling another student in the corridors, am I understood? Or else—”

“—or else you’ll ground me for life and wallop me with my broken broomstick, I know.” Harry finished.

“Don’t exaggerate, imp. I never said anything about walloping you,” Severus ruffled his hair.

“Grandpa did.”

“He was exaggerating. Just study hard and don’t talk back to your professors and make me proud. I know you can. And if you ever need anything, write to me and I will send you whatever you need, pocket money, more supplies, your favorite books, Professor Hush-a-bye . . .”

“Papa!” Harry was scandalized. “I’m too old to play with him.”

Severus smirked. “Oh? And are you “too old”, Mr. Snape, to hug your father goodbye?”

In answer, Harry threw his arms around his neck. He would never be too old for that.

Severus’ arms came about him and squeezed him tight. Harry buried his nose in his father’s robe and breathed in the familiar scents of spices and peppermint and sandalwood, all those things that meant his papa and home and he clung to the other as he realized this was the last time he would see his father until Christmas break.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Me too. If you get homesick the first night, don’t feel ashamed. It happens to everyone. Hug Calin, she’ll make you feel better.” Severus told him. Except for him, since being at school had been far better than being at home. Though he had missed his mother. “I’ve given you a few potions, standard ones, in case you get sick and don’t want to go to the infirmary. Things for colds and upset stomachs and so forth. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to send Valeska back home.”

“I won’t. And thanks for letting me borrow her, Papa.” Harry said, his face still muffled by Snape’s shoulder. Then he recalled where he was and quickly pulled away. He hoped no one had been watching. But no, all the other students were going through the same version of farewell and no one had been paying particular attention to him.

“Make sure you fly her every other day and take good care of her, I’ve written you a note to give to your Head of House requesting that she stay in your room with you, since she isn’t comfortable among too many owls. It’s in your first day of school folder.”

“I know.” Harry rolled his eyes. Only his father would bother making up folders for his first week of school, like a professor, he was so bloody organized! “Papa, what House do you think I’ll be Sorted into?”

“Well, Harry, I don’t know. The Sorting Hat will place you as it sees fit, but remember, it’s not what House you’re in that matters, but how well you do in your subjects. That’s what’s important. I’ll be happy whether you’re a Slytherin or a Hufflepuff.”

“What about Gryffindor?”

“Harry, there’s nothing wrong with Gryffindor. Your mother was from that House and I loved her dearly.”

“Okay,” Harry was relieved. He had been a little worried. But only a little. Still, he’d prefer to be in Slytherin rather than anywhere else. He understood Slytherins, having been raised by two of them. “I’ll behave. I don’t want to have my new broom burned to cinders.”

“You’d better,” Severus warned. “The holidays will be here before you know it. I love you, son.” He hugged his child again.

“Love you too,” Harry murmured before squirming free.

“Go on, son. Blaise and Neville are waiting for you,” Severus rose and pointed towards the front of the platform, where Blaise was being hugged and kissed by his mama and Neville given a hug as well from Gran Augusta and a friendly cuff from Uncle Algie.

Harry turned, grabbed Valeska’s cage and Calin’s carrier, his trunk floating behind him, and raced off to meet his friends. “Bye, Papa! See you at Christmas!”

Severus watched as his son and friends boarded the Hogwarts Express. He brushed away an irritating tear and then forced himself to watch until the train pulled away. For the first time in years, he dreaded the coming holidays. For this Christmas, everything would change, and the son who had hugged him so tightly today might hate him then. Troubled, he turned away and Apparated back to Prince Labs, hoping work might ease his burden and the hollow space in his heart made when his son left for school.

* * * * * *

In the middle of the night, Valeska flew over to Foxfire Hall with a letter. It was addressed to Severus Snape, Potions Master, Foxfire Hall Yorkshire.

After feeding and stroking his falcon, Severus opened the letter eagerly and began to read. Some of the letters were a bit smudged and there were a few ink blots upon the parchment, but Severus had long since learned to decipher his son’s eager scrawl.

Dear Papa (and Grandpa too):

I’m writing this in my dorm room, my prefect said we could have an hour to write a letter home telling our parents or whoever about the Sorting and how we’re settling in. Here I go.

The train ride was kind of boring, Blaise and Nev and I all shared a compartment, Nev actually was allowed to bring Trouble, said the Headmaster gave him special permission. He slept almost the whole ride there and so did I. Except when a girl with bushy brown hair burst into our compartment looking for a lost pet rat named Scabbers. Her name was Hermione Granger and she’s a Muggleborn. She seemed nice enough. Blaise found the rat hiding under our seat and we gave him back to Ron Weasley.

Then we invited them to come sit in the compartment with us and I bought everybody some Cauldron Cakes from the trolley when it came by. We talked a bit then I fell asleep and when I woke up we were at Hogwarts.

You never told me how big it was, Papa! It’s even bigger than home! Blaise, Nev, and I shared a boat and were rowed across by this huge man who looked like he’d taken too much Quick Growth potion. He said his name was Hagrid and he was the groundskeeper and gamewarden. I teased Blaise a little, and said not to fall over the side, and Blaise told me I’d better not either, since you weren’t there to rescue us.

On to the Sorting.

Hermione was Sorted first of our little group, because she’s a G, and she went into Ravenclaw. I wasn’t surprised. She’s their type, all brains and a bit of a know-it-all, but that’s okay. She seemed really happy to be put there.

Nev went next and guess where he ended up?

He thought he was gonna go into Gryffindor ‘cause his parents had been in there, but the Hat said he was a Hufflepuff! It was right. Neville’s hardworking and loyal and he’ll make a good badger.

