January 20th, 1997. Stockport. A fourteen month old boy wearing a dark pair of trousers and a bright red jumper stands next to a display of wooden trains in a toyshop. He is waving a thin wooden piece of track like a wand and grinning as he jabbers in baby talk. Beside him a woman wearing the store's apron is kneeling down and smiling, and behind him his father stands stoically on guard, the barest hint of a smile on his face. Elliot's first incident of accidental magic/ Dad almost curses a shop assistant.
...
Harry squirmed to be let down as Snape carried him into the toyshop, his eyes wide and sparkling at the sight of so many brightly coloured toys. The Dursleys had let him make do with Dudley's casts offs, and although a toddler has no real concept of new or second hand, Harry couldn't help but feel like he'd found Santa's workshop now. Even though he was sixteen and he knew it was ridiculous to be that excited over a toyshop, Harry decided to let his toddler feelings take over. It had been a long day, after all.
Snape grudgingly put Harry down and held tightly onto his hand to make sure he didn't fall as he explored the toy store. Snape had mentioned back at Hogwarts that he'd bring Harry to the toy store for some entertainment, as Snape had some paperwork to do later that evening. Muggle paperwork that held absolutely no interest to Harry, but that apparently needed to be done nonetheless. Harry had giggled at that back at Hogwarts; they'd killed Voldemort that morning and Snape was concerned with muggle bills.
Harry weaved his way like a drunk through the store, marveling at how the toys seemed much more alive and realistic at this level. Harry inspected the stuffed animals and the books before finally headed towards the action part of the store; a rectangular play box catching his attention. Snape followed closely behind as Harry tottered in an unbalanced half-run towards the toy train set up, the small fingers of one hand still clenched tightly around Snape's larger one.
"Choo! Red choo!" Harry explained, pointing at the trains. He let go of Snape immediately upon reaching the table and started playing with the lead engine. There was a small spare bit of track that was loose on the table and Snape noted with amusement that Harry held it in his hand like a wand. Sixteen as he may be, Snape figured that it must be akin to some sort of stress release to be able to act rather childishly.
"He seems to be quite taken by the trains." A perky voice suddenly announced from above Harry's shoulder. He gave a quick glance to see that one of the shop assistants had come over to speak with Snape.
"Abbbbbbrt!" Harry proclaimed, pointing the train track at the assistant.
"Yes, indeed he is." Snape raised an eyebrow at Harry, but he didn't seem to be annoyed.
"Choo!" Harry cheered happily and pointed the train track at the front engine, clapping gleefully as it went from a green and black engine to the familiar red and black of the Hogwarts Express, complete with the elegant signage. There was a gasp heard to his right and a muttered obliviate from his left, but Harry kept playing with the trains, connecting a very long one and placing it against the Hogwarts engine. The passenger trains were different colours though, and Harry thought that they should perhaps match the engine.
"Do not change the car colours," came a low voice. Snape had kneeled down under the pretense of straightening Harry's shirt, but instead stuck the dummy that was clipped to Harry's sweater into Harry's mouth, preventing him from saying anything else. Harry spit it out as soon as Snape stood back up.
"Magic!" Harry grinned, pointing his hand at the Hogwarts train. He wondered exactly how much ‘accidental magic' Snape would tolerate.
"Trains are magic, aren't they little man?" The assistant said, crouching down beside him and picking up a piece of track, waving it around like Harry was doing with his.
"Haaabemt." Harry agreed. He turned and pointed at Snape, flashing one tooth. "Da."
The tip of Snape's wand wasn't quite hidden in his sleeve.
"Yes, that's your da. Can you do some magic for me?" The lady asked, and Harry pointed at the train.
"Elliot." Snape's voice cut through the disgustingly cheery children's music that the store was playing, but Harry ignored it.
"Just like this. Abra cadabra!" The woman said, pointing her track wand at the train set. Harry was able to just see the horrified look flash across Snape's face before he was swept up into Snape's arms, flush against the man's chest and head cradled in Snape's hand. From the sound of the heartbeat underneath the shirt and the open jacket, Snape was just about to have a coronary.
"What is wrong with you?" Snape snapped before spinning on his heel and walking out of the store, casting one last obliviate at the flustered shop assistant.
They stopped at the department store just before leaving and Snape carried him to the toy section, allowing Harry to choose a puzzle toy before going home. Harry rested his head on Snape's shoulders, the dummy in his mouth and his finger idly twirling around a lock of Snape's hair as the man grumbled to himself. "Daft woman. Silly muggle folklore and she comes this close to killing my son." The arms tightened a little around Harry and there was a very soft flutter as two fingers gently carded through Harry's mussy hair.
"And here I thought students were the only one stupid enough to do that." Snape continued, storming into the kitchen and dropping the bag of groceries on the table. He took a quick peek down at Harry and noted the sleepy eyes, before rummaging through the bag and withdrawing a bottle.
"Sanitas." Snape hissed, tapping his wand against the bottle. He filled it with milk and warmed it up a little, testing with his fingers.
