Friday's supper at Hogwarts was taken early, at five pm.  Snape noticed a hum through the castle, the noise getting louder as he walked in the empty halls towards the Great Hall. His progress was somewhat halted, as he had small chubby fingers snatched onto his hand in a death grip and a little boy staggering cheerfully beside him, trying to keep up with the walk.   They'd not had much chance to test what had been effected by the horcrux removal, as Harry was currently younger physically than he had been when he'd received the scar, thus any skills lost would be impossible to tell yet.  Snape just put down the changes in attention span and lack of co-ordination to general toddler idiocy for the moment; the real test would come on Saturday afternoon, when Harry returned to his real age.

One thing he had noted though, was that Harry seemed to be much happier than Snape had ever seen him before.

"Ooef!"  Harry exclaimed, tripping over a piece of flagstone that wasn't quite flush with the others.  Snape automatically leant down and with a strong grip swung him forward, setting Harry steadily on his feet again.

"Bad Fraggle!"  Harry accused, pointing at the stone.  Snape blinked in confusion.  Fraggle? That was a stone. Oh, right.  Fraggle Rock, his strange little puppet friends were called, and a stone is part of a rock. This paraphasia Harry seemed to have acquired would be rather challenging if it developed with Harry's older self as well.  Snape had read in his parenting books that toddlers made strange verbal connections normally, however, so this may just be him as a one year old.

As Snape had planned, they passed almost no one in the halls.  Most of the school had assembled for the celebratory dinner, which Snape and Harry were bypassing.  He was not one for huge ceremonies, though he knew McGonagall would insist on one once Harry and Snape were back from their little break. The only person that they encountered on the way to the headmistress' office was Professor Sprout, who took one look at Harry toddling along beside Snape in a black tunic jumper, and grew a wicked grin on her face.

"Severus, who might this young man be?"

"This is Elliot." Snape had his eyebrow raised, as he didn't normally receive teasing from her.

"Your son, is he?" She replied, smile as wide as ever.  "Ye of the hairy heart? My goodness. And where is his lovely mother?"

Snape snorted and rolled his eyes.

"I assure you, Madame, that I am no warlock." Snape replied, neatly avoiding the second question.

"Ah, not according to the Evening Prophet, Severus. Many thanks and cheers to you."  Pomona continued, tipping her hat and continuing along her way to the Great Hall.

"Professor Sprout."  Snape called, clearing his throat and holding onto Harry's hand.

"Not to worry, Severus. I did not see the little green-eyed tyke," came her chirpy answer.

After another saunter down a different hall they finally arrived to the gargoyle, and Snape muttered the password under his breath.  Harry was enthralled by the moving staircase, and yelped fearfully as they entered the headmistress' office.  The eruption of noise was instantaneous, and Snape became aware of Harry trying to bury himself in the folds of Snape's robes at the same time that every occupant in the portraits were shouting at him. 

Snape brought Harry up to the front of the room, setting him down on the desk.  Harry clung to Snape's robes still, looking speculatively around the room at the many portraits who were smiling and waving at him.

"Wow."  Harry breathed, pointing at the headmaster.

"Hello, Harry."  Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling in the portrait.  His features were softened as they had been during Harry's first years at Hogwarts, the lines that had etched themselves around his eyes and lips during the heightened war had been blurred a little, softened in death.

"Per'fessor" Harry pointed.

"Yes."  Snape acknowledged, nodding his head.

"Did you not wish to celebrate with the others, my boys?"

"Celebrate what? The end of the war?" Snape asked, suddenly sounding tired. "Earlier today we killed a man. A murder premeditated, and I deliberately gave a sixteen year old a potion that may have caused permanent and irrevocable brain damage. Do you find that cause for celebration?"

Harry turned where he stood, his hand still resting on Snape's shoulder for balance as he gave Snape a clumsy hug.

"Good dad."  Harry whispered, before attempting to stand up straight again and nearly falling flat on his bum. Snape, as usual, caught him in time.