Then it was my turn. I put the Hat on and it started babbling away about where to put me, it couldn’t really decide between Slytherin and Gryffindor and I gave it a little hint and it screamed, “Better be Slytherin!”

I was really glad to go there, Papa, just like you and Grandpa. My new Housemates clapped and I went over and Prefect Flint shook my hand and said “Welcome to the House of the Serpents.” Ron looked kind of shocked, ‘cause of the fact that we’re the House that LV went into also, but really, it doesn’t make us dark. My new Head of House is Professor Malfoy—Zandra Malfoy, she’s a distant cousin of Lucius. She also the Potions Mistress. I was afraid a bit of her at first, but she doesn’t act at all like her cousin.

Draco got into Slytherin too, which I wasn’t thrilled with, but you gotta take the good with the bad.

And Blaise is a Snake too! I was so happy when he got called.

Ron ended up in Gryffindor, but said we could still be friends. So now I know somebody in all four Houses.

The feast was great, it had everything, and yeah . . .I made myself eat some salad, Papa, so quit glaring. But I didn’t overeat, not even dessert.

Gotta stop now, Professor Malfoy says its time for bed.

There was a brief slash and then the letter continued upon another sheet of parchment.

Couldn’t sleep. It’s late, around twelve thirty, but I just can’t sleep, even with Calin all over my feet purring fit to wake the dead. Some of my new roommates snore and one whistles—whistles!---in his sleep and another talks gibberish and it’s keeping me awake. I tried and tried to sleep, but I can’t. I keep thinking about home, and how it’d be quiet and all I’d hear would be the night insects and purring.

The bed’s nice, but it’s not what I’m used to and it’s really hot in here with all these extra people. So I slipped out of bed and figured I’d write the rest of this letter to you. It’s hard to see with only my wand lit up under the hangings.

Damn! My ink spilled.

(large ink blot marred the page)

Tell Grandpa thanks for teaching me that Ink Returning charm, so now I don’t have ink all over me. Just the paper.

Anyway, I just sat there for a long time thinking about Foxfire Hall and wondering what you and Grandpa are doing. I know, I know, don’t wonder about the obvious—you’re sleeping. Wish I could.

I close my eyes and then I see my room and I feel better but once I open my eyes, it’s gone and I’m here. I wanted to be here, sorry, don’t mean to whine, but right now I wish I was home . . .sorry, didn’t mean to write that . . .I really like it here, the other Slytherins are cool.

I’m not homesick, Papa, not really. I just can’t sleep.

Ahh! Calin, no!

(cat pawprints all over)

Sorry, Papa. Calin just walked all over this.

I hope tomorrow will be fun, I think I have potions first and I know I’ll do well in that.

Miss you!

Love,

Your new Slytherin son,

Harry

PS: I think Valeska misses you too!

Severus set the letter aside and smiled tiredly. That makes two of us, son. I couldn’t sleep either for worrying over you, Harry. I’m glad you’re happy with your Sorting and have made friends already. I’ll write him back tomorrow and send him some of Lina’s apricot tarts as well, he loves them.

Then Severus placed the letter in the photo album he had made long ago, along with Harry’s Hogwart’s letter. The album had become more than just a photo album over the years, it was more like a scrapbook full of memories. He had a picture Lina had taken of the three Prince men standing on the porch of the manor, Harry in his new school robes, with Severus and Augustus on either side of him, and underneath Severus had written Harry’s First Day Going to Hogwarts, 1991.

Then he closed the album and went to sleep. Valeska slept on her usual perch beside the bed, she would fly back with Severus’ letter in the morning.

* * * * * *

A week later, Valeska returned with another letter.

Dear Papa:

So far all my classes are going well. I enjoy potions, herbology, and Transfiguration the best. History of Magic puts me to sleep (sorry . . .but it really DOES) That ghost professor could put the undead into a coma. Ron says he died lecturing. His students probably died of boredom. Hermione just read the book in class and she says I should too. DADA is taught by this weird professor named Quirrell who always wears a purple turban and stutters and it’s really boring too! All he does is talk about hunting zombies and he never teaches us anything new. He gives me the creeps, sometimes he looks at me funny. Wish Grandpa could teach Defense, then we’d really learn something. Hermione says just read the book and don’t worry, so I guess I’ll do that. I like Charms too, Professor Flitwick is really cool. He knew Grandpa back when they fought together in the Grindelwald War and he says to tell him he sends his regards and maybe sometime the Unleasher of Earthquakes will come by for tea.

But flying class is the BEST! You’ll never guess what happened. Draco swiped Nev’s Remembrall that his gran gave him before class and I was trying to get it back when Madam Hooch came and we started getting on our brooms. Something happened to Nev’s broom and it started going crazy, flying all over. He crashed right into Madam Hooch and they both ended up going to the Hospital Wing . . .I think he gave her a concussion! Poor Nev, the worst things always happen to him!

Anyway, there we were and I told Draco to give me the Remembrall, but he just laughed and said I shouldn’t be friends with that prissy-arse badger and if I wanted it to come get him. He jumped on his broom and flew up into the air. I got mad then, Papa. And I flew after him. He was good, but I was better. He tossed the Remembrall at one of the castle windows and I . . .just looped up and caught it, one-handed.

I didn’t want it to break a window and lose points for Slytherin.

I thought nobody saw us.

But I was wrong.

