Sitting alone with little Severus, Harry began to wonder just what he had done. Why had he agreed to watch out for his professor? The professor he hated most, incidentally. But when he looked down into the pale, frightened face of Severus Snape, such a vulnerable little boy, Harry’s heart melted and he remembered why he had done what he had. Snape needed him right now. That was all there was to it.

“Uh . . . hi, there, um…Severus,” Harry smiled, trying hard not to wince at saying the name. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

The little boy only stared at Harry for a moment before he dropped his gaze back down to his hands, as though he didn’t want to look Harry in the eyes again. Realizing what Snape was doing, Harry felt himself grow even more sympathetic towards the child. “It’s okay to look at me, you know,” he said gently, startling Snape. “I won’t get mad if you want to look around or something.” He knew all too well the kind of ridiculous rules abusive adults gave children.

Severus’s black eyes began to glitter with an emotion Harry could not define. The small boy glanced up briefly into Harry’s green eyes before letting his own fall. Harry waited patiently for his professor to speak, but he never did. Instead, the child went back to studying his hands and his bandaged arm.

Frowning, the Gryffindor realized that perhaps Snape . . . Severus . . . was already heading down the path towards becoming a social outcast, even at the age of six. Merlin, the boy did not look six. Harry had mistaken his former professor for a four-year-old, but Dumbledore had seemed convinced that he was six.

Taking the time to study Severus while the boy was looking away, Harry noticed that besides the injuries littering the tiny little body, Snape was actually very skinny, much like Harry had been himself at that age. And height-wise, the former Potions master was incredibly short for the average six-year-old. But what caught Harry’s attention the most was Severus’s hair. It was almost exactly the same as when he was an adult, only as a child, Severus let his black locks curtain his face . . .

Snape had not kept his hair the way he did for any sort of fashion purpose; it had been kept to hide his face. The Potions master had wanted to hide, even in his own class; it had been a security blanket of sorts . . .

Again, Harry felt a surge of understanding for his professor. Smiling sadly down at the little boy before him, the fifteen-year-old pulled up a chair and sat next to Severus’s bed. “Can I tell you something, Severus?” he asked softly.

Frightened dark eyes peeked through the curtain of protectiveness and looked into the kind green ones. The child gave an almost unnoticeable nod.

“You and I aren’t that different, Severus, you know that?” Harry could not help but smile broader when the boy’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “It’s true,” Harry went on. “You see, when I was about your age, I wasn’t treated too nice by family either. They did lots of bad stuff to me too.” Onyx eyes filled with tears. “I just want to let you know, Severus, that if you ever want to talk about something, you can talk to me about it. I won’t ever tell anyone else.”

Instead of seeing gratitude or happiness in the dark eyes, Harry perceived only doubt and suspicion. Even at this young age, it seemed that Severus Snape was not one to take anyone at their word. Perhaps that was partially what made him such a good spy; his doubts. But it was sad to think of a child so young not being able to count on anyone but himself. It actually unnerved Harry.

Just then, Madam Pomfrey scuttled into the room with a tray of potions. Severus’s eyes darted from Harry to the medi-witch and Harry noticed that the little boy watched the witch’s every movement like a hawk. It seemed nothing escaped the child’s notice, and it was sad to think that it had been forced upon him when he had not wanted to get beaten as a child. Harry began rethinking his childhood all together. The Dursleys had seemed liked angels compared to the Snapes, it seemed.

“Time for more potions, dearie.” Madam Pomfrey smiled down at Severus.

Harry watched as the witched poured out the proper amounts and held the cups out for her patient. It surprised the older boy when Severus took the offered cup, stared at it for several seconds, sniffed it, and then drank it down, as though he could already identify the potions being given to him. Could he? No, he was just a six-year-old boy! But then again, he had been a thirty-five-year-old Potions master the night before. Maybe he could still tell?

As he watched the younger child, Harry could not help the feeling of pity that arose within him. He noticed that Severus had a hard time holding the potion vials with his injuries, but neither he nor the nurse made a move to help. For a moment, Harry wondered why, before he realized that it would not be a good thing. Severus would get scared. He already flinched when someone lightly brushed up against his hand.