"I wish to apologize to you, Severus."  The headmaster said, catching the silence of the other portraits.  "I have asked you to sacrifice too many things in this war. Your time, your intelligence, your safety, and your dignity. I had even thought Harry would have to sacrifice himself in the end.  As it turned out, and as in many things, I was wrong."

"It's been known to happen."  Snape immediately responded, just managing to keep the sarcasm in his voice from being too thick. Dumbledore addressed it with merely a chuckle.

"It has been a long twenty years," Dumbledore acknowledged, "and I do regret the positions I put both of you in."

"I believe my fate was sealed the night I vowed to do anything for Lily."  Snape muttered.

"Severus." Dumbledore cut through sternly. "I, Lily, James, Tom Riddle...we are all dead. We do not bear any grudges, nor do we seek any blessings.  We, the dead, do not rest uneasy. Only the living do."

Snape was silent for a moment as he took that in.  Harry stared around the room at the portraits and the trinkets still left behind from Dumbledore. He was very glad that he was part of this magical world, as he could not imagine ever entering this office without hearing Dumbledore's voice, even if it was now confined to a portrait.

"They're holding a funeral for you on Monday." Snape said finally, tapping his finger on the desk next to Harry's foot.

"See if Honeydukes will do the catering." Dumbledore replied, his face apologetic yet peaceful. "But enjoy your party first."

The happy glint was back in the headmaster's eyes, and Harry realized that Dumbledore had found his freedom too.

"Harry." Dumbledore spoke, adjusting his glasses in the picture.  "I congratulate you as well, and I hope Severus will give you the family and normal life I was never able to."

Harry reached one hand up and waved, scrunching his fingers as he did so as if he were trying to imitate the claw of a robot.  Snape said nothing, merely sweeping back the unruly fringe on Harry's head to show an unmarred forehead.  He picked Harry up and offered a rare smile while they left the room, the portraits clapping as they stepped out.

..............

The knock that came to the door was not an unexpected one, though Snape was rather amused at the speed. It was just past seven in the evening on Friday, and they'd only been home for two hours.  Snape had taken Harry to the Sainsbury's downtown for some groceries and nappies.  He'd made the pleasant discovery that muggle nappies worked just fine with little fuss, and was thus not going to bother with the wizard version for the short amount of time Harry was going to need them.

Leaving Harry in his highchair with a monitoring charm, Snape slipped out to the front hallway and peered through the peephole in the door.  Just whom he'd expected. Snape whisked a small bit of dust from his jacket shoulder before opening the door with his patented scowl and cross of his arms.

"I do believe my address is unlisted."

The man on the stoop had enough grace to look partially chastised. 

"For the Minister of Magic, almost nothing is unlisted.  And your wards were easily bypassed."

"My wards are set to the visitors I expect."  Snape answered, waving his wand and raising the resistance.  Scrimgeour looked momentarily taken back by the amount of force he experienced attempting to remain standing on the doorstep.

"Point taken."

Scrimgeour walked into their little hallway, following Snape into the library.  Harry was still sitting in the makeshift highchair, fingers grabbing at a shortbread cookie and grubbying it up as he tried to eat it. Harry gave a suspicious look to the Minister of Magic, but remained quiet as Snape turned on the kettle and sat down next to Harry, offering Scrimgeour the other seat.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Snape asked politely, popping open a jar of applesauce and warming it with a spell.

"To personally delivering payment." Scrimgeour said sardonically, withdrawing a bank draft note from his pocket. Snape tasted a spoonful of the sauce to make sure it wasn't too hot and surreptitiously glanced towards the sum.  It was made out to Severus Snape from the Ministry of Magic, and it was for exactly fifty two galleons.

"How very efficient of you." Snape replied. "A trait I am not accustomed to from our esteemed Ministry."  The comment was made neutrally, but came with the unspoken question as to the nature of the visit. As he waited, Snape fed Harry a spoonful and wiped away the excess with precision with the spoon.