Next thing we know, here comes Professor Malfoy, she’d seen the whole thing from the window. She dragged me and Draco down to her office by our ears! Ouch! Then she yelled at us both for a long time. She yells almost as good as you, ‘cept she’s not quite as scary. And she might look like a Malfoy, she’s tall, with the blond hair and icy blue eyes, but she sure doesn’t favor Draco! She gave him the same punishment as me, we had to scrub cauldrons after her last class, and he told her he was gonna tell his father and she just Looked at him and said, “Be my guest, cousin, but your father isn’t your Head of House—I am and my punishment stands. Break rules and you get in trouble. Now quit whining.”

Draco shut up.

But then she did the best thing. She made me Reserve Seeker for Slytherin.

RESERVE SEEKER!

Me, a firstie!

Draco nearly died of envy.

She said she needed a Reserve just in case her Seeker, Johnny Thorpe, got sick or hurt. I could go to practice with the team and everything, but wouldn’t play in a match unless Johnny wasn’t able to. She loves Quidditch, she bet McGonagall twenty Galleons that Slytherin was going to win the Qudditch Cup this year. Last year Gryff won but before that the Snakes held it. I think she loves Quidditch as much as she does potions.

Umm . . .oh and the Headmaster said he gave his permission for you to send me my new broom, and that’s why I’m writing this.

Could you please send it to me? Practice starts next Saturday.

Ron and Blaise said I’m the youngest Reserve Seeker in a century or something and the Weasley twins said they wouldn’t knock me off my broom—they play Beaters for Gryffindor. They can’t wait to see the Phoenix.

How’s Grandpa? Did he ever write that letter to Smithers telling him he should go and adopt an orphan? Have you gone out yet with Sandra? Don’t wait! She might find someone else.

Don’t forget to send me my broom!

Tell Lina I said hi and that I miss her cooking, and tell Hotspur nobody plays checkers as good as he does.

I’ve got a lot of potions homework tonight, Professor Malfoy gave us three feet of parchment to write about bezoar stones and what poisons they can counteract. Then I have two chapters of Transfiguration to read.

Love,

Harry

New Reserve Seeker of Slytherin

PS: Don’t forget to send the Phoenix as soon as you can!

PPS: Am I in trouble for chasing Draco? I just want to know if I’m grounded, so it’s not a surprise when I come home. Does it count that I told you about it myself?

Severus bit back a chuckle when he read Harry’s clever observations about the teachers and made a mental note to pass on Flitwick’s invitation to Augustus. He was not surprised that Zandra Malfoy had made his son Reserve Seeker, she had been a year below him at school and had been Quidditch obsessed then too. Privately Severus thought Zandra might have been as good a potion maker as he was if she hadn’t let Quidditch distract her.

He summoned his quill, ink, and parchment. Harry, Harry, what am I going to do with you? A week into school and you’re already in hot water.

He began to pen a reply.

* * * * * * *

Harry looked up from eating his breakfast to see Valeska flying towards him, clutching a large brown wrapped package in her talons, with a letter attached.

He jumped up from the table, nearly spilling his milk. “Thanks, Valeska!” He fed the falcon a large piece of bacon and stroked her. She meeped at him then went to rest on his shoulder.

“Harry, did it come?” asked Blaise, all excited.

“Yes, but I have to read the letter before I can open it.”

“How come?” Blaise asked.

“’Cause that’s what my father says. I won’t be able to open the package until the letter’s read.” Harry untied the letter and opened it, ignoring Blaise’s sigh of impatience. Everyone at the Slytherin table was gazing at the package in front of their newest member with undisguised envy and longing.

Harry began to read.

Sept. 8th, 1991

Dear Harry,

I am glad to hear that you like at least some of your subjects. I know all about Binns, he was there when I went to school, and it sounds like he’s as dry and monotone as ever. Do as your Ravenclaw friend suggested and read the text. That way you’ll learn something. Do the same for Defense, and your grandfather and I shall tutor you when you come home, Dumbledore never did hire decent Defense teachers, most of what I know I learned myself or Grandfather taught me.

Your grandfather says he shall reply himself to Professor Flitwick’s invitation.

As for Smithers, you will be proud to hear that he had a long conversation with Grandfather and has started proceedings to adopt an orphaned ten-year-old girl named Susannah Lovell. I think they shall do well together, the girl is small as a pixie, but she has spirit and she is quiet and mannerly. Oddly enough, she says Smithers reminds her of her grandfather and the apothecary says she reminded him of the daughter he lost, had she been able to grow up. Perhaps she shall do for him what we did for your grandfather so long ago.

Will you stop pestering me about Sandra Miska, boy? I shall date when I am good and ready to, Henry Snape! I never said she had to wait for me, if that is what she’s doing.

Finally, about the broomstick . . .do you think I’ve gone blind or have lost my senses that you need to put SEND ME THE PHOENIX in practically every other line of your letter? And a postscript?

I am not entirely pleased with Professor Zandra Malfoy’s decision to make you Reserve Seeker. There is a reason first years are not usually allowed to play sports till second year, and that is because you need to acclimate yourselves to the curriculum and concentrate on your studies first. And you know how I feel about grades, Henry Snape. They come first. If I find out you’ve been slacking off in that area because of Quidditch . . .you will be grounded when you get home.

As for your transgression with Draco, you shouldn’t have behaved so recklessly or foolishly, even if it was for a good reason. Next time tell a professor when something like that happens, don’t try and handle it yourself. That’s their job, not yours. Since Zandra already punished you, I shall not bother adding anything to it . . .THIS time. But mark me, get into trouble on a regular basis and you’ll spend your holidays with your nose stuck in a corner of your room, writing lines and counting dust bunnies. But you get points for being honest.