Everything that he had ever believed about the Potions master dissolved in Harry’s mind and he was determined to re-think Severus Snape. This man had been a boy very much like himself, and it surprised Harry to think that his stern, strict, physically able professor had once been a terrified, beaten child. Maybe that’s why Snape stressed physical and magical prowess the way he did; he wanted to teach his students how to be ready, how to take care of themselves without them getting abused. But why then did he abuse them? Was he testing them?

“Severus, dear,” Poppy cooed once the child was drinking some water to get rid of the lingering potions taste — it actually surprised both the older people in the room that the child hadn’t gagged or tried to spit it out — “I think you should try and rest for a little bit longer. You are up rather early after last night.”

The child said nothing, but looked down at his hands. It was then that the nurse grabbed Harry by the back of his shirt and drug him away into her office. “Are you staying in here today, Mr. Potter?” she asked curtly.

“Y — yes, ma’am,” Harry nodded quickly.

“Merlin’s beard, Albus,” the witch said, rolling her eyes. “Well, Mr. Potter, I can’t say I like the thought of you being in here with Severus all day, but it seems that the Headmaster thinks it’s all well and good. But I warn you . . .” Poppy pointed an accusing finger at Harry. “Scare him, hurt him, make him cry, do anything to distress him, and I’ll have you kicked out of here so fast that you won’t even have time to think. Do I make myself clear?” she hissed.

Harry nodded quickly, actually becoming scared of the usually friendly school nurse. Nodding once herself before snorting one last time, the medi-witch stalked away to check on Severus again before Harry decided that it would be best to follow the witch as well. Had the nurse always been this mean? No, she just looked tired and was probably on the verge of a mental breakdown. Who wouldn’t be if their co-worker, and possible friend, had been attacked and turned into a little kid?

“Severus.” The nurse was suddenly smiling and looking the exact opposite she had a moment ago. “I’m sure you’re hungry, dear, and Harry’s going to stay with you while I go get your breakfast, all right?”

The little Potions master did not really look up, but darted quick glances upward every minute or so as the witch spoke. Harry observed the boy for a moment and realized that even though many would assume that the child did not understand, Severus was actually catching every word. Even though he was not looking at Madam Pomfrey, Harry could tell that he was listening to her tone of voice, trying to understand her not just from her words, but by the way she said each word. The kid was actually quite clever.

The nurse went to fetch breakfast form her office, since she did not know how Severus would react to a house-elf popping out of nowhere. She knew that Severus was a half-blood and that his parents had been much too poor to afford a house-elf — or anything else, for that matter. So she came back to find Harry sitting by her patient’s bedside, just sitting there quietly as the smaller boy refused to look up.

“Here you are, dear,” Poppy said gently, and smiled when the child looked up. The onyx eyes went wide as saucers again as he stared at the plate of food. Poppy had not put that much on there, considering that the child was so underfed, but it seemed Severus was thinking that there was too much.

“Now, you eat that, all right, dear?” The nurse smiled at the child that had once been the Potions master. “Eat what you can, and don’t be shy. Eat as much as you like. If you want more, I have more.”

Severus looked up for a moment, suspiciously scanning over the witch’s face before looking back down at the food on his plate. There was a great deal of it. He could not recall seeing so much food before him in his life. It was just oatmeal, but to the starving child, it was a grand feast, one where he knew he’d cry if it were taken away from him, as his meals so often were.

So carefully, guardedly, Severus picked up his spoon and began to slowly eat his meal. It was sad to watch the child eat the way he did. Harry understood the protective instinct towards food, as he had had to learn how not to act quite so barbaric at mealtimes when he went to school. But it seemed that even though there was a distrust and protectiveness about Snape, he did not growl or hunch over his meal as some children that had been starved might. Instead, ever the Slytherin, Severus seemed alert and ready for anything, his body tense.