"Think of it also as a checkup from the aspect of social services."  Scrimgeour said, his tone light and gaze hard.

"Mmmngh." Harry implored, waving his fist at Snape.  It seemed Harry was of the same mind as Snape- not to let the Minister know that Harry was not mentally as young as he appeared.  The kettle clicked off as it reached boiling, and Snape handed the spoon to Harry as he stood to pour the pot.

"On that boy's hand is a scar from one of your Ministry employees." Snape said, nodding towards Harry and keeping his voice deadly even. "Carved into his hand by a blood quill, during the time that Fudge denied Voldemort's return. He was fifteen years old, and it was done by a Ministry appointed teacher at Hogwarts."

In the highchair he noticed Harry's confused look and small glance down towards his baby hands. Snape's eyes narrowed at that and made a mental note about the observation.

"This has nothing to do with the adoption.  He has been my son since last August in both the eyes of Muggle and Wizard laws."  Snape held up his hand and never broke eye contact as he spoke. "For ten years of his life after his parents were murdered, the only way to ensure his safety was to place him with neglectful relatives who starved him and contained him in a cupboard under stairs.  Now, he is living under the care of the man who created the potion to rid him of Voldemort.  An ex-death eater, master of potions, professor at the most notable academy for wizarding education in the UK. The man who made a life vow on the grave of his mother, fourteen years ago, to protect her little boy with his own life."

Harry shook his spoon at Scrimgeour and babbled at him in nonsense baby talk, which Snape thought particular because he was well aware that Harry could still get his point across with his limited vocabulary.

"This is not a social services call, Minister Scrimgeour. The public would not stand for any interference, and you know it." Snape handed the mug of tea to the Minister and sat back down at his chair.

Scrimgeour accepted the tea Snape gave him and placed a precise amount of milk in it before answering.

"Disregarding whatever the public may have to say regarding your situation, the Ministry is at a distinct impasse regarding the final end of Voldemort.  We have spent the past almost twenty years plagued by him, both times to be saved by a mediocre boy wizard.  You can imagine how that will look should it ever reach the press.  The ministry has no desire to be ridiculed, and I am here to determine your motives before any stronger...steps are taken."

"You think I will blackmail you?"  Snape asked, keeping the incredulity out of his voice.

"You are a Slytherin, are you not? You've spent sixteen years spying and playing both sides to your end." Scrimgeour said, taking a drink.

Snape gave him a calculated look, noting the many scars around the old auror's face and the classic strong demeanor he carried.  That Scrimgeour came to visit spoke volumes to Snape.  The ministry wanted control over the aftermath of Voldemort demise, and likely wanted to claim some credit for the work.  Snape, for all his years as a spy, had a few events in his past that he would prefer stay there, and Harry most of all did not wish to become any sort of playboy figurehead for the wizarding world.  

"I want freedom."

"Freedom."  Scrimgeour repeated, his eyes narrowing.

"Not all Slytherins can become Minister of Magic, Scrimgeour."  Snape answered immediately.  "You and I have both murdered; I under the mark on my arm, you under your auror robes.  You may take your absolution leading the wizarding world into peace, I will take mine enjoying the freedom I have finally earned."  

Setting the jar aside, Snape summoned a small face cloth from upstairs and cast a warmed aguamenti spell on it.  He wiped the applesauce carefully off to Harry's face, muttering a quick cleaning charm on he cloth before dropping it onto Harry's head.

"Am I to parse that as a request for unlimited clemency?"  Scrimgeour asked, lips thin and hands rocking the tea mug irritably against the table.

"Bad." Harry said with an accusing look at Snape, once he'd gotten the wet towel off his head.

"You misunderstand me." Snape replied calmly, taking the cloth back and tossing it towards the sink.  "My freedom means the ability to enter any public place in the wizarding world and not be spat at for being an ex-death eater.  It means not having to grant endless interviews and attend ministry functions related to the end of the war. It means the same for my son, and it also means that neither of us will be expected to save the world again."

