It was hard to tell what had really been a dream and what had not been a dream. Angrily, Harry rolled over on his side, wanting nothing more than to just fall back into the empty void that he had embraced so passionately when sleep had come to him. But for some reason, there were people scuffling about, making all manner of loud noises. Harry was so angry that he thought about yelling at them to keep it down, that some people were trying to sleep, when he found that he was too tired to yell.

But then another thought occurred to Harry while he was desperately wishing that everyone would be quiet: why could he hear everything? He thought he had taken a sleeping potion. But no, he had taken a Calming Draught and a Dreamless Sleep Potion, and then had been under a sleeping spell. A weak sleeping spell. So this was not a dream; this was real. So . . . if this was real, then why was everyone being so loud? Harry would think that they wouldn’t want to wake him up.

Lying still, the Gryffindor decided to listen as best as he could while in his confused and sleepy state.

“You just found him like this?” That was Madam Pomfrey speaking. She sounded nearly frantic.

“That’s what I said. He . . . in the robes when . . . just like this,” Dumbledore faded in and out. He did not sound the least bit calm, either.

“Like this?” the medi-witch exclaimed.

“Keep your voice down!” Professor McGonagall hissed. “You’ll wake . . . don’t want to scare him.”

Confused more than ever, Harry closed his eyes tightly and willed his hearing to be better. He wanted to know what was going on and what the adults were talking about. Whatever they were talking about, it sounded like it was worth knowing…

Snape! Maybe they had found something out about Snape? Or were they looking at Archer’s body?

“. . . still can’t believe . . . how could anyone hurt him?” Professor Flitwick was still there, too, it seemed. But what on Earth were they all talking about? From what he was able to catch, being so far from the others, Harry could not really put anything together. Who were they talking about?

“What . . . now, Albus? We can’t . . . too emotionally worn and physically abused,” Madam Pomfrey’s voice started to rise with her agitation.

Dear Merlin. Were they talking about Harry? Did they all know, now, how abusive the Dursleys were? They weren’t even talking about the Potions master or about the Death Eater, they were talking about him! How could they have known? He thought he had kept them off the track pretty good. He did not want them to know about his sad life in the Muggle world. He did not want them to pity him!

“Poppy,” Albus scolded lightly. “You’ll wake him.”

Harry sat bolt upright in bed. “Please don’t tell anyone!” the Gryffindor cried. “It’s not true, really!”

But as he looked around, even with his vision blurry, Harry could see the shapes of his professors and the nurse. It was dark out, but there was a small glow of wandlight, and Harry thought he saw shock on some of their faces, although he could not be sure. And he was even more confused when there came a sound like someone was crying . . . someone little. What was going on here?

As Harry was trying to figure everything out, Dumbledore raised his hand towards Harry, and only after studying the older wizard a moment did Harry realize that the headmaster was pointing a wand at him. And before Harry could do anything, he fell back into bed, asleep.

 ~*~

Dumbledore put his wand away before turning back to the problem at hand. “I don’t think he could see anything.”

“He’ll be the first to figure it out, though.” Minerva looked down at the sleeping child before her. “I don’t see how anyone could not see the resemblance.”

“We could put him under a charm,” Filius offered. “I would be willing to do it.”

“But how are we going to hide him, charm or not? Someone’s going to realize the strangeness of Severus being gone and the little boy being here,” Minerva said, shaking her head.

Sighing heavily, Albus peered down at the injured little boy as well. “We’re just going to have to think of something. But for now, Poppy, I think you should tend to your patient.”

Waving her wand over the boy’s body, Poppy nodded at the headmaster’s request. “Yes, yes, just let me work.” She had not really been listening. “Poor thing,” she kept cooing quietly as she worked to heal the broken little body.

They all looked down at the little boy, who had far too many injuries than what he should have had. It was disgusting to think of someone harming him as much as he had been. But obviously there were those that did not care about a child’s health. Disgusted and furious on the boy’s behalf, Dumbledore looked up at the professors. “We’ll need to go somewhere to talk,” he said seriously. “Poppy, keep us informed if anything should happen. And under no circumstance are you to tell anyone about him, am I clear?”

“Yes, of course,” the witch nodded understandingly before resuming her work.

With one final nod, Albus looked over at Harry, who had passed out again, sleeping soundly, before he led Professors McGonagall and Flitwick toward the fireplace. “Headmaster’s office,” he called as he threw the Floo powder in. Things were about to get just that much more interesting.

