Sunday morning was rather overcast, the rain clouds from the day before had not completely disappeared.  Harry had appeared rather quietly for breakfast, bringing his bag downstairs to stand by the front door. Snape had eyed him curiously about this, before snapping at him in a rather gentle-for-Snape tone.

"I said Monday, Potter. You're not going back with the headmaster tonight."

Snape ignored the smile that flashed across Harry's face, and Harry pretended that Snape hadn't done it just to be nice.

The rest of the day had passed rather serenely, with Harry cutting up potion ingredients for the upcoming school year for a few hours just to keep himself out of trouble. That was the excuse that Snape used to keep Harry busy, and though Harry was oddly willing to help out, he went along with that idea as well. Anything to practise keeping his temper around easily irritated people - Harry needed as much practise as he could get.

Daydreaming seemed to help, and Harry was in the middle of a particularly good one - fingers deftly bundling up leek on their own accord - when a blinding flash appeared in the centre of the room, startling them both and making Snape spill his coffee a little.

"Shit."  Snape muttered, spelling away the stain.  Harry stared at him as Snape seemed to be reading a message from the lips of the patronus phoenix that had made the noise and light.  Snape's face turned sour as he heard the message, and his light robe snapped as he spun around and summoned some potion bottles from various rooms in the house. 

Snape caught most of the bottles as they flew into the kitchen, using both hands to place them into what looked like a padded pouch. It was like watching a juggler pluck objects out of the air with surprising dexterity, though one bottled seemed to be skittering at an odd angle, and Harry caught it before Snape ended up conked in the head with it.

"Stay here." Snape acknowledged in thanks. "Do not open the door, do not go near the windows, keep the watch and your wand with you."

Harry nodded as Snape quickly wrapped up the bundle and stepped toward the fireplace.  He looked worried.

"There's food in the icebox, and Potter," Harry's eyes focused at this, "don't burn my house down."

With that, Snape threw powder into the fire and spun away to Dumbledore's office.

Snape didn't return until after seven that evening, after Harry had finished with the ingredients he was preparing, and made himself a light dinner.  He had even tidied up his room, and started reading a book in bed.  The book had held interest, but the comfort of the bed had won and Harry finally slipped off to sleep.

He didn't hear Snape come back, but felt a blanket being pulled over him, and his glasses taken off his face. It was an odd feeling, and Harry wasn't sure if it was a dream or not until Snape pulled the book from Harry's fingers.  Harry kept his eyes closed, but was fully aware now of what was going on.  Snape stayed in the room a few minutes longer, before putting out the light and walking down the hall to his own bedroom.

Harry slipped quietly out of bed and crept to the door, which had been left open slightly.  Harry could hear Snape muttering in his room about stupid curiosity, barmy old men, dark curses, and a ring.  Harry saw Snape's shadow on the hall floor as the man sat down heavily on his bed.  He must not have shut the bedroom door, thinking Harry was asleep.  Harry decided to return back to his bed, obviously Snape was pissed off about something and Harry had no desire to get caught eavesdropping and need to clean something else. The last thing he heard before climbing back under the warm blanket was a loud exhalation of breath, and the chilling words "This is how the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper."

--

"I can't believe you punched my uncle."  Harry said, walking behind Snape as they weaved between cars at the airport parking garage.

Snape stopped at a wall that was rather secluded, and away from the cameras.  He rubbed his jaw slightly, at the spot he'd healed moments after leaving Privet Drive.  Harry swore that he saw a slight smirk on Snape's face, before he pulled a potion bottle out of his bag and unshrunk it.  A small spoonful was carefully handed to Harry with Snape's right hand. The knuckles had not been healed.

"Then again," Harry continued, "I didn't think he'd be dumb enough to hit you."

"Let that be a lesson to you then, Potter. The first punch is always free." Snape replied, shrinking the bottle again.