The last bit was said with the patented Snape eyebrow raise, and Scrimgeour managed a chuckle.

"You make it sound easy."

"We are on the same team, freelance as I may be." Snape acknowledged, hoisting Harry out of the chair and setting him down on the floor. Harry made an immediate beeline for the library, crawling towards the bookshelf with the compass collection on it.

"I have no desire to become any officer in the Ministry, and neither does Potter." Snape said, knowing that the real reason Scrimgeour was there was fear of being usurped.

A chorus of  "nonononononono," came from floor level, confirming Harry's lack of desire.

"That is of no concern."  Scrimgeour immediately noted, refusing to meet Snape's gaze.

Snape watched just as Harry went to reach for something on the shelf before he pulled his wand.

"Of course it's not. Accio Elliot."

Harry shrieked as he was levitated through the air back to the doorway of the kitchen, where Snape caught him.  Scrimgeour stood with his tea and passed into the library as Snape was settling Harry into an old fashioned wooden playpen, which had a few older toys in it.  There was a small cardboard box off to the corner of the room where the playpen was, the name Severus scratched on it with some sort of black marker in very neat script.

"I never pictured you as a family man." Scrimgeour noted, glancing at the photo of six-year-old Harry about to step onto the Amsterdam tour boat.

"I don't believe you know me well enough to pass judgment."  Snape snapped, rummaging through the box and pulling out a small stuffed platypus.  He placed it in the playpen with Harry, removed his suit jacket and draped it over the corner of the playpen.  Snape sat in his favourite chair by the fireplace, and gestured to the settee.

"Perhaps not, but your file at the Ministry is rather large."

"And assuredly just as colourful. Do we have an agreement? Our freedom for your continued success as Minister of Magic?"

"Yes.  Just a few more details, all off the record." Scrimgeour added.
 
"What else did you need to know?" Snape asked.

"Do you know where Albus Dumbledore's body is?"

Harry sat up in the playpen and stopped murmuring to the platypus.

"Yes, though you will not be able to recover either him or Fenrir Greyback."

"Wards around the area?" Scrimgeour settled on the chesterfield.

"That, and I imagine the end was not pretty for either of them."  Snape said, his voice softening a little. He had asked the details of Dumbledore's death back at Hogwarts, partially for closure, and partially to know what he was atoning for.

"Do you know where any other death eaters are?"

"The Malfoys can be found in Sweden, most likely. Draco is in the hospital right now under heavy guard; Lucius will in all probability be trying to arrange his escape soon."

"There's already been an attempt to have him released, some lower level Ministry employee pushing forged paperwork." Scrimgeour said with annoyance.

"Certainly. And you will have several more traitors within your ranks as well." Snape confirmed.

"Is that why you sent Draco Malfoy to St. Mungo's, instead of Azkaban?" Scrimgeour asked. 

"Mr. Malfoy found himself at St. Mungo's because he was raving like a bloodthirsty lunatic and broke at least five different school rules in his quest to murder either Dumbledore or Potter."

"Wait, why Dumbledore? I thought he was only after Potter."

In the playpen, Harry had crawled over to investigate Snape's coat pocket and found a wallet inside.  It was a muggle wallet, simple black leather with a small strap that closed into almost a belt loop bit. It only took him a minute to open it, which he felt rather proud of.  Sitting where he was, the jacked obscured him from Snape's vision, but Scrimgeour could see Harry well enough.

"Malfoys have always been greedy."  Snape muttered offhandedly, not mentioning that Voldemort had ordered Draco to only go after the headmaster.