~*~

The next morning, Harry woke up with a dull headache. He had had the craziest dream last night — this odd dream of Dumbledore and the other professors being here in the healing chambers, and they had found out about the Dursleys! It had been really weird. But wait . . . he had ingested Dreamless Sleep Potion. He should not have dreamed about anything . . . which meant that it had been real!

Sitting up quickly, Harry snatched up his glasses and looked around the room. It was very quiet, and there seemed to be nothing out of the ordinary. The sun was fairly low, which meant that it was still early in the morning, so that meant that no one was up yet, probably. Maybe he could get out of here before Madam Pomfrey got up and decided to ask him questions about his home life. He’d already dodged those kinds of questions before, and he had no desire to do it again.

But as he got up, Harry thought he heard something . . . something that sounded suspiciously like sniffling. He had heard the same noise the night before, he’d realized, when the adults had been talking. There was someone else in here, but whom? Dumbledore would not want anyone in here after they brought Archer and Snape up, would he? What if a child came up here and saw two dead men? That would be terrible!

Curious, Harry walked over to the bed that he thought held the body of a little child. But if it was another kid, he had to be pretty small — much smaller than a first year, certainly. Getting closer, the fifteen-year-old could have sworn that either it was a very little child — say a four-year-old — or a stuffed animal. But he could not think of a logical reason for either one of those things to be here at Hogwarts, especially after last night.

As he got closer, the Gryffindor saw something dark sticking out from under the blankets. It looked silky and soft. It took a moment, but then Harry realized that it was hair. So it was a person . . . a child. But why was there a child here? Was that what the adults were talking about last night? Was this the abused little kid that had them all in such a state? If so, how had they even come across this child? Shouldn’t they have been more focused on Snape and his murderer?

When Harry was several feet away from the bed, the child in question leapt up, startling the older boy so badly that he nearly feel back. But the little child did not waste a moment, and before Harry could recover, it tried frantically to run away. Surprised, Harry had to shake his head to come out of his shock. “Wait! Stop!” he cried, noticing the child had a cast. The older boy did not want this little one to get hurt.

Whether out of fear or stubborn determination, the child did not stop, but desperately tried to get to the fireplace. Merlin, this kid was trying to Floo away! It did not take long for Harry to reach the kid and scoop him up in his arms.

The child yelped.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” Harry tried to stay calm while ducking the blows the kid was sending him. Merlin, this kid was a fighter! For a moment or two, the Gryffindor thought he might very well lose an eye!

But while Harry tried to calm the little child, the kid made no other noise except that of heavy breathing as he tried to get away. The older boy walked back to the bed and set the child down carefully. “Calm down, kid, it’s all right,” he said, trying to soothe it.

The child did not respond, but sat very still, looking up at Harry. It was then that Harry could tell that this was a little boy. The long, dark hair had made the older boy wonder, but looking at the face there was no mistaking this kid as a girl. And what surprised Harry was the amount of injuries the child had. The little face was marred with bruises and scratches, as were his little arms. Although he could not see the skin on the rest of the child, the Gryffindor was willing to bet that it looked similar to what he could see. This little one had really been abused. Terribly.

As Harry looked the boy over, he suddenly found himself looking the child in the eyes. He gasped. Those eyes . . . those dark, black eyes . . . Those were Snape’s eyes! This child . . . was this child Severus Snape’s son? Had the Potions master really been as bad as everyone said? Was Snape capable of abusing a child, his own son? Snape must have really been an evil bastard! Harry could not believe that his late professor could do such a thing! Not after he saved that little girl from the Death Eaters.

“Harry!”

Harry spun around quickly to see an angry-looking Dumbledore, followed by an anxious Madam Pomfrey. “Professor!” he exclaimed, surprised.

“Oh, my!” Poppy rushed over to the younger child, who flinched terribly when she touched him. “Has he been awake long?” she asked, looking to Harry.

“Just got up a minute or so ago.” Harry’s mind was numb, but he managed to speak. “He jumped out of bed, so I put him back.”

“He was out of bed?” The medi-witch looked up in amazement. “You are not to be walking around, little one,” she said gently to the little boy, who looked like he was about to cry. “You could have hurt yourself, dear.”

As he watched the scene before him, Harry could not deny the resemblance between this little boy and Severus Snape. The similarities were just too striking. From the dark hair to the pale skin, this kid could have almost been a duplicate of the Potions master. But then, how had he gotten here? And why hadn’t Snape made it known that he had had a kid? Merlin, who had been Snape’s wife? And where had this kid been all this time?