"Yeah, but you clobbered him."  Harry said, trying not to grin.  He'd never seen Snape duel before - Harry didn't count the second year dueling club - but he imagined that after seeing Snape gracefully throw a punch that knocked his overly large uncle onto his arse that seeing Snape in a duel would be rather inspiring.

"In case you've forgotten, Potter, there is a rule against using magic in front of muggles."  Snape rolled his eyes as Harry sniffed at the potion.

"Well aware of that, believe me. I just figured you to be more of a hexing person." Harry held the spoon in front of him and stalled taking it a bit longer.

"That would have been an unfair fight."  Snape said, pointing at the spoon and talking to Harry as if he was an idiot.

Harry's mouth dropped open a little as he tried to process the fact that Snape had a notion of fighting fairly.  He put the spoon in without thinking, and nearly sputtered out the potion as it hit his tongue.

Snape put his hand over Harry's mouth, making him swallow it.

"I had just removed his iron grip from very close to his throat, while your aunt was threatening to remove your tattoo with sand paper. And you're concerned about how hard I hit him?"  Snape asked dryly.

Harry suddenly gave a strange hiccup and shrunk rapidly, just like Trevor the Toad had done in class.  Harry felt scrawny and insignificant standing next to the suddenly very tall Snape, and rolled his eyes at the clothes that were suddenly adjusted for him.  Blue jeans, and a green Slytherin shirt.  At least Snape didn't say anything about Harry being a lot smaller than he should have been.

"You've never lost a fight, have you?"  Harry asked, surprised at how high pitched his voice was. He didn't remember it like that.

"Not since I was sixteen." Snape replied distractedly, as he pulled papers out of his pocket.

"Your birthday is July 31st?"  Snape suddenly asked, startling Harry's inspection of his own tiny hands.

"Huh? Yes, the 31st." Harry replied, wiggling his toes in his shoes. His hair was a bit longer than normal, but still just as messy.

Snape muttered something while he waved his wand over the packet of paperwork he was holding in his hand.

"Memorize this. This task is a very important one for the Order, and I will not have you acting like a typical Gryffindor and mucking it up. Stay in your role, Potter, or else."

Snape glared at him and had his arms crossed severely.  It was his I Mean Business stance, normally one Harry ignored.

"Sure Dad." Harry stressed, rolling his eyes. "Looking forward to this trip."

There was a moment where Harry wasn't sure if Snape would smack the grin off his face or strangle him, before Snape shook his head.  He took a photo of Harry with his wand, and somehow managed to put the picture into the blank passport that Dumbledore had included in the package.  Harry wasn't sure what the spell was, as light dots were still dancing in his eyes, but after a minute the passport was given to him and Snape instructed him to memorize the details as they walked to the check in counter.

"Elliot Fyodor Snape?"  Harry asked, jogging a little to keep up with Snape's pace.  He felt a balloon of questions burst in his head all at once. "How do you even pronounce the middle name? Is it like Theodore? Is it Russian?"  Harry took a breath and started right back up again.

"I'm supposed to be your kid, and you chose the name Elliot?"

"Potter, enough with the damn questions!  And what's wrong with Elliot?"  Snape glared, slowing down a little so Harry could take a breath.

"Oh nothing. Elliot's as close to calling me idiot as you can get without people being suspicious."  Harry hated how high pitched the de-aging potion made his voice, it completely ruined the sarcastic effect.

Snape stopped this time, and Harry ran into him.

"Elliot is a fine name for a boy. I would not have called a son of mine an idiot."  Snape glowered, and then took hold of the back of Harry's collar. They had a limited amount of time before the check in counter closed, and a little distance still to walk.  Harry kept quiet through the walk, but thought about Snape's answer.  Elliot, it seemed, was a name Snape had chosen long ago, not just this morning. Harry then wondered where Fyodor had come from, and why on Earth Snape had chosen it for him.