After the child ate five or six bites, small bites, Harry noticed that the smaller boy seemed to be tiring and filling up. There was something that flashed in Severus’s eyes that Harry caught, and he knew that he would have to intervene. “It’s okay if you can’t finish, Severus,” the older boy said kindly. “You won’t get in trouble if you leave some of the food. It won’t be wasted.”

Large black eyes merely stared for a moment before turning back to the meal before him. For just a moment, Harry thought the boy was going to say something, but he never did. It was starting to frustrate him that the child would not speak. He never thought he would be so desperate to hear something from Severus Snape’s mouth. Anything would have done — even a ‘Twenty points from Gryffindor!’ would have been better than this constant silence that the little Snape seemed to think was necessary. It was unbearable.

“Do you like your oatmeal, Severus?” Harry asked instead.

To Harry’s further frustration, the little boy only nodded once. He had been hoping for a word answer, not just a nod of the head. Maybe he should give up on the yes-or-no questions. But what else could he ask the little boy? He desperately wanted to know what had happened, but Dumbledore said that Severus did not remember Harry. What else didn’t the Potions master remember? Did he even remember being an adult?

“So, um, Severus, where did you live at?” he asked uncomfortably.

The child cocked his head in confusion and frowned down at his hands. It was clear that he did not understand what Harry meant, and Harry could have kicked himself. Snape probably thought it was still the sixties, when he was born. That had to be it, because it was clear that the child understood what other people said to him, whether he acknowledged it or not. Maybe Harry shouldn’t have volunteered to sit with this kid. Severus seemed to be a complex child and Harry had been told very little information about what exactly Snape knew and what he did not.

“I meant where do you live.” Harry tried to cover his mistake, but he could tell that the little Snape was not fooled in the least. And as punishment, the boy did not answer Harry’s question.

“Okay, that’s okay, I guess you don’t have to answer that if you don’t know,” Harry’s smile wavered. “Um . . . so, what do you like to do for fun?”

Here, Severus cocked his head to the side once more as though he did not understand the question. Again, Harry kicked himself for asking. With a childhood such as he’d had, Severus probably did not get a lot of fun, if any. Harry should have known, since Snape’s childhood was eerily similar to his own. It was actually unnerving the more he thought about it.

The Gryffindor tried one last time to get any sort of answer. “Do you have a favorite color?”

The little boy said nothing, but Harry could see the scowl on the child’s face. It was then that Harry knew that even now, the former Potions master thought that Harry was a fool. It was becoming aggravating to think that he was being so nice and understanding for nothing, and that the little boy just thought that he was an idiot for trying. Where did Snape find the nerve to think about his elders that way? Harry had been scared to show any of his real feelings for his family or teachers, and yet here was Snape, a boy that had apparently gone through more than Harry had, and he was outwardly showing defiance without really defying anyone. Was Snape sorted in the right House?

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry looked around for inspiration. What could he talk about that would interest the child enough to get him to talk? Apparently, Severus was too good for casual conversation.  But what would Snape like to talk about as a little kid? All Harry had know about the adult Snape was that he was brilliant at Potions, was apparently highly gifted in the Dark Arts, and he was a spy. Not that he could talk to the child about any of those.

“So,” the older boy looked around again. “What would you like to talk about, Severus?”

Again, the child glanced up and studied Harry for a moment before looking away. He did not say a word, which bothered Harry exceedingly. Why wouldn’t the kid talk? It was becoming more and more aggravating. Surely Snape knew how to talk; Harry could tell that the child understood what everyone was saying. He was six, after all.

Leaning back in his chair, Harry opted to just sit there and be silent as well. Maybe if he was, then that would provoke conversation from the boy. Harry would be so quiet that Snape would be forced to talk after that. Little kids could never sit still for long or keep quiet. If it were true of first years, then it had to be true for younger kids. Right?

So, with that, Harry grabbed a magazine to flip through. He noted that it caught Severus’s attention, and he had to hide his grin. It seemed his plan was working. Sometimes he had to marvel at his own brilliant ideas. But ten minutes later, Harry bitterly regretted bragging to himself as Snape made no move at all, let alone any sound. It seemed that the little professor was much more disciplined than the average child.