“Harry,” Dumbledore’s stern voice brought the younger wizard out of his thoughts. “A word, if you please.”

Gulping, the Gryffindor followed the headmaster over to the corner, away from Madam Pomfrey and the mini-Snape. Harry found that his eyes kept straying back over to the injured little boy. He was just so small and cute. How could anyone hurt such a little boy? Not even the Dursleys had done that much damage to him! ...but then it surprised him that he had used the adjective ‘cute’ connected with the thought of a Snape…

“I suppose you figured it out, then,” the headmaster said softly, eyeing Harry.

“Sir?” Harry turned to look the old man in the eyes.

“I said, I suppose you’ve put it all together, haven’t you?” Dumbledore tried to smile, but for once, it failed. “What do you know?”

Not comfortable with the conversation or the situation, Harry looked once more at the little boy across the room before turning back to the headmaster. “I’m not sure, sir,” he replied truthfully. “But is that . . . is that Professor Snape’s son?”

“Son?” the headmaster looked completely taken aback for a moment before his eyes lit up with a fierce twinkle. “No, no, not his son. Although I had never even thought of that possibility . . .”

“Sir?” Harry cocked his head in confusion. He was getting a terrible headache.

Dumbledore took Harry by the arm and led him back over to the nurse and her little patient. “Harry,” Albus said lightly, his lips pulling into a smile (it was forced, and only for the little boy’s sake), “this is Severus. Severus, this is Harry Potter. Do you remember him?”

There was a moment when Harry thought his heart stopped. Severus? As in Severus Snape? Was Dumbledore trying to claim that this little kid was Snape? But that was impossible! Snape was dead. Harry had heard the Killing Curse, saw the green light flash, heard the explosion, heard the body fall! There was no way that this little boy before him could be the tall, grim Potions master that he had known for four years. There was just no way!

The child, Severus, locked eyes with Harry. Black met green and the elder boy felt as though he were falling into dark tunnels. It was as though the child were looking straight through him — seeing everything, even the things Harry would have liked to keep hidden. Those dark, black eyes, cold even at such a young age . . . there truly was no mistaking this child. This boy had to be the Severus Snape that everyone had known.

But when the little boy broke his hypnotic gaze, he turned to Dumbledore and shook his head ‘no.’ No? What had been the question, again? Did he remember Harry? He did not remember Harry? The thought both alarmed and delighted the fifteen-year-old. But how could Snape not remember him?

“That’s okay.” The headmaster smiled down kindly at the little boy, who actually looked close to tears. Why was this kid . . . Snape . . . Severus? . . . close to tears, anyway? Harry would never have pictured Snape as the sensitive type. Maybe he was just in pain? There were a lot of bruises and scrapes all over the kid. “You don’t have to remember him if you can’t,” the old wizard said, patting the little black head. The child flinched alarmingly.

“So, wait,” Harry frowned, confused. “You’re telling me that this kid really is Snape?”

The headmaster scowled at Harry’s tone, and guided the older boy away while Madam Pomfrey continued her examination of Severus. “You should not speak so negatively around Severus,” the old wizard said sternly. “He’s been through quite a lot.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry apologized immediately, but then he paused, thinking through everything he had come to notice. “But I don’t understand. Why is Professor Snape a little kid? I heard Archer say the killing curse. I know it killed someone. I heard the body hit the ground!”

“I am not exactly sure what happened, Harry,” Dumbledore admitted wearily. “But if I had to guess, I think that it was Archer that you heard get killed.”

“You expect me to believe he killed himself?” Harry was getting frustrated with not getting any answers.“No, no, of course not.” The headmaster shook his head. “I am merely saying that I believe Archer’s curse, while directed at Severus, missed. The broken cauldron in the room would suggest that the spell then hit the cauldron and bounced back to kill Archer.”

“So, Archer was killed with his own curse?” Harry frowned. “But that doesn’t explain why Snape’s a little kid.”

“That,” the old man said, looking over his shoulder at the little boy sitting on the hospital bed, “is the true mystery. How indeed.”

Looking towards his professor, Harry wasn’t sure if he wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all or start crying from the sheer frustration. “You’re saying you don’t know? That Snape just randomly turned into a kid that doesn’t remember me? Why in Merlin’s name would he turn himself into a little kid? And how did he get so beaten up?”

For the first time that Harry could really remember, Dumbledore looked old. The great wizard simply looked tired. “Although I cannot be certain,” the headmaster began, “we think — Minerva, Filius, and I — that Severus’s . . . current status is partially due to the potion he was brewing. Did he say which potion it was?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “He didn’t seem to want me to know anything about what was in that room.”