Harry pulled a card from the wallet, giggling a little at the bad picture of Snape that was on it.  He could tell which cards were wizarding ones, as those photos moved, and he even recognized the blue house symbol from the AH grocery store in Amsterdam.  Snape had gotten the card for bonus prices on food for them during the New Years holiday.  There were a few pound notes in the billfold, as well as a bank draft with a Ministry logo on it, but Harry didn't touch those. Money was boring.  Instead, he focused back on the cards and his eyes widened as he recognized the next he pulled out. He'd seen one before, on the kitchen table back at Privet Drive. It was a muggle British driver's license, and that was definitely an old picture of Snape on it.

"Planning a getaway, you little thief?"  Snape's deep voice rumbled just over his head, startling Harry.  It was when Harry looked up that he became aware of two things.  The first was that Scrimgeour had taken his leave, and the second was that Snape was currently sporting the exact same scowl that he was in the driver's license picture.  Harry blamed the baby emotion level in his body for his bursting into laughter.

Snape crossed his arms in mock annoyance and muttered a quick spell, that returned all his cards to their proper place.

"You're lucky that the anti-theft charm on my wallet is not set against family." Snape warned.

As it was getting late for a one year old, and the day had been rather exhausting, Snape decided that a warm bath before bed was not an unwelcome option for Harry.  He had transfigured a pair of baby swimming trunks out of an old tea towel, and sat on the toilet beside the tub as Harry splashed his way through a bath. 

"We need to make a list of what has affected you so far.  As I am quite certain that most of your skill-related deficiencies come from your physical age and limitations rather than your mind, we shall have to wait to test those until you are bigger."

Harry stared at Snape and held up Ambrose, water dripping down his arms.

"Wizard."

Snape stared at him and slowly flipped over a page in his muggle notebook, seemingly resetting his train of thought in the action.

"Yes, Elliot. You are a wizard."

Harry stuck his tongue out and put Ambrose down, splashing more water to the side of the tub.

"Do you remember getting the scar on your hand?"  Snape asked, dropping a towel on the floor to dry the tiles.

Harry looked at both of his hands again and then gave a bemused answer. "Cup."

"No, it wasn't caused by a cup." Snape retorted, picking up the shampoo from the shower shelf and setting it on the ledge of the tub.

"No! Cup!"  Harry insisted, twisting around to see Snape.  Snape scooped up some water and brought it up over Harry's head, soaking the hair.

"There's no scar?" Snape tried again, pouring some shampoo in his hand.

"Red." Harry confirmed, nodding his head and holding up his hands.

"Your speech was much better earlier. Concentrate on telling me something." Snape asked, not quite commanding but not suggesting either as he rubbed the shampoo into Harry's hair.

A giggle emitted from Harry before he pointed at Snape and said in a very clear voice.

"Wash hair."

Snape said nothing, merely giving a pointed look at Harry before rinsing the shampoo off.  Harry did discover moments later however, as Snape was washing him down with soap and a flannel, that he was ticklish in many more places than just his stomach.

......

Harry definitely felt the effects of the bath shortly after, yawning all the way through his changing into a clean nappy and red footie pyjamas.  Snape had placed him on his bed, pulling the covers up neatly around him and Harry had immediately twisted to his side, scrunching them up.  From here he could see a familiar letter sitting on his nightstand, and he stared at the small cursive writing on the envelope.  He could remember writing the letter to himself, sitting on his dorm bed late at night with his wand lit as light, petting Kermit gently while he wrote everything important that he wanted to remember.

After closing the blinds Snape sat on the side of the bed, avoiding Harry's legs. He followed the line of sight at picked up the envelope.

"Do you wish me to read this?"

"Elephant" Harry nodded, rubbing his eyes sleepily.

"Very well." Snape acquiesced, undoing the wax seal on the back. The seal was in the shape of an owl; the first Harry had carved and sent to the seal maker in Amsterdam.

"Dear Elliot,

Your favourite colour is blue.  You're a Gryffindor, but the sorting hat originally wanted to put you in Slytherin.  You're a parselmouth, or at least, you were. You grew up in a cupboard at number four Privet drive, and for ten years you thought that was normal.  You were named Harry James Potter, James after your father, and you don't know who Harry is after. When you were adopted, your name was changed to Elliot Fyodor Snape.