Your grandfather sends his love as do Lina and Hotspur.

Is there anything else you need?

Congratulations on your new position.

Your exasperated and loving father,

Severus Snape

PS: Now you can open your broom. See, I didn’t forget!

Harry smiled ruefully, then began to untie the string on the Phoenix. Unwrapped, he balanced it carefully on his palms so the whole table could see. All the Slytherin Quidditch fanatics gave huge sighs of envy. Then they all asked if they could try it around the pitch, just once.

Harry chuckled, this was a new thing, him having something everyone else wanted. “I’ll think about it.” Then he set the broom down and started to eat, only to be interrupted by his Head of House.

“Mr. Snape, is that a Phoenix Starfire 2000 I just saw you get delivered?” asked Zandra. Her blue eyes were shining like a kid’s at Christmas.

Harry looked up from his eggs and bacon. “Yes, ma’am. My father just sent it to me from home.”

“I see. That is one fine piece of magical wood,” said his professor. “Would you mind if I . . .tried it out when you are done with practice on Saturday? I used to be a fair Chaser when I was in school, but they never made models like that when I played.” There was a distinct note of wistfulness in her tone.

Harry flushed. What could he say to that? “Err . . .sure, Professor Malfoy.”

She gave him a cordial nod. “Thank you, Mr. Snape. Remember to arrive promptly for practice at 8 o’clock in the morning.” Then she left and went back to the staff table, humming happily.

Draco shot a glare at Harry when his cousin’s back was turned. Clearly he didn’t like the idea that Harry had a better broom than he did, nor that his Head of House had asked to ride it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Harry saw Draco open his bag and draw out a quill and parchment. Then he began scribbling frantically.

Blaise saw too and whispered behind his hand, “Writing to Papa to complain about how unfair it is that Snape has a better broom and can he get one too?”

“I know.” Harry said, then they both started giggling, until Harry snorted milk out of his nose all over the table.

That made half the guys start laughing and the girls shoot him looks of utter disgust.

“Boys!” snapped Pansy Parkinson. “Can they get anymore gross? I wish we had a separate table, instead of being surrounded by these rude beasts!”

Marcus Flint rolled his eyes. “Don’t look now Miss Prim and Proper but one of those “rude beasts” is the boy your daddy’s going to make you marry someday. So better get used to it.”

Pansy looked highly affronted. “When my father does choose my betrothed I am sure he will take into account that he is a gentleman who knows how to behave around a lady.” She looked haughtily at Harry.

Harry glared back at her, then stood up. “Pardon me, my lady,” he drawled in his best lordly tone (learned from Augustus). “So sorry to offend you, next time I’ll just choke to death.” Then he gave her a bow and sat down.

All of the boys clapped and cheered. “That’s telling her, Snape! Put the hoity-toity miss in her place.”

Huffing, Pansy got up and stalked away muttering something about “barbarians”.

Blaise shook his head, than asked Harry when it was his turn to ride the Phoenix.

“Merlin, Snape, you ought to charge a Sickle a ride,” muttered Flint.

Harry diplomatically told everyone that they could take a turn after practice. After Professor Malfoy had flown first.

* * * * * *

November 1st, 1991:

Harry woke stiff and sore from the events of Halloween night. He knew he was lucky to be alive after doing what he had done, though he very much feared he would be dead once his overprotective father and grandfather discovered what had almost happened last night.

He forced himself to get up and take a long hot shower, dress, and then go into the hall for breakfast. By now it was all over the school, and Harry endured several snarly looks from his Housemates for the lost points and some admiring ones as well, from the girls mostly. That gave him the courage to sit and eat breakfast with his Housemates without feeling sick.

At least until the morning post was delivered.

Harry spotted Warlocke right away, the Great Horned owl was among the largest owls winging its way towards the Slytherin table. And he was also the only owl who bore a conspicuous red envelope in his beak.

“Harry!” Blaise went ghost white. “Do you know what that is?”

Harry remained with his mouth open, unable to speak. He gulped hard. Yes, he knew what it was.

A Howler.

For him.

Merlin have mercy! But I am dead. Somebody fetch a shovel so I can just dig my own grave now.

He would have gotten up to run away but he knew that wouldn’t do any good. Warlocke would follow. So he remained where he was, his chin up, determined to “take his punishment like a man” as Augustus was fond of saying.

“Look!” some of the Gryffindors laughed. “Snape’s got himself a Howler!”

Harry shot them a dirty look. He’d bet his whole bank vault that they’d not be laughing if it were them about to get their arse chewed out.

Warlocke dropped the Howler in Harry’s lap, gave him a look of reproof, then took wing quickly and flew out of the hall.

“Better move back, Zabini,” he told his best friend, then he swiftly opened the red envelope.

Severus’ icy furious tone boomed out into the air. Harry cringed, for this Howler was not only a verbal one, but a visual one as well. A ghost-like image of his father emerged from the red smoke and stood there in front of him, large as life, hands on his hips, and began lecturing ferociously.