“I was afraid of that,” Dumbledore sighed. “In Severus’s line of work, secrecy is vital; but I’m afraid in this particular case, it has backfired. If I am correct — and evidence is in my favor — I believe that whatever Severus was brewing was something of his own creation. Therefore we do not know how to reverse the effects.”

Snape’s own creation? Merlin, the Potions master had been creating his own potions? What kind of potions did a man like Snape make? Even though he tried not to, Harry shuddered. A potion made by a former Death Eater was not something that Harry thought he would ever want to sample first, even if it claimed to heal any type of illness.

Dumbledore seemed to read Harry’s thoughts plain enough and chuckled quietly. “Yes, Harry, Professor Snape did invent plenty of potions in his time. Some of his more . . . creative ones were first brewed while he was still a student here at Hogwarts.”

Again, Harry felt a twinge of jealousy at Snape’s abilities. Not even Hermione had been smart enough to come up with her own type of potion. How did one even begin to make a new potion? You could not simply throw in whatever looked good, as that could cause an explosion or create poisonous fumes or some other kind of horrible atrocity. And Professor Snape had been doing this while he was just a kid? Then there was no way the man could not have grown up to be a Potions master.

“Harry.” The headmaster put his arm around the boy and guided him farther away from the little Potions master and the nurse. “I want to tell you a little story. But I must know that you will not repeat any of this to anyone. Not even your friends.”

Normally, Harry wasn’t sure if he could make a promise like that. Ron and Hermione had always been there for him when he needed them, and he told them everything. But looking over his shoulder at the sad little boy with Madam Pomfrey, Harry knew that he was going to have to keep his friends in the dark if this happened to be about Professor Snape. After all, Snape had risked his life to protect Harry, and if there was anything Harry could do in return to help his professor, he would do it. It was the right thing to do.

Noticing that Harry was debating with himself, Albus patted him on the shoulder. “Harry, what I am about to tell you is a sad story, one that naught but a few, a very select few, know. I want to tell you, but I will not if you do not believe that you can keep this quiet.”

Although he knew he would feel bad about keeping this from Ron and Hermione, Harry just had to know what Dumbledore was talking about. He knew it had to do with Professor Snape. “I won’t tell, sir,” Harry answered steadily. “I promise.”

Smiling warmly, the old headmaster patted Harry’s shoulder again. “Good boy,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Now, let us start from the very beginning, shall we?”

The headmaster led them near the entrance, far enough away so that Severus and Poppy could not hear, and sat down on a bed. Harry sat across from him and waited for Dumbledore to begin. Somehow, he just knew this all had to be about Snape.

“About forty years ago, there was a witch who graduated from Hogwarts who was very skilled and powerful. Her name was Eileen Prince, and she was the youngest child of the prestigious Pureblood family of Princes.” Harry frowned, not expecting this start, but nevertheless remained silent.

“Now,” Dumbledore went on, “after she graduated from Hogwarts, being very proud, she set out to prove herself. Her family was not one to consider Muggles of any worth. In fact, her mother would have probably been a strong supporter of Voldemort, had she been younger. But Eileen, although I do not know why, wanted to prove her family wrong about Muggles, and went to live in a Muggle neighborhood.

“Being a Pureblood, and never having been in a Muggle town before, Eileen did not quite fit in as well as other witches or wizards would have. And being cut off from her family, she went and got a job at an inn in a Welsh mining town. It was there that she met a man by the name of Tobias Snape.”

“Wait.” Harry could not help but interrupt. “Professor Snape is a half-blood? I thought everyone in Slytherin . . .” he trailed off when he realized how ridiculous he had just sounded. Was that what Snape had meant the night before when he was talking about half-bloods?

“You thought that all Slytherins were Purebloods?” Albus smiled. “No. Although you might not be able to tell. Muggle-born and half-blood Slytherins are usually kept quiet and unknown to the house as a whole. Since his time as  Head of House, Severus has made sure that backgrounds remain generally unknown, and has held special meetings with students with Muggle relations, in order to help them get situated and to allow them to blend in with the majority of Slytherin Purebloods. It has helped keep order and unity in that House . . . but I digress.”

Harry’s mind spun with all this new information about the Professor Snape he had thought he knew. Wasn’t Severus Snape, the Potions master, supposed to be an unfeeling, uncaring, royal pain in the arse all the time? He wasn’t supposed to care about Muggle-borns and half-bloods. How had Harry missed seeing this other side of the professor? No wonder all the Slytherin adored their Head of House. If Harry didn’t know any better, he might have mistaken the man Dumbledore was describing as a saint!