"I'll bet that woman could accidentally summon a demon just by reading a dictionary." Snape poured himself his own glass of non-warmed milk before charming both the glass and the bottle to follow him the few short steps to the library. Snape made himself comfortable in his favourite yellow armchair, turning Harry so that he was lying on Snape's lap with his head in the crook of Snape's elbow.
"Da?" Harry asked, barely keeping back a yawn. This seemed to snap Snape out of his quiet ranting, however, and his hair fell forward as he looked down at Harry.
"I know you're sixteen. But I think this will be easier." Snape finally said, holding up the warm bottle. Harry studied Snape's face and saw the guarded look. He also heard the unspoken words. This may be more comforting. Harry gave a slight contented sigh and held up his hands towards the bottle.
April 12th, 1997. Sun blasts into the kitchenette from the charmed window and illuminates the rather messy counter, where various mixing bowls and measuring cups have been laid out. There's a sack of flour near the kettle and two separate bags of sugar precariously close to the edge of the sink. A radio sits atop the spice shelf, and it's impossible to discern in a photograph whether it's turned on or not. The twirling figure of a teenage boy in old jeans, a flour dusted shirt, and a spatula microphone however, suggests that it is playing some sort of tune. Banana bread's secret ingredient: Off-key singing, scrawled under the photo in Snape's customarily neat writing.
....
Snape's private potion lab was a rather spacious room that ran along the far wall of the kitchenette and living room of his Hogwarts flat. It was a separate area from where the bedrooms were and usually quiet, but clunks and bangs through the wall could be heard from whoever was moving about in the kitchen sometimes. Especially when that someone was moving around with the grace of an inebriated elephant. Snape was adding the last bit of rookwort to the cauldron on his table, Harry's latest dose of allergy suppressant when the music started.
Papa, I know you're going to be upset.
Snape counted to thirty before stirring the potion clockwise with precision. He spared one minute glare at the far wall before adding a deciliter of salamander saliva. The lab door was slightly opened, and as it seemed, not quite soundproof. Harry had gotten a strange urge to bake that morning, of all things, and had popped out to the Hogwarts kitchen for ingredients. Ever since he'd gotten back, he'd all but taken over the kitchenette in Snape's flat.
I'm not a baby.
The potion turned a pleasant orange colour, similar to orange juice, and Snape put the flame out. He'd come down and bottle it later, when it had cooled. Turning out the overhead lamp above his worktable, Snape headed out the lab door.
The one you warned me all about.
Snape stepped into the living room and winced at the noise. There was accompanying music, thankfully, as it seemed to mask some of the off-key sound that Harry made as he sang. The kitchenette looked rather like a disaster zone, with various mixing bowls across the counter, a mug of tea lost between the bags of sugar, and a carton of eggs on the tiny table.
We're in an awful mess, and I don't mean maybe - please.
Harry, standing in the centre, was alternately tapping his finger on the recipe book he seemed to be partially ignoring and swaying slightly to the music. The charmed muggle radio was blaring along with him, and Harry was sliding along the floor in thick unmatched socks. He spun as the chorus started, spatula held up as a microphone as his voice completely missed Madonna's pitch.
Papa don't preach, I'm in trouble deep
Papa don't preach, I've been losing sleep
But I made up my mind, I'm keeping my baby, ohhhh
"Dad!" Harry gasped, dropping the spatula. His green eyes were flashing bright and he was staring at Snape, who was standing by the door with his arms crossed and an inquisitive look on his face.
"I dearly hope you have not managed to get...into trouble deep with someone, Elliot." Snape intoned, tapping his foot on the kitchen floor.
"Nnn...no. Of circumstance wrong." Harry blinked, his cheeks slightly red.
"Hmm. Which means you've either been with a man or not had sex at all." Snape supplied, summoning the spatula. Harry blushed even further and he shook his head vigorously.
"Not menued." Harry immediately said. He turned in frustration back towards the counter and grunted. "Not offered. No sex."
Snape gave Harry a little nod, which the boy didn't see, and moved towards the fridge to get a drink.
"Good. I'd hate to have missed the opportunity to impose my presence upon whomever you've decided to date."
"Ha. Hah." Harry replied, grabbing a banana from the counter. It was already rather ripe, and Snape watched with interest as Harry started massaging and squeezing it in his hand.
"Why on earth are you molesting the bananas?"
"They need to be pillowed. Smashed." Harry replied, breaking off the end of the banana and squeezing the smashed insides out and into the bowl.
"That is disgusting." Snape commented lightly. He was drinking a glass of juice and quirked his eyebrow as Harry stared at him. "Why are you staring, boy?"
"You have frog guts on your collar." Harry smirked.
"Impudent." Snape muttered, taking his wand and vanishing the entrails.
"Speaking of scaring any potential dates, when do I need to bring them home to meet you?" Harry asked, attempting nonchalance as he added the second banana and used his wand to cast a mixing spell.