“HENRY SNAPE, IS THIS HOW I’VE TAUGHT YOU TO BEHAVE? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOUR PROMISE TO ME AT KING’S CROSS? MADE YOURSELF OUT TO BE A LIAR, HAVE YOU? YOU OUGHT TO BE ASHAMED OF YOURSELF, YOUNG MAN! HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU—NEVER EVER RISK YOUR LIFE? ATTACKING A TROLL WITH A ROCK—ARE YOU INSANE, BOY? YOU CAME AN INCH FROM DEATH LAST NIGHT! BLOODY HELL! OF ALL THE FOOLISH IDIOTIC STUNTS! JUST WAIT UNTIL YOU GET HOME, YOUNG MAN . . .THAT BROOM IS MINE AND YOU’LL BE LUCKY IF I DON’T BURN IT TO CINDERS. . . “

The Snape construct began pointing a finger at Harry then and glaring at him. Harry felt himself go bright red from ears to chin. He wished he could just drop dead. Everyone was cracking up. Well, not everyone. Blaise, Neville, and Hermione were giving him pitying looks. Somehow that was worse.

The Severus image went on, his tone scathing.

“IF YOU EVER PULL ANYTHING LIKE THIS AGAIN, YOUNG MAN, I’LL COME DOWN THERE AND PUNISH YOU IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE STUDENT BODY, I SWEAR IT! I’LL STICK YOUR NOSE IN A CORNER AND MAKE YOU STAND THERE FOR AN ENTIRE LUNCH PERIOD WEARING A NAPPY AND A BIB BECAUSE THAT’S HOW YOU’VE BEEN ACTING—LIKE A BABY RUSHING INTO DANGER AFTER BEING TOLD A THOUSAND TIMES FIRE IS HOT! DON’T TEST ME. ONE MORE THING. YOUR GRANDFATHER IS ASHAMED OF YOU AS WELL. START THINKING, HENRY SNAPE! WE’RE GOING TO HAVE A VERY LONG TALK WHEN YOU COME HOME, YOUNG MAN!”

The Severus image shook his finger under Harry’s nose before vanishing in a puff of red smoke and leaving a rather nasty stench behind.

Harry, his face flaming in humiliation, longed to crawl under the table. This was a thousand times worse than that time in the toy store. He would have preferred a spanking from Augustus over this.

He eyed the other Slytherins. Some of them were still chuckling, others looked awed and sympathetic.

Then Draco spoke. “Bloody hell, Snape, but am I glad he’s not my father!”

Harry couldn’t blame him. Right then he wished the same thing.

* * * * * *

Harry returned from Quidditch practice that afternoon still in low spirits. His father’s Howler still stung like hell, even though it had been several hours since. Even Flint had said with a kind of rough sympathy, “I’d never want your old man mad at me, Snape. When he reams your arse, mate, he really reams your arse. I was shaking in my boots and it wasn’t even my Howler.”

“Yeah,” was all Harry could manage. What hurt the most was that he hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell his side before his father had torn strips off him. That never would have happened at home. At home, he had always been asked to explain his actions before Severus yelled at him.

He undressed, got into his pajamas and then sat at his desk, staring at the wall, Severus’s words still echoing in his head. He felt his eyes start to well with tears. Furiously he swiped at them. I’m sorry, Papa. I didn’t mean to make you worry or make you ashamed of me. He swallowed the lump in his throat, picked up his quill, and began to write, trying to ignore the few tears that splashed upon the parchment.

November 1st, 1991

Dear Sir:

I know you think I’m a disgrace and I just wanted to write you and apologize for shaming the family, I didn’t mean to. What I did was done to help a friend, actually several friends, and while I did act recklessly, it wasn’t for the hell of it. Forgive my language, sir.

Let me explain.

Halloween night, we were all at the feast, and Blaise, Nev, Ron, Hermione and I were all eating together for once. On Halloween it’s not required you eat with your Housemates alone, so I was eating with my friends when Quirrell bursts in yelling like a maniac—“Troll! Troll in the dungeon! Thought you should know!” Then he passes out flat on the floor. Everyone panicked until Dumbledore told all the prefects to get everyone back to their Houses except us Slytherins, since the dungeons weren’t safe we were to stay up in the hall.

About that time I noticed Hermione was missing, and Nev told me she’d gone to the loo, said her stomach was bothering her. She didn’t see Quirrell, didn’t know about the troll prowling. I had to warn her. I took Nev and Blaise with me, Ron had already been rounded up by Percy. Nev had Trouble with him and I had Valeska on my shoulder.

We made it to the girl’s loo and I called out to Hermione. She told me to go away, but I couldn’t. I had a Stomach Soother in my robe pocket, you always tell me to be prepared, sir, and I went in to give it to her.

She had just drunk it when the troll burst through the wall of the bathroom.

It was going spare, smashing everything, Hermione and I were nearly crushed by a flying toilet. She was screaming and crying, and I was trying to get her out of there. Nev and Blaise came in to try and distract it. Trouble charged right at it, tried to bite off its toe, but it kicked poor Troub across the room into a wall. Nev thought he was dead and tried to curse the bloody troll, but he’s never been much good at curses and it didn’t work.

We were screaming for help, but all the teachers were in the dungeons and couldn’t hear us. I HAD to do something. So I used that Summoning charm you showed me and called my Phoenix to me.

While I did that, Valeska attacked the troll, she went for the eyes, and I couldn’t stop her, sir! She was like a bolt of white lightning, she made the stupid thing blunder about trying to hit her. I was really scared she might get hit and then she’d die and you’d hate me forever.

My Phoenix came and I looked around for something to throw at the troll and I found a fist sized piece of cement or plaster. I grabbed it and started to fly around the troll, I needed a clear shot. Valeska drew away and I dove down and threw the rock right into its left eye. Just like in Quidditch.

It started howling and pawing its face but it wasn’t out yet. Until McGonagall, Malfoy, and Quirrell came and Stunned it till it fell down and bound it. McGonagall was both impressed and furious, she gave us points for bravery and then gave us detention. Professor Malfoy was mad enough to chew dragonhide, she took away all the points McGonagall gave us and chewed our ears off and then she sent us to the Hospital Wing to be checked over. Even Trouble, who’s all healed now, went there.