With the combined factors of the boring magazine and the preceding night’s events, Harry soon fell fast asleep.

~*~

While Harry slept, Severus looked up and watched the older boy while he silently contemplated the recent events in his life. Nothing really seemed to make sense anymore. One minute he thought he was locked in his room where his father left him, and the next he woke up in a strange place . . . this castle, Hogwarts, he had found out. It all seemed so strange . . .

~*~

The moment Severus became conscious, the first thing he was aware of was pain. There was a fierce burning all throughout his body. His head was throbbing mercilessly, and his arm hurt terribly. There seemed no end to the agony. But then again, he had gone through such things before. His father really hadn’t done anything too terribly different then what he normally did.

Just lying there, though, the little boy knew that something was not right. The floor did not feel like the floor in his bedroom, nor did it feel like the basement. Opening his eyes carefully, the first sight that greeted him was a splatter of a glowing blue substance. It was a potion of some sort.

Frightened, Severus sat up, but immediately clenched his eyes shut again against the pain. Gasping, he looked down at the main offender, and was surprised to see that it was actually his arm that hurt the worst. There was flesh missing from his left forearm, and blood was trickling down his robes . . . robes that he did not recall seeing in his life. And when had he gotten his injury? He could not remember his father cutting his arm this time, although Tobias had broken his arm before . . .

Turning his attention to the rest of the room, Severus found that he was in some sort of stone room, one that was extremely messy. There were broken tables, broken potions instruments, and a horribly destroyed cauldron. The cauldron was so large that Severus was sure he could have easily fit inside with more than enough room left. Who ever owned this lab, he was sure they were not going to like the state it was in at all . . . or the fact that their potion seemed to have exploded everywhere.

As he inspected further, Severus’s eyes fell to a dark shape on the floor not too far from where he sat. Biting his lip against the pain, the little boy got to his feet, but immediately gasped in pain. His legs felt like they were on fire, and he was sure he was going to get sick from it. But he stubbornly stayed standing and walked the short distance before he collapsed to the floor. It hurt so badly, but he was curious and he wanted to get out of . . . wherever he was.

Slowly, the little boy examined what was before him with a critical eye. As his eyes adjusted to the lighting of the room, he noticed that whatever this was, was not all dark, but had something light . . . a light brown to it. Carefully, he reached out with his relatively good hand before he realized that it was fabric before him. Intrigued, he lifted some up before he saw that the light brown was hair . . .

It was with horror that Severus realized this was a body. A man’s body. This man was dead.

Appalled and frightened, Severus’s hand shot back as though he had been burned. Sickened, the little boy got to his feet and ran the best he could away from the corpse. He did not kill this man; he did not even know where he was! No one could blame him for this! But what if someone did? Would they tell his mother and father? Merlin, he prayed that they would not! He hadn’t done anything wrong; he did not know how he had gotten here, nor did he know how this man died or how he had gotten into these nice dress-looking robes. He did not know anything!

Although in pain, Severus crawled under a cabinet and began to cry. He did not understand what was going on, nor did he like it. What would happen to him? He just knew that someone would blame him and then he would get punished even though he didn’t do anything. They would punish him and he would not be able to take it. He already had fresh wounds that weakened him; he knew he could not take any more. He just couldn’t!

Unwillingly, Severus began to cry. He hated crying, it solved nothing, but oh, how sweet was the release of it all! He ended up curling up, still sobbing, until he fell asleep. He slept until he heard the sound of footsteps coming, and heard voices; strange voices, ones that he had never heard before, but sounded so terribly familiar…

~*~

And that was how Albus, Minerva, and Filius found the Potions master after Dumbledore had used the spell to retrieve Snape’s robes. Severus the child could still see the shock and horror on the adults’ faces when they had found him. The absolutely stunned expression would always be remembered by the boy as he had tried to run away. To be safe.