"Hmm. Does my son have a date?" Snape asked, picking up the recipe book and inspecting it.
"Not yet." Harry muttered, dumping the other ingredients into the banana mash and setting them all to mix together.
"Someone here?"
"A Hufflepuff, yeah." Harry responded, staring at the bowl as if mesmerized. There were two mixing sticks in it that were moving in a smooth circle to combine the ingredients.
"As a general rule, Hufflepuffs after five dates, Ravenclaws after three, Gryffindors after one, and you'd better introduce any Slytherin before you leave for the first." Snape answered, swiping some of the batter before Harry could pour it and slipping out of the kitchenette.
"That's...that's house-ist that is." Harry sputtered, his jaw dropped.
"It would be," Snape agreed as he sat on the chesterfield with a periodical, "if students weren't sorted into houses based on personality traits and behaviours."
February 18th, 1997. There are several small boxes of trinkets and keepsakes in the library, along with a small painting leaning up against the bookshelf wall across from the fireplace. The man and woman in the painting are still, lifeless as muggles as the boy in front of them digs through the boxes and pulls out postcards, letters, and little toys. It is snowing outside, and the older man behind the boy is only half reading his newspaper as he oversees the unpacking. The caption reads: 16 years belated, Elliot brings home some family treasures.
...
Godric's Hollow still made Harry uneasy when they went back to visit, each time exploring further into the house and allowing Harry to seek through his parents' belongings. Snape had his own reservations at visiting the house, but he allowed Harry as much time as he needed there. He also didn't question Harry's trembling when the situation overwhelmed him and Harry called it quits for the day. This day they'd lasted for an hour, and Harry was quite pleased at that.
Upon returning home to Spinner's End, for Snape had taken the weekend off from Hogwarts and McGonagall could not deny the defeaters of Voldemort that privilege, Harry immediately set his loot down in the library. They'd found a painting of his parents, a small but tasteful one, and Harry's heart had soared at the possibility that he could speak to his parents finally. He'd tried not to let the disappointment colour his face too much when he and Snape had discerned that the painting had either been mischarmed or was a muggle one, as the figures inside showed no movement or life whatsoever.
Harry had brought it home regardless, and it now sat leaning against the books while he checked out what else he'd brought. There was a warm fire in the fireplace nearby, and Harry had only a t shirt on with his jeans, his feather tattoo seeming more realistic with the flickering light on it and the blue haze from the snowy window. Snape was seated in his favourite armchair behind Harry, slowly perusing through the Manchester newspaper.
"Dad? How are magical portraits made?" Harry asked out of the blue, inspecting an old calendar that he'd taken from Godric's Hollow.
"There are a few ways. One of which involves paint and an artist, similar to the muggle version. The other involves a complicated charm." Snape answered, keeping his gaze on the box in front of Harry. He was well aware that the painted selves of two people who should by all rights still loathe him were less than ten feet away.
"A charm? How could a charm create a painting? And when do you have to cast the charm?"
Snape closed his eyes and put the paper down.
"A location is chosen for the charm focus, either a blank canvas, spot of wall, or other similar surface. The charm is cast on the subject, and when said subject passes on, the charm draws from their passing and creates the painting."
Harry's hand stilled over the baby book that he'd found in a box.
"You mean like Dumbledore. How his painting seemed to take from the elements in his office and create himself."
"Yes. The painting is created just after death." Snape answered. The fireplace flickered from the wind that filtered down the chimney and they both sat in silence, remembering. It had been strangely intriguing and horrifying to watch the headmaster's painting come together, and Harry would never forget the sorrowful expression on Dumbledore's face as he walked into the frame and apologized for being late.
"Do their memories update? Will they know things that have happened after they've died?" Harry asked.
"Not unless they're told." Snape immediately responded.
"So, my parents..." Harry trailed off, waving his hand towards the small portrait.
"It is very likely that they will not know you. They will only remember the fifteen month old you once were."
...
Lily Potter watched with a calculating gaze at the two men in front of her. Stupid men. All it would take was a simple finite incantatem to end the stasis spell on the painting, but no, neither of them had thought to try it. This did, on the other hand, have a rather fortunate effect of preventing James from immediately sprouting off at Severus Snape. When Lily looked closely she couldn't believe the amount of worry lines on Severus' face, the hardness in his eyes, or how old he'd gotten.
And who was the boy on the floor who had rescued her painting? She'd heard the name Elliot a few times, Severus using it when he wanted the boy's attention. But as Lily looked closer, she knew that it was her Harry. Harry, her son with a tattoo, with vibrant green eyes that had a hint of worldliness that should not have been there. James' messy black hair, Lily's calmness, this was definitely her son. He looked so old though, a grown young man at the cusp of adulthood. Lily felt her heart ache as she thought of how long Harry had been without them.
Lily looked around the little library room, remembering Spinner's End from when she was a small girl and they'd snuck in when Tobias Snape wasn't home. From the looks of things, Tobias was long