I know I should have gotten a teacher, sir. I thought about it later . . .but there wasn’t time to go fetch one. Honest!

I’m really sorry. But I couldn’t leave Hermione. Can’t you see that?

Please forgive me, sir.

Respectfully,

Your son,

Harry Snape (who is now grounded for life and dead of embarrassment)

PS: Valeska’s fine!!

PPS: Please don’t take away my broom! Please! I’d rather get five with a ruler than that.

He fed Valeska some dried strips of rabbit and stroked her. “I really messed up, girl. But you were magnificent. Thanks for saving my worthless hide.”

To his surprise, the falcon preened his hair, the way she did to no one but Severus.

He gave her a little smile. “Love you too. Please bring this to my father.”

Valeska allowed him to fasten the letter upon her leg, then she finished her grooming before she took wing and flew out into the dusk.

Harry, too weary and heartsick to do homework, curled up on his bed with Calin on his stomach and snuggled with the calico. The cat never held grudges and loved to be held, she was a favorite of all the staff save Quirrell, who claimed cats made him sneeze. Oddly enough, Calin disliked him, she hissed whenever he came by and ran away. Harry thought she was smart, the man gave him the heebie-jeebies too.

He fell asleep waiting for Valeska to return.

* * * * * *

The next morning he woke to find Valeska asleep and a letter on his pillow.

He tore it open, and found a few lines written in Severus’ elegant script.

Harry,

You’re forgiven, but next time, for the love of Merlin, please think before you act. I don’t want to bury you before you’re twenty. I nearly died when I got Professor Malfoy’s letter on Halloween. We’ll discuss punishments and so forth when you come home. Behave, won’t you? And you won’t be dead of embarrassment.

Oh and don’t feel guilty that you couldn’t call Valeska off, she’s very protective of her family and she loves you, foolish imp. As do I and your grandfather.

Love,

Papa

* * * * * *

During the month of November, letters from Harry were few and far between, and Severus and Augustus expected it was because of an increased workload of academics. The single note they got from him was addressed to Augustus.

Dear Grandpa,

Played my first Quidditch game as Seeker against Gryffindor.

WE WON! WE WON! I CAUGHT THE SNITCH!

Love,

Harry (now known as the Flying Falcon)

Slytherin Seeker

December was the same, Severus decided to buy him an owl for a present, so Valeska could return home to be with him, and he tried to ask Harry what species he preferred, but he got back a brief reply of I don’t know. “They must be working his tail off, because he hardly writes anymore,” Severus said to Augustus.

“End of term finals,” his grandfather said.

“Right. He must be studying hard,” Severus said, pleased.

They couldn’t have been more wrong.

Harry was working hard. Just not on schoolwork.

He was working hard playing Quidditch, since Johnny came down with Wizard Pneumonia and had to be on bed rest for the rest of the season. Which meant Harry played in every game and practice, and his fame as the best Seeker Slytherin ever had grew and grew. As did his own Quidditch obsession.

And his grades, once excellent, plummeted.

* * * * * *

December 5th, 1991

Hogwarts:

Slytherin had won their last game of the quarter and the whole House was in high spirits, especially their Head of House. She had given permission for the first through third years to stay up an hour past their curfew of ten o’clock and fourth through fifth years to stay up till midnight and the sixth and seventh years could stay up till two o’clock so long as they were quiet. She had also asked the school house elves to supply the common room with various non-alcoholic drinks and snacks to celebrate their win. Zandra even joined them for an hour or two, and one of the guests of the hour was her brilliant young Seeker, Harry Snape.

But the morning after the party was when Harry realized that he was in danger of being put on academic probation for every class save for Flying, Potions, and DADA. He had been so obsessed with winning Quidditch matches that he often failed to turn in homework and his concentration in class was negligible because he was so tired from practice and he barely took notes and his tests were abysmal. His teachers had issued several detentions and warnings and even spoken to his Head of House, but Zandra had brushed their concerns aside because Harry was the best Seeker she had ever had in her House. And in her class, he did well, since he had been studying potions since he could stir a cauldron and use a mortar and pestle. In Defense all you had to do was show up and Quirrell gave out a passing grade and Madam Hooch had long ago given Harry top marks for Flying.

Now, however, there was less than two weeks left of the first term, and Harry knew there was no way he could ever make up the work and even if he aced his finals in Transfiguration, Astronomy, Herbology, Charms, and History of Magic, it might just prevent him from failing those subjects. Might.

He panicked utterly then, suddenly recalling his father’s parting words to him at King’s Cross. Your grades are the most important thing. And his grades were awful. He went to Hermione, who had been bugging him all tern to study and do homework, and practically begged her to tutor him in half his subjects.

“Harry, I told you to study and everything before you started playing Quidditch.”

“I know, I should have listened to you, okay?” he panted. “Please, ‘Mione, you have to help me. If I come home failing anything my father’s gonna kill me!”

She gave him a cross look. “Maybe you ought to have thought about that months ago,” she said, then she relented when she saw the fear in his eyes. “All right. I’ll help.”

But even with most meticulous and studious first year in Hogwarts helping him, Harry barely scraped by, getting the lowest possible passing grade in two subjects, Astronomy and Herbology, an average grade in Charms and Defense, and only in Flying, which didn’t really count, and Potions did he receive top marks. Even so, Harry knew his potions grade could have been higher. And he had basically failed History of Magic and Transfiguration.