“Yes, Professor Snape is a half-blood,” the headmaster nodded. “And as you probably already guessed, Eileen Prince married Tobias Snape. The couple moved to another neighborhood in England and bought a house, which was known as Spinner’s End.

“However, the marriage was far from a happy one. Tobias had difficulties soon after the wedding and lost his job. Being an ignorant Muggle, he blamed it on his wife, saying that it was because of her magic that he lost his job. The two argued and argued. But every time they would make up, they would fight again. Tobias turned to the bottle and often did not come home at night.

“About two years later, after Eileen had gotten a job making potions for a shop in Diagon Alley, she discovered that she was pregnant. I will not lie to you, Harry, when I say that this was not her first pregnancy. Two others had been terminated, but this one, she did not, as it was too far along by then. Nine months later, she gave birth to Severus.”

“Professor Snape’s mum killed off his siblings?” Harry could not help but be appalled. What kind of mother would do something like that? It was terrible!

“The first child was terminated by accident,” Dumbledore explained, his eyes full of sorrow. “Tobias, drunk one day, beat his wife, not remembering she was pregnant. The baby died as a result.” Harry gasped in horror. “The second, unfortunately, Eileen terminated herself, when her parents claimed that they would not help her if she bore a half-blood and tainted the family name. Not that they were helping her,” the headmaster added darkly.

Unconsciously, Harry looked over at the pale little boy that was leaning back in his bed, quietly nursing his wounds, looking around the infirmary with wide eyes. He must have been so scared, not remembering anything, being so small and hurt. Again, Harry felt his heart go out to the poor little creature.

“But this third time, Eileen kept the baby — and yes, it was Severus,” Albus went on. “There is no greater joy in the world than having your own baby, or so I’ve been told, but even I, not being a parent, find great delight in seeing such little ones. Unfortunately, it appeared that Mr. and Mrs. Snape did not feel the same as others. Eileen raised Severus and protected him up until about the age of three before she got tired of keeping Tobias at bay. After that, Severus was exposed to his father’s harsh abuse.

“For years, Severus had existed in a living hell, being hit or beaten several times a day. He was not allowed to do many things, but his parents made him do a great number of chores and punished him severely when he could not complete them. I am not sure who the worse was of the two; Tobias for physically abusing his son up until the point when Severus would pass out, or Eileen, who usually just stood by and watched. It was a sad existence for Severus.

“So when he came to Hogwarts, Severus was emotionally unstable and socially awkward. Who wouldn’t be? In his eleven years of life, he had only made one friend, and that had been a neighbor when he was eight. So, coming here to Hogwarts should have been a blessing to him, and in some ways it was, but in other ways . . . well, let’s just say I should have watched out for him better.”

“You mean to say that he was picked on . . . by Sirius and my dad.” Harry suddenly felt extremely guilty on behave of his father and his godfather. He had assumed that Snape had been awkward as a kid — Sirius had told him that much — but he had thought it was just because Snape was generally unlikable, not because he was abused and did not know how to fit in. Harry was strangely reminded of himself . . . only he seemed to have had a better experience here at school, even with Voldemort hunting him.

“I suppose the point of all this is that the injuries you see on Severus now directly correspond to injuries he had sustained at the exact moment when he was this age.” Dumbledore paused to let Harry take in that information. “All of his injuries, with the exception of his left arm, were all ones he had gotten from a beating from his father years ago. Severus has completely reverted back into the child he once was.”

Stunned, Harry could not do anything but stare at the headmaster, his mouth hanging slightly open. After all the years of hating the man — watching as he abused his rank, pushed his authority around, flaunted his status — it all made sense now. In part, his arrogance was a show for the former Death Eaters that Dumbledore was still having Snape keep tabs on, so that they would think the Potions master was still loyal to Voldemort. But the bigger part was perhaps because Professor Snape did not know how to handle the authority he was given. He had been brought up by an abusive father and a neglectful mother. It was no wonder that he wanted, and perhaps needed, complete control; he did not want to get hurt.

All the unfair punishments, all the barking, hissing, yelling, all the sarcasm . . . was it only because Snape simply did not know how to interact with others? Dumbledore had said that he had only one friend, his neighbor. And Sirius had commented on it once, calling Snape a nasty, greasy, sulky kind of kid. Being abused himself, Harry knew it was no easy task to get over your fear of others and put aside your aggressive feelings. That seemed to be what Professor Snape could not overcome. And Snape’s family had been much worse than even the Dursleys.