Hogwarts was your first home.  Hedwig, your owl, was your first birthday present and Ron was your first best friend.  Hermione was your second, and you three are inseparable. If you can't remember anything, ask them. You trust them with your life, and they with yours.

When not at Hogwarts, you live in Stockport, England, on Spinner's End drive.  Your bedroom was the first you'd ever been able to decorate and claim as your own. There's no loose floorboards in this room, you don't need them."  Snape looked up with a slightly confused expression at this, but Harry had his eyes closed and was just smiling.

"Your favourite mug is a red striped one, and it's in the cupboard downstairs next to Snape's blue one.  Your favourite dinner is beef stew, and you like treacle tart for desert.  When you can, you have coffee every morning with breakfast (the only time you drink it), and Snape brought your favourite coffee back from Amsterdam.  You spent New Years Eve on the roof of De Bijenkorf, watching the world burst.

You hated Professor Severus Snape as a first, second, third - well until last summer, but he's saved your life more times than you can count.  Mrs. Weasley gives you a sweater every year, you never win at cribbage, you're the youngest seeker to make the Gryffindor team in a century, and you have an invisibility cloak.   Your mother Lily and your father James died so that you could live. Your dad Severus is the bravest man you've ever known.

You are not responsible for any deaths that happened in this war.  You are just a boy.

Harry/Elliot."

Snape looked up and folded the letter, placing it carefully on the nightstand.  Harry had fallen asleep, his small body twisted in a bizarre way that didn't look even the slightest comfortable to Snape.

"You have a dad who loves you."  Snape murmured, ruffling Harry's hair softly before summoning the quilt blanket and covering the boy.  He stood up and stretched silently, pausing for a moment as he considered the bed.  A small ruler was on Harry's desk, and Snape transfigured it into a sturdy railing for the side of the bed, in case Harry moved in the middle of the night.  Snape closed the door behind him, as he walked down the hall, fully aware that he would be pondering the disturbing points in the letter for the rest of the night.

.....

The rain held off during the morning, Saturday falling cloudy and chilly in Stockport. Harry had woken ridiculously early, and Snape thought it best to take advantage of that and head to the market in town.  The Daily Prophet, which Snape had ordered the night before, showed up on time and Snape walked with it under his arm as he and Harry moved towards a bench in the park not far from the market.  Harry, who was tottering along slowly beside him, clutched a small bag of just made doughnuts in his hand.  Snape sat down on the bench and pulled Harry up into his lap, letting him lean back against his chest.

"And now to see what the vultures have printed."  Snape murmured, opening the paper.  There were a few families out for a stroll now, as it was later in the morning, but Snape wasn't worried.  The Dailey Prophet carried an imbued charm to ensure it just appeared as a foreign language newspaper to any muggle looking at it.

As Snape had suspected, the Prophet was full of cheery aftermath news.  The wizarding world had celebrated itself stupid the night before, and likely would again this evening, but neither Mr. Potter nor Professor Snape had been seen at any of the parties.  There were rumours amongst the more inebriated members of society of the horrible price they'd paid for Voldemort's death, something that would be disproved once they'd made a re-appearance back at Hogwarts in perfect health.  Snape looked down at the black hat covered head that was resting against his neck.  Mostly perfect health.  During more testing that morning Snape had discovered that Harry had lost a few of his memories, most interestingly the ones in which he'd lost his temper.  He did not remember getting into arguments with Umbridge, he did not remember blowing up his Aunt Marge the one summer, but he did remember Lockhart and going to the Quidditch World Cup. Snape figured most of fifth year would be a write-off, as Harry had been channeling Voldemort a disturbing amount of times during that year.  Snape held hope however that Harry would remember the skills he'd learned that year, and he wasn't quite sure if Harry losing those memories of when he'd been really angry was necessarily a bad thing.