And so it was that when every first year was looking forward to going home for the holidays, Harry wished he could stay at the school. Because there was no doubt in his mind that when Severus saw his marks he was going to nail his son’s arse to a wall.

I am dead. Just so very dead. He’s going to have a coronary or a stroke. Maybe both. And I don’t even want to think about Grandpa.

He went about methodically packing up his things, wondering if he would ever see his room again. Today’s Monday and marks will probably arrive Tuesday or Wednesday. I wish there was a way I could . . .change them, but I know the teachers put them on spelled paper to prevent that. I’ll have maybe two more days to live.

On the train ride home he went through three vials of Stomach Soother and still felt like puking. He bit all his nails down to the quick and wished he could jump off the train and hide somewhere. Like in a hole six feet deep.

“How much trouble do you think you’ll be in?” asked Blaise worriedly.

“I’ll probably be grounded for the rest of the holidays,” Harry said gloomily. “If he doesn’t kill me first.”

All his friends winced and Neville said, “Good luck, Harry.”

Harry bit his lip to keep from laughing hysterically. Luck? He needed divine intervention.

* * * * * *

December 23rd, 1991:

Harry had been quiet and rather subdued during the two days he had spent home, Severus mused as he poured himself a cup of coffee. At first he had feared the child was coming down with something, but a diagnostic and Harry’s own insistence revealed that he was fine. He was still mulling over his son’s strange behavior when a large barn owl tapped at the window of the drawing room.

Severus let it inside and it promptly delivered to him a large envelope bearing the Hogwarts crest. Severus rewarded the owl and then he set the letter down and finished drinking most of his coffee. By then Augustus had joined him and asked about the letter.

“It’s Harry’s end of term grades, I believe,” Severus said, glancing out the window. It had begun snowing heavily the night before and it was still coming down. “Looks like a blizzard out there.”

Augustus nodded. “We’re overdue for one,” he said, then turned back to his breakfast.

Severus finished his coffee, toast, hardboiled egg and sausage before opening the letter.

He had to read it twice before he convinced himself that he wasn’t reading it wrong.

A vein began to throb in his temple as he fought to control his flashfire temper.

Augustus finished eating a helping of fried potatoes before asking, “Something wrong, Severus?”

Severus’ jaw clenched. “I’ll say there’s something wrong! Take a look at this!” he thrust the report at Augustus, who took it and read aloud:

Potions: 95

Defense: 76

Charms: 77

Flying: 99

Transfiguration: 55

Astronomy: 65

Herbology: 60

History of Magic: 50

Augustus looked as displeased as Severus. “He’s capable of better than this. It would seem he wasn’t studying as hard as we thought.”

“No. He was too busy having a good time,” Severus said shortly. “He failed two subjects! Two! And barely passed another two! Merlin’s bloody arse! What was he doing all term, playing tiddlywinks? Daydreaming?”

“Why don’t you ask him?” Augustus suggested.

Severus’s eyes blazed. “Oh, I intend to. Believe me.”

Then he took the stairs to the upper floor two at a time, the paper crumpled slightly in his fist.

Harry was yanked rudely out of a pleasant dream by the warm blankets being tugged off him accompanied by a quick swat and Severus saying furiously, “Henry Snape, get your damn arse up right now!”

The command had him wide awake and sitting up in two seconds, dread sweeping through him like a chill wind.

His glasses were shoved at him and when he fumbled them on, he saw his father standing at the foot of the bed, holding a piece of parchment. He didn’t need to ask what piece of parchment, because his father’s thunderous expression told him all he needed to know. “Sir?”

Severus was counting very rapidly, and trying to control his breathing. He thrust the parchment at Harry and said, very softly, “Would you care to explain, Mr. Snape, how you came by these grades?”

Harry gulped. He stared at the parchment and did not say anything. Seconds ticked by endlessly.

“Well? I’m waiting.”

Harry managed a breath, then said, “I’m sorry, sir.”

“Sorry? I don’t want apologies, I want to know how you managed to fail two subjects and nearly another two and only get a 92 in potions? What were you doing all term? Playing about with your friends?”

“No.”

“Did you hand any of your homework in? Attend class at all?”

“Yes, sir. I went to class.”

“And did what? Fell asleep?” Severus demanded.

Harry did not answer. He nodded. Then he added quickly, “But I did do my homework. Mostly. Until . . .”

“Until what? Until you decided not to?”

“No. Until I started playing Seeker for the team full time,” Harry admitted miserably. He did not dare to lie to the other wizard, he was already in enough trouble.

“You’re telling me these poor grades are a result of you playing Quidditch?” Severus spat the last word as if it were a curse.

“Ummm . . .sort of.”

“Sort of? Don’t split hairs with me, boy! Answer my question.”

“It wasn’t that I didn’t have time . . .I just . . .didn’t feel like doing anything after practice, most times. I was tired . . .” Even to his own ears that sounded lame.

“And you didn’t bring this up with Professor Malfoy? Why?”

“Because I really wanted Slytherin to win this year,” Harry blurted out. “They all said I was the best Seeker we ever had and I won almost all the games when we played and it felt great. Better than studying all the time.”

The instant those words left his mouth he wished he could call them back. They were so not the right thing to say just then.

“Oh. I see,” Severus said in a deadly soft tone. “You thought your precious status as Seeker more important that your grades.” His hands clenched into fists and he made a monumental effort to keep from shouting Just like your bloody father! “Well, I have news for you, young man. Playing Quidditch won’t help you finish school. How many times have I told you, your studies come first, then sports? I thought I could trust you to monitor yourself, or at the very least trust your teachers to do so! It would seem Zandra Malfoy is a poor Head of House if this is the kind of thing she allows her Slytherins to get away with.”