It had taken a lot of coaxing before the professors were able to get close enough to the boy again to grab him and take him up to the hospital wing. The people had been really scary to the six-year-old, especially when they took him away through these long, dark halls and into this really odd room with lots of beds and a very nerve-wracking woman that fussed a lot.

~*~

Severus looked up at the witch that was carrying him and noticed that she was pressing her lips into a thin line. That meant that she was mad, didn’t it? She was angry at him for being a nuisance and not being smart or brave enough. Severus had often tried to be brave, but it always seemed to fail him. He did not know how to be brave, and who could in the face of a man like Tobias Snape?

Sniffling, the little boy stiffened in Minerva’s arms and she wondered at it. “It’s all right, Severus. We’re almost there,” she cooed.

He had heard that line before. Severus did not believe her for a second, but what else could he do besides let her do as she pleased? He was hurt and nowhere near strong enough to fight her off or run. Besides, she had two other people with her; a little man that was as almost short as him, and an old man with a beard that looked suspiciously like Merlin, or what he had been told Father Christmas looked like once. But Merlin was dead and Father Christmas wasn’t real, so who were these people?

The company made it to the hospital wing, and Albus gently called for Poppy while laying out the body of Archer, whom he had floated up behind Minerva and the boy. “Poppy, you’re needed,” the headmaster called out again.

Bustling out of her office, the medi-witch was scowling and muttering. “About time you showed up. Now tell me what Harry was . . . was . . .” Her voice trailed off when she saw a dead body in one of her beds and a bleeding little boy in Minerva’s arms.

“I believe this little one is in need of your skills, Poppy.” Albus tried to remain as calm as he could. Were it not for the child, Dumbledore did not know how he would be acting at the moment. Even his nerves were being stretched thin, and that took a lot!

“Over here,” the nurse commanded the Transfiguration professor shortly while she rushed off to get medical supplies and the like.

As gently as she could, Professor McGonagall set the little boy down on one of the beds. “It’s all right, Severus. Everything is going to be all right,” she purred when the child whimpered. Poor dear, he must be in terrible pain.

Although no one had harmed him, Severus was not sure he liked all of this attention. Who were these people, and why did they know his name? They all seemed to know him, but he was sure he had never seen any of them in his life! What was going on here? And where were his parents? 

A shorter witch came over to him, and Severus cowered while she took out her wand and pointed it at him. He had not done anything wrong! Why were they going to punish him? He really did not know how he had gotten to this place or why that one man was dead or how he had gotten into these nice robes. He did not know! He did not want to get hurt for nothing again. He was already injured; he could not take another beating. He couldn’t!

“Don’t cry, love,” Poppy crooned. Her heart was breaking at the sight before her. “I’m not going to hurt you. I want to help you. I’m a nurse and I will make you feel better.”

Of course she would; that’s what they all said. Severus did not believe the witch for a moment, but he did not attempt to get away. Not that the thought did not occur to him. He was just too tired, and in too much pain, to really do anything but lie there helplessly, tears streaming from his eyes.

“You’re going to have to help me with this, Albus.” The nurse ordered, and it annoyed Severus to think that she was talking about him as though he were not even there.

“Of course,” the old man — Albus, apparently — said. “What can I do?”

“Well, help me with the spells. He’s going to need a lot of work.”

So Severus watched as the two wizards and the two witches waved their wands around him. He flinched and he was scared, but he was also relieved. The spells they were casting did not hurt . . . in fact, they were making him feel better. He had never been on the receiving end of a healing spell by anyone but his mother. But even Mother did not do it as often as Severus would have liked.

After Severus’s wounds were dressed and his minor injuries healed, Poppy sat down heavily, her magic worn out. “He’s going to need potions,” she said tiredly.

“I’ll retrieve them,” Filius offered, and scuttled off.

“Where’s Severus?” the nurse asked a bit angrily, and the little boy flinched at the tone. “His healing skills would be a great help here. Besides, I need him to brew more potions for the wing.”

“Have you have not guessed who this is?” Albus walked over from the fireplace, where he had been talking to someone. The little boy noticed that he had several thick folders in his hands.