--

The plane landed with a rather jerky bump, and Harry pushed himself up to watch out the window.  He'd never seen a place so flat before.  England had rolling hills, and Scotland was definitely hilly, but the Netherlands seemed to be perfectly flat. It was a strange sight to see, and Harry was so engrossed in watching them drive up to the terminal that he didn't see the look of amusement on Snape's face.

That amusement turned to annoyance rather quickly when they tried to make it to the baggage claim, as Harry's smaller legs could not move him fast enough to keep up with the crowd or Snape.  Eventually, the man had stopped long enough to pluck Harry up into his arms, and awkwardly carry him down to the baggage area and out to the unrestricted part of the airport. Here Snape put Harry down and held out his hand impatiently, waiting for Harry to take it before they moved on to get a seat on the train. 

Snape prayed a thanks to whatever gods were listening for putting the train station at the lower level of the airport, because he did not feel like dragging a six year old Potter long distances. The potion the headmaster had provided had certainly kept the 15 year old Potter's mind intact, but his body behaved like a child and Snape figured the boy would need a nap soon, whether he wanted one or not.

Once the train had finally arrived, Snape led Harry up the stairs on the second-class carriage to see if they could find a seat. Cursing inwardly, he remembered that it was a Monday afternoon, and thus the train was fairly packed. Slipping past the ugly green plastic benches, Snape spotted one free bench that was unfortunately across from two very stocky women and a group of children.  Still, it was a seat, and it was better than standing for twenty minutes.

He nodded at the seat in question and one of the ladies welcomed him to sit, giving him a look over that made Snape feel suspicious and revolted at the same time.  Squeezing into the spot and putting the bag beside him, Snape quickly looked around at the children that seemed to belong to the women.  Loud and boisterous, the two boys and one girl were all around the four to seven year old range, dressed in hideously bright t shirts and speaking in what Snape figured was as close to a shriek as humanly possible. 

Harry, on the other hand, was standing in front of him and looking rather lost as he tried to maneuver between the chubby legs of the women and Snape's knobby knees.  He remained silent, his messy black hair hiding part of his face as he looked down, green shirt still unwrinkled and jeans still very clean.  With a look of annoyance to the noise makers, Snape leaned forward and hoisted Harry up to sit beside him, letting him sit closest to the window so he could watch the scenery go by.

"Spreekt u Nederlands?"  The blonde woman who'd been checking him out asked.

"No." Snape said, resisting the urge to sneer.

"Your son, he is well behaved. Just like his charming papa." The compliment rolled off her tongue and Snape stiffened in annoyance.

"Perhaps."  Snape distractedly agreed, waiting impatiently for Amsterdam to start to appear in the window.

Harry decided to take pity on Snape, because an annoyed Snape did not bode well for him the rest of the day.  It was time to start playing the game.  He carefully leaned against Snape's side, ignoring the stiffness of the body. Harry brought his legs up on the bench and leaned them slightly towards Snape, resting them tentatively against Snape's thigh.  He closed his eyes and tried to sound weak.

"Dad, I'm tired." He mumbled, loud enough for the women to hear, faking a yawn to go along with it.

"You can sleep at the hotel, Elliot." Snape replied, but put his coat around Harry anyway.   This worked to shut the women up, and Snape grunted once to Harry, which Harry took to mean as a thanks. Harry remained painfully alert for the entire train ride, as he watched the rows of terrace houses go by.  This was his first Order assignment, and regardless of how he'd not gotten along with Snape in the past, Harry was determined not to bugger the mission up.

--

They exited Amsterdam Centraal station and walked across the platforms, Harry inexplicably jumping over the tracks as if they were puddles of water.  Snape gave him a weird look, but Harry just shrugged with a grin. Harry had no idea why he'd felt the urge to jump the puddles, but it didn't matter.  He was in Amsterdam!   There was a small canal just in front of them and Harry could make out some strange tourist boats that had glass ceilings on them, and tonnes of people walking around with cameras, maps, and a variety of back packs.