“No, she’s not!” Harry felt compelled to defend his teacher, who had at least had been kind enough to not fail him. “She reminded me to do my homework.”

“When? Inbetween matches? Harry, you go to school to learn magic, not catch some stupid winged globe—”

“Quidditch isn’t stupid, sir!” Harry defended his beloved sport. “It’s the best game ever.”

“Spare me, please!” Severus growled. “That infernal game is the ruination of boys like you! Because of it you, who were once a good student, has failed two courses! They should ban it from the school!”

Harry gasped. Ban Quidditch? “Papa, no! I’ll . . .I’ll study harder next time. Promise.”

“Damn straight you will! Because these kind of grades are totally unacceptable, Harry! You’re capable of getting the highest marks in your year. That is a disgrace!” He pointed to the parchment Harry still held. “And here I thought you stopped writing because you were busy studying. Ha! Instead I find you were busy chasing a bloody globe around on a broomstick. What were you thinking?”

“That I was having fun,” Harry mumbled. “I don’t know.” He dropped his gaze to his feet.

“Fun? Well, I hope you have fun doing chores all over this house over the break, young man. Because you’re grounded from now until you go back to school. That means no friends over, bedtime at eight-thirty, and especially no broom!”

Harry cringed. He had known that was coming though. Any time his father grounded him, he took away his broom. “Okay, sir. I understand.”

But Severus wasn’t through yet. “Matter of fact, I think I’m going to have a few words with Professor Malfoy and her obsession with Quidditch. This is why no first year is allowed to play sports—because they can’t handle schoolwork and being on a team at the same time.”

Severus’ sharp words struck home and Harry felt himself bristle. He hated it when his father treated him like a little kid that needed a grown-up to tell him what to do. “I’m not a baby, Papa! I’m eleven! I can handle myself just fine. I just got a little distracted, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”

Severus’ eyes narrowed. “That’s right. It won’t. Because I’m going to write to Professor Malfoy today and tell her to find another Seeker for next term. Clearly you’re not ready to handle the responsibility of playing a sport and keeping up with your grades. And I’ll be damned if I’ll let Quidditch turn your brain into mush. There’s more to life than catching the Snitch, and I won’t let you waste yourself this way. I’ll speak to Zandra and tell her you’re not allowed on the team until next year, and then only if you bring your grades up in the meantime—”

Harry listened in mounting horror to Snape’s ultimatum. Give up Quidditch? Not play Seeker again? “No! You can’t do that!” he yelled.

“I can and I shall,” Severus snapped. “I’ve indulged you with this sport long enough. There are plenty of other ways for you to spend your free time—”

“How? Brewing boring potions? Reading stupid library books?” Harry spat, his emerald eyes shimmering with angry tears. “Just ‘cause you hate Quidditch doesn’t mean I have to. You’ve never even bothered to learn about it—”

“I know all I care to know. And no son of mine is going to turn into an arrogant gloryhound who only cares about winning matches. You’ve played your last game this year, young man!” Severus declared with icy finality.

Harry burst into tears. “I hate you! I worked really hard to get us into second place and now you’re going to ruin it all!” He raged. “You don’t care about anything except bloody potions, you don’t care about what I want, it’s always what you want, all you care about is following rules, you want me to be a know-it-all and never have any fun! You’ve never cared about me—!”

His son’s words struck him like a dagger to the heart and his carefully honed control snapped. He grabbed Harry and shook him hard. “How dare you say such a thing?” he exploded. “You know nothing of what I’ve sacrificed for you all these years! Nothing! If it weren’t for me you would have died ten years ago, after your bloody Muggle relatives dumped you in a manger and left you to freeze to death! I was the one who found you and saved your life, I took you in and cared for you like my own, and you dare to say I only care about what I want? After all I’ve done for you?”

Harry was stunned. He went limp in Severus’ grasp. “What do you mean? What relatives?”

“The Dursleys! The only ones you had left after Voldemort killed your parents!” Severus continued, the words pouring from his mouth in a torrent. “You’re Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter—” he halted, his temper abruptly dying as he realized what he had said.

Harry stared up at him, his eyes wide. “I’m not your son?”

“No. Not biologically.” Severus began, he had not intended to just blurt it out like that, but the boy had made him so angry . . . He released his hold on Harry. “But that never mattered. I always thought of you as mine—”

Harry shook his head. “I’m really Harry Potter? Not Henry Snape?” Confusion swirled within him. And so did a thick choking sensation of betrayal and hurt. His parents were dead, he was really an orphan, and the man before him had lied to him. “You lied to me. You told me my mum loved you—”

“She did, Harry. I was her best friend.”

“No. No.” He backed away. If he wasn’t Severus Snape’s son, then who was he? An unwanted baby in a manger? Suddenly it was too much. His world had shattered and it was all the fault of the man in the black robes before him. “I don’t believe you! You lying two-faced bastard!”

“Harry, let me explain—”

“Leave me alone! Just get away from me!” he cried, jumping up and racing from the room.

Severus followed. “Come back here!”

But Harry ignored him, instead running up the spiral stairs to the third floor, where the attic was. Severus heard the attic door slam and the click of the lock.

The Potions Master remained where he was, staring up the staircase, the anger draining out of him, leaving behind only hurt and despair. What have I done? Blessed Merlin, why did I tell him that way? Why? Now he despises me.