 “So what are you going to do with him, Professor?” Harry asked the headmaster, while looking over his shoulder at the little boy, who caught him staring.

Turning back around to face Dumbledore, Harry saw the blue eyes look absolutely dead. “I don’t really know,” the headmaster shook his head. “That is something we haven’t been able to figure out yet. He needs to be cared for by someone — ”

“You can’t tell me you want to send him to his parents!” the young wizard scowled. What would the Snapes think if their adult son was brought home again as a little boy? They’d kill him!

“Do not be ridiculous, Harry,” Albus rebuked him. “Tobias and Eileen have been dead for years — killed while Severus was still his school, actually.”

“So he’s an orphan now?”

“I suppose that is the term you’d use,” Dumbledore nodded. “But you see, I was given custody of Severus after his trial as a Death Eater. The Ministry gave complete care and guidance of him over to me. So I suppose that I am going to have to watch out for him, as I am the legal guardian.”

Sighing in relief, Harry nodded. “That’s good, then. Right?” He grew uneasy when Dumbledore continued to look uncertain.

The headmaster stroked his long white beard thoughtfully as he stared into space. “I suppose it is,” the old man nodded. “But I’m afraid I am getting too old to run after a six-year-old child.” Harry blinked several times; Snape certainly did not look six. He looked four! “But I do not know what else to do with him. I cannot give him the almost constant attention he needs, as I have to deal with Umbridge and the Ministry, as well as the Order . . . not to mention the school! I simply do not know what I will do with him.”

Harry suddenly felt a stab of grief. He knew Dumbledore did not want to make Snape feel like he was unwanted or a burden, but when it became obvious that the headmaster had no idea what to do with him, Severus would end up thinking that anyway. Harry remembered all too clearly how it felt when he thought he was a burden on his family, and it had not felt very good. He did not want Severus to feel the same thing . . . again.

When Harry looked back up from his musings, he saw the headmaster watching him, the twinkle back in his eyes. “Harry, my boy, would you do me a favor?”

“Sure.” He knew Dumbledore was going to ask him to do something for Snape, and Harry was a bit surprised at his willingness. After all, this kid was not the Severus Snape Harry had gotten to know; this was just a sad, neglected little boy that needed to be looked after.

“I do not want you to go to class today. Could you stay here with Severus and make sure that he does not get up and hurt himself? Just sit and keep him company?”

“Of course,” Harry nodded. Skipping class to watch after a sick little kid did not seem all that terrible to the fifteen-year-old. In general, Harry liked children. And since Snape had potentially saved Harry’s life, and had come very close to dying, Harry felt that it was his responsibility to watch out for Snape in his time of need. 

“Good!” Dumbledore exclaimed, delighted, standing up abruptly. He guided Harry back over to the bed, where Severus still sat propped up.

Severus watched the advancing pair of wizards like a hawk. He had been tracking them discreetly throughout their conversation. He had even noticed that they would occasionally look back at him. He did not like people staring at him. So when they came over, he was afraid that they had decided that he was a no-good little bastard like his father always said, and they were going to take him home.

When Albus and Harry reached Severus’s bedside, the little boy’s eyes watered up. “Severus, what’s the matter?” the headmaster asked softly, his face stricken at the sight of the little boy’s tears.

The child did not respond, but seemed to desperately apply the ‘stiff upper lip’ rule as he looked up into the headmaster’s eyes. “There’s a good boy,” Albus smiled kindly. “Severus, this is Harry. You’ll remember I introduced you a few minutes ago?” Severus nodded. “Well, he is going to look after you today while I go to work.” The child looked alarmed. “Don’t worry, he’s a good boy,” Dumbledore said quickly. “And Poppy will still be here for you. Is that all right with you?”

Although it was clear that it was not all right with the little boy, Severus nodded once anyway. Albus smiled gently again, and patted the back of the little pale hand. Harry watched as the child flinched once more. “There’s a good boy,” Dumbledore said again. “I’ll be back later to eat lunch with you. Okay, Severus?”

The boy nodded mutely once more before the headmaster, with a final smile, turned and went through the Floo. Turning back around, Harry found himself staring into the wide black eyes of Severus Snape in the face of a little, hurt boy.

What had he agreed to?

~*~

What is little Severus made of?

Bruises and tears and long lasting fears

That’s sadly what little Severus is made of.