Stranger to Harry was the slight of the bicycles. To his right, just down the tracks toward the end of the station, Harry saw what looked like a three story parking garage for bikes, which was packed to the brim of them. There was no one cycling near the tram tracks where they were, but Harry figured that was because they were too close to the train station for people to ride there.

Snape pointed to the tram numbered 5, and they climbed aboard. Snape had some sort of strange ticket that he offered the conductor, and mumbled in what Harry thought was Dutch.  Once they'd sat down, Harry squashed against the side of the streetcar, he finally got his chance to ask questions.

"When did you learn how to speak Dutch?" Harry's legs didn't reach the floor of the car, not even close, and he swung them slightly. 

"I didn't." Snape tapped the top of Harry's legs to get him to stop. Apparently the sound of his heel smacking against the leg of the chair bothered Snape.

"But..you just did." Harry was perplexed.

"A translator, Potter."  Snape answered with a smirk, and Harry thought Snape was trying hard not to laugh at him. "Invented by a Brit with an alarming obsession with science fiction."

Harry gave him a queer look.

"How do you do it?" 

"Babelfish."  Snape said with a slight upturn of his lips, and the conversation was closed at that.

Harry turned his head toward the window and watched in amazement as the lights turned green and a swarm of cyclists passed by the streetcar, some in business suits with briefcases swinging off the handlebars, others in skirts, teens riding with another teen on the back bike rack, a mother riding with a small toddler strapped to a seat on her handlebars, and a man riding with a large wagon of flowers at the front of his bike. It was the strangest bike Harry had ever seen, but he weaved in and out of traffic with the rest, following bizarrely painted lines on the road and a set of traffic lights that only the natives seemed to fully understand.

Harry's eyes were glued to the window as they passed by old buildings that leaned together for support, large window frames seemingly lopsided as the edifice had settled unevenly overtime.  They passed by the back of what looked like an impressive palace, and a stream of people climbed on, chatting on mobile phones in a few different languages.  Harry watched with interest as some passengers got on, ignored the conductors completely, and approached a strange yellow ticketing machine to insert a bright blue and green slip into. It pinged away happily as each person did this.

After ten jarring minutes of progress on the tracks, their train stopped at a little clearing that had several bookstores and a few pubs as well.  They jumped off, Snape taking hold of Harry's collar and navigating through the crowd of students that had gathered around a ridiculous amount of bikes that were chained up.

"Spew-I street? Hermione would like this one."  Harry snorted, reading the street sign.

"Spui. It rhymes with cow." Snape corrected, sounding like his patience was running thin.

They entered into a tiny doorway that Harry figured out was actually the entrance to a hotel.  It seemed to be a muggle hotel called NH oddly, and he kept his mouth shut, knowing that he was supposed to act as a perfectly behaved little boy.  While Snape filled out the paperwork for the room, Harry stood quietly beside him and inspected the lobby of the hotel. Spies were supposed to notice their surroundings, so Harry had seen on the telly, so he was trying to catalogue everything he saw in the lobby. .  He missed the looks of suspicion from Snape at his silent behaviour.

Upon entering the room they were to share, obedience was all but forgotten as Harry jumped on the bed nearest the wall to claim it for himself.  The windows were huge and bright, but Harry preferred his own little corner, and ignored Snape's admonishment to act his age.

"Potter, we will establish some ground rules now."  Snape gave him a pointed look, and sat down on one of the plain chairs by the small table in the corner.

Harry jumped down after a minute and sat down in the other chair, feeling tired yet energetic at the same time.

"As helpful as the headmaster is, the potion he provided not only guaranteed that you'd look like a six year old, but it also ensured that your body will feel the same fatigue, energy, childish desires, and fears that you did at that age.  Though you have retained your fifteen year old mind, much to my displeasure." 

Harry glared but didn't say anything.  Snape's tone wasn't nearly as caustic as it normally was at school. That did, however, explain why he was feeling so skittish at the moment, and ready to run.