“I beg your pardon?” the nurse asked, frowning at the headmaster as he spouted his riddles again. “What is that?” she asked when she too caught sight of the folders.

The old wizard did not say a word, but handed over the folders for the nurse to read. Sneaking a glance, Severus was able to tell that it was a medical folder of some sort. It was hard to read in the relative darkness, but he was able to see the name St. Mungo’s written on the front. Was he at St. Mungo’s?

“Dear Merlin!” the woman exclaimed, almost dropping her wand. “Do you mean that this little boy . . . that this is . . . Severus?”

The others in the room nodded solemnly, and Severus knew that he must have done something bad if they all looked so grim. He did not make a sound, but held his breath. Since they were talking like he wasn’t even there, maybe if he remained quiet enough they really would forget that he was there. It was worth a shot. They all seemed frustrated, if not sad. He had not meant to make anyone sad. They would surely hurt him if they remembered him there.

“What happened to him?” the nurse squeaked, her voice shrill with panic.

“We found him in his laboratory after he was attacked by Archer, who was apparently a Death Eater,” Dumbledore explained quietly.

“You just found him like this?” Poppy’s voice was panicked.

“That’s what I said,” the old wizard sighed. “He was attacked by Archer after he hid Harry, and he disappeared — all but his robes, which were under the cabinet. We found him in the robes when we were trying to get them out. He was just like this, I am sorry to report.”

What were these people talking about? Why did it sound as though they thought he had a Potions laboratory? And he did not remember getting attacked by a man named Archer — just his father, like usual. But what in Merlin’s name was a Death Eater? It sounded frightening, and Severus was not sure he wanted to find out what one was. Wait . . . was Archer the man he had found dead? Yes, that had to be it. And he was a ‘Death Eater’? Strange though it was, he listened on.

“Like this?” the nurse exclaimed still in disbelief.

“Keep your voice down!” the stern-looking witch hissed. “You don’t want to wake Harry, do you? And remember Severus; you don’t want to scare him.”

It was then that Severus used his skills as at hiding and faking slumber, and he closed his eyes quickly and pretended to be asleep now. It seemed to work, and he felt all the eyes upon him again. It was scary and unnerving, but he did his best to ignore it and stay ‘sleeping.’

“Poor little bloke!” Filius looked close to tears as he stared at his old colleague. “I still can’t believe it! How could anyone hurt him?” his eyes looked over the small frame of Snape.

“What do we do with him now, Albus?” Madam Pomfrey asked. “We can’t just leave him somewhere for someone to hurt! He’s just too emotionally worn and physically abused.”

“Poppy,” Albus scolded lightly, looking down at Severus, whom he thought was sleeping, “you’ll wake him.”

That was when Severus had become frightened and confused. Out of nowhere, there came the sound of another boy’s voice — this one older, but still a boy. “Please don’t tell anyone! It’s not true, really!”

~*~

Severus shook his head out of his memories. He was ashamed that he had been so scared. He had thought that these people had been silently torturing the other boy as he cried out, but in the dark, he had been unable to see the boy. Looking over at the boy named Harry, Severus realized that it had been he that Severus had heard last night. And this other boy seemed to be just fine . . . if not a bit dense.

Although he had no idea why, Severus felt as though he should know who this Harry kid was. In fact, he felt like he should know everything about this place, and all the people he had seen. But he knew for a fact that he had never met any of them. Maybe they were people he had dreamed about come to life? Or perhaps he had read about them somewhere?

Whatever it was, the little Potions master decided that he could think on it later. Right now, with the potions in his system and his stomach full, he was getting sleepy as well. Maybe when he woke up from another short nap, things would make more sense? It was worth a try. What was the worst that could happen? He would wake up at home at Spinner’s End? He had had similar nightmares. He could handle it.

~*~

Sleep, baby, sleep,
Our cottage vale is deep;
The little lamb is on the green,
With woolly fleece so soft and clean,
Sleep, baby, sleep . . .