......

Back at Spinner's End, just as the last bits of sand counted down the end of the twenty-eight hour toddler stint, Harry sat on the library floor.  He was sitting on a blanket, a round Shape-O toy in front of him and several of the annoying yellow plastic shapes spread around him.  Twinky glared at him from the fireplace, and Harry studiously ignored him as he tried to fit a star shaped bit into a hexagon hole. He thought it was a hexagon, and was getting rather annoyed that the...oh. Star shaped.  Harry dropped it and huffed as he picked up another shape. It looked vaguely right, and he knew that he should be concentrating harder on matching the shapes, as that was the entire point of the exercise.  But this was rather stupid; he'd never need to do this in real life.

"Twinky, I shall be needing a complete change of linens by tomorrow morning. We will be spending time here intermittently over the next fortnight."  Snape ordered, shuffling the stack of paper in his hands. Two laundry bags sat by the fireplace and Twinky stepped out to fetch them, nodding at Harry.

"An improvement" Twinky said, keeping his voice low.  Snape, who had honed his hearing around misbehaving students, caught the words anyway. 

"Tsk. A bad way to keep business." Snape commented idly.

"My apologies, Sir.  Twinky is being rude and out of bounds."  The elf bowed, obvious to both that the humbleness was not sincere.

"Da!"  Harry said, frustrated with the blocks and Twinky's presence.  He'd been hopeful that the horcrux had not damaged his brain much, but it seemed that he couldn't even fit a stupid triangle into a square hole. He lifted his hands up and instinctively pouted, bottom lip protruding a little.  Snape heaved a big sigh and picked him up, settling Harry against his chest and turning towards the hallway.

"I have no idea why I oblige you as such. It's time to grow up again, in any event."

Sitting high and secure in Snape's arms and with his head over Snape's shoulder, Harry flashed a smug grin and threw a circular shaped plastic bit at Twinky as Snape walked with him out the room.

Upstairs, Snape double-checked to make sure the nappy was set to banish as soon as Harry's body changed back to its normal size, and placed Harry on his bed.

"Can you stand alone?"  Snape asked, pulling the desk chair to the side of the bed.  He helped Harry stand up, taking his hands away to the side once Harry had somewhat steadied himself.   Harry had been moving about quite easily downstairs and at Hogwarts, but it had always been with something to hold onto.

"Marshmallow."  Harry said, scrunching up his face and pointing at the mattress.  Snape blinked for a moment before understanding.

"Yes, it is soft."  Snape watched Harry very closely as Harry took a hesitant step. Strong arms shot out to catch Harry just as he fell back on his bottom.

"Too soft?"

"Too soft."  Harry confirmed.   Harry plunked himself back down and Snape covered him with a spare bed sheet. He was lying in just the nappy, and Snape wasn't sure how fast the re-growth into his normal body would happen. The question was also how to get Harry to drink the whole thing at once.  It wasn't an overly large amount of potion, but Harry had been drinking out of a sippy cup for the past twenty-eight hours.  In the end, Snape just gave him the vial and helped hold it to Harry's mouth as he drank it back.

Snape studied intently as Harry shuddered on the bed and his limbs slowly lengthened, knobby toes with sparse black hair on them sticking out from under the bed sheet, round stocky arms stretching stubby yet well-formed fingers.  Harry's hair was unruly and still jet black, the eyes a nice shade of viridian green, but Snape was relieved to see that there was still no scar on his forehead.

If this was how parents felt every time their kid got into something or was sick, Snape was glad he'd never had a biological child. One sixteen year old was enough.

From the bed came a grunt and odd squeaking noise as Harry stretched.

"Hi Dad.  Can we have pizza for dessert?"  Harry grinned, reaching for the glasses Snape had placed on the side table.

"For dinner?" Snape clarified, his eyebrow raised in hidden relief. "I suppose pizza is in order."