"As such, I expect you to be polite and quiet, eat the food I serve you, and take a nap when I tell you."

"I don't take naps," Harry pouted, crossing his arms. 

"You'll be taking one in a moment if you keep that up."  Snape narrowed his eyes down at Harry, wondering how such a small child could look so innocent and troublesome at the same time.  There was a fifteen year old behind those eyes though, Snape reminded himself.

"What are you going to do, stick me to the bed?" Harry leered.

"One of many options." Snape replied dryly.  Sarcastic teenagers clawed under his skin like fire bugs.

"Wait. I've got the same fears I had as a six year old?"  Harry's change of subject caused Snape to blink a few times before he remembered the potion details.

"Yes. Fears, worries, and likes."

Snape studied Harry, watching as concern flickered over the small face, and a great sense of unease.  Harry's body was tense, his shoulders hunched forward, and his eyes focused on the table as if having a mental argument with himself.

"Dreams, as well?"  The tone had lost all sense of defiance, and Snape was now curious.

"I assume so." Snape confirmed.

"Maybe we should make a deal."  Harry said after a moment, his hands nervously picking at the hem of his shirt.

"Trying to channel Slytherin, are you?"  Snape immediately replied, curbing his urge to be too sarcastic.  To his disappointment, Harry didn't rise to the bait.

"Call it what you want.  We're sharing a hotel room, so... any thing I may say in my sleep, you can't use against me."   Harry finally looked up at Snape, hoping that the man didn't use legilimency on him.

"In exchange for what? You won't tell your fellow Gryffindors what I wear to bed?"  Snape's eyebrow was raised.

"Hah. Grey nightshirt is hardly entertaining." Harry snorted, and then immediately clamped his hand over his mouth.  Seconds too late.

"How do you know what my night clothes look like, Potter?" Snape's eyes flashed angrily at him, and Harry knew his brain couldn't work fast enough to lie himself out of trouble. Worth a shot, though.

"Just a guess. Your clothes are rather predictable."  There was a red blush creeping around Harry's cheeks, and he mentally cursed it.

"Try again."  Snape ordered, leaning towards Harry.  "You snooped into my bedroom at Spinner's End?"

"No!" Harry blurted. He definitely did not want Snape to think he'd disobeyed the order not to enter the man's bedroom at the house; however, the lack of answer it left him was not much better.

"Potter, we just discussed lying yesterday..."  Snape was close enough that Harry wondered if he could perform legilimens without making eye contact.

"Hogwarts."  Harry admitted sheepishly to his lap. "Stupid wailing egg."

It only took Snape thirty seconds to remember what Harry was referencing to, and Harry suddenly found himself being floated over to the bed.

"Hey, what the hell!"  Harry wrestled with thin air but Snape still wouldn't drop him down to the bed, so he just spun slowly in the air.

"You did break into my office, you little cretin."  Snape bounced him down to the bed once and back up, noting with satisfaction the unsteady look on Harry's face.

"Barty Crouch did, as Professor Moody. And I didn't steal your gillyweed either, before you bring that up."  Harry dropped for another bounce on his behind and groaned as his stomach flipped.

"We'll see about that, I might poison you with veritaserum later."  Snape replied, lowering Harry to the bed and sticking him to it.

"Fine, I know I didn't do it." Harry shot him an annoyed look, and struggled with the bed sheet to move around. He suddenly looked up quickly at Snape. "No wait. No veritaserum."

Snape's eyebrow rose with interest.  "Oh no? What could you possibly have to hide, Potter?"

"It doesn't matter what I have to hide, Professor." Harry said, not paying attention as much to the conversation as he was to trying to unstick his jeans from the bedcover. "Everyone needs secrets to keep them company."

Snape pondered that profound statement for a moment as he watched Harry struggle. Such an intelligent remark out of the boy, and yet he didn't realize that if he would only sit still for five seconds, the spell would undo itself.

With a wave of his wand, Snape undid the spell and locked his suitcase. It was just past four, and a good time for a stroll before dinner. They paused on the way out of the hotel to get a map from reception, and for Snape to enquire where a few stores were. Harry didn't pay much attention, as he was too busy watching the boats go by on the canal outside the window.

Snape lead Harry back towards the clearing they'd gotten off the tram at, and Harry was less than surprised when the first stop they made was at a bookshop called Athenaeum Boekhandel.  Harry twisted his tongue a few ways as he tried to pronounce the bookstore's name, and was rather impressed when he stepped inside and found the shop was on several different levels, all with tiny half staircases leading to different sections of books.  Snape wandered towards the botany section of the store while Harry took a few steps down the closest staircase and found himself in the general fiction section. 

It was here that Snape found him fifteen minutes later, comparing two Stephen Fry books to see which cover was the bizarrest in relation to the actual story.

"Perhaps I should not leave a six year old to his own devices." Snape said, watching Harry with a raised eyebrow.  

Harry blamed the potion for his sudden childish decision to stick his tongue out at Snape.

--

They ate at an Argentinean restaurant near the square, not venturing too far into the rest of the city.  Snape still had a lot on his mind from his meeting with the headmaster the day before, and he knew Harry would be tired from the potion's transformation.

After the dinner, they walked a bit further down Kalverstraat and Snape dragged Harry into the department store. Harry was embarrassed to be taking the escalator up to the children's section, but he figured it was easier to buy smaller clothes than to have to configure his whole wardrobe. And he was fairly certain Snape wouldn't make him wear anything with fluffy bunnies or brightly coloured dinosaurs on it.

As it turned out, Snape planned to be in Amsterdam for the whole week, so he told Harry to pick out five outfits. They were only scheduled to meet Amy Benson once, but Snape merely pointed toward the clothing rack and told Harry to be prepared.  Harry filed that bit of information away for later use in the mission. Always be prepared for the plans to change.

Harry wasn't exactly sure what his job was to help out, but he was determined to not mess up his part at all.  For all the Order did in the war and to protect him, it was gratifying to finally take more than passive role, regardless of how he'd ended up there.  Perhaps out of necessity so far and a lack of anywhere else to be, but by the end of the week Harry was determined to prove himself worthy of working for the Order of the Phoenix.

It was because of this resolve to behave and pay attention to everything going on around him that Harry saw the look of pain that briefly flicked across Snape's face when he withdrew a bright turquoise muggle wallet that looked to be a gift from Dumbledore to pay for the purchases.

--

Just before slipping into bed that evening, Harry turned to look at Snape, who was still fully dressed and sitting at the table.

"Do we have a deal about the dreams?"  Harry suddenly asked, picking absently at the bedcover.

"I thought I told you to daydream before bed." Snape replied, not even looking up from his notes.

"You did, sir." Harry confirmed, smoothing out the snag he'd just created in the material. "But just in case that doesn't work..."

 Snape looked up at that, and seemed to be studying Harry like he was an experiment.  He looked like he was in a bad mood.

"Why are you suddenly acting so complaisant, Mr. Potter? You're away from your little friends and beloved headmaster, and you have to pretend to be my son. Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed at the lack of drama and temper tantrums."

Harry opened his mouth to say something smart right back, but after a second's consideration, snapped it shut with a glare.  Being a smartarse would definitely not prove his maturity. Unfortunately, Snape didn't stop there.

"I wonder if it's perhaps because I came to the rescue of the great Boy Who Lived?"

"Good night, sir."  Harry interrupted with as neutral tone as he could.  He rolled over and faced the wall, wondering why Snape was being such a git again. Harry tried to convince himself that it was left over annoyance from whatever had happened the day before in Dumbledore's office. 

Almost half an hour after Snape had finally turned out the light and gone to bed, Harry fell asleep to a fitful dream of wandering around lost in Amsterdam.

--

Amy Benson had fled England at eighteen years of age, two days after leaving the orphanage.  She had not spoken a word since the day in the caves, and her file was thick with notes from the NHS and various publicly funded psychologists who had attempted over the eight years that Amy had been in the state's care to get her to speak.

It had never worked, though she'd become prolific with written language. Snape noted that aside from the refusal to speak, Benson had led a fairly normal life.  She'd escaped to Amsterdam, to the city of people whose small oddities were noticed often but rarely discussed.  She'd met a young Dutchman, and in the years defining a devastating flood in Holland, the creation of a polder of land reclaimed from the sea, and revolution during the sixties, had raised two children of her own.  She now had grandchildren, and it was with them that Dumbledore had figured they had a way to drop Benson's personal shields.

Snape thought it was a mad idea, but then again, he'd always thought Dumbledore was a bit barmy.

Potter, for some unknown reason, was taking his role very seriously.   Snape had caught him studying the papers again in the morning, as if he would be examined on his knowledge of being Elliot Snape.

Snape was rather impressed by the eager shyness he'd shown upon first meeting Benson and her grandchildren.  They'd gone to a little café in Dam square, a large bustling area that gave enough tourists and natives space to wander around that Benson could disappear if she felt threatened.  Snape had expected the gesture, and though it unnerved him, sat with his back facing the square so that she was more at ease.  He was agitated, but this was for the greater good, the mantra that had driven his conscious for the past twenty years.

"This is my son, Elliot."  Snape introduced, holding a stiff hand behind Potter's shoulder and giving one small squeeze.

Harry slowly raised his head to look at Benson, keeping his eyes large and extending his small hand. Time to start acting.  "Pleased to meet you, ma'am."  

Her smile was soft and her expression was less suspicious than it had been when they'd first arrived.  Snape removed a muggle notepad and pen from his pocket, refusing to admit to himself that Dumbledore may have been correct in his manipulations.

"Such a polite boy," a small note said, passed to Snape with a steady hand.  He idly noted that the hand was flushed, as if there was an irritant rubbing against the top of her skin. He smiled at her, and ignored the giggle that Potter gave him upon seeing the smile.

Two grandchildren were with Benson, a small boy and a girl who were introduced and then shuffled off to play by the war statue close to their chairs. Potter went with them, pretending to be very interested in a game of tag.  Snape wondered if the boy would be smart enough to pick up the Dutch cursing the kids were trying to teach him.

"You're fond of him."   The paper was placed atop his hand this time, and she gave him another small smile as he turned to face her. There was a small grimace on his face when he realized he'd been watching Potter skip off to play.

Snape coughed and opened the notepad.

"We are doing a murder investigation Ms Benson, regarding a child you grew up with at the orphanage in London."  Snape stated, clearly and in a non-accusatory tone.  He noted that she immediately stiffened, and began scratching her arm.

Amy refused to meet Snape's eye, but he continued his questioning softly.

"You left the orphanage at eighteen?"  Snape asked, opening his notebook to make notes.  She made a nod, eyes warily on Snape.

"And fled England at the same time?" 

Another nod.  The notepad was then grabbed, and one sentence was pushed back to Snape.

"You want to know about Tom."

Snape looked up and read the fear in her eyes. The paper was snatched back, scribbled on, and shoved across the table.

"Not today."

She was scratching her hand as if it was covered in something painful, and there were angry welts starting to rise.  Snape knew it was time for retreat.

"Come, Elliot."  Snape called, sitting calmly at the table to not agitate Benson further. Whatever the Dark Lord had done as a boy in the cave, he'd traumatized this woman for more than fifty-five years.

Harry came over almost immediately, and though Snape saw that there were plenty of questions the boy wanted to ask, he kept his mouth shut and simply smiled at Benson, pretending not to notice how agitated she was.

Snape stood and put away his notebook, leaving a card on the table with their hotel phone number on it.  He took Harry's hand and nodded to Ms Benson, promising to be back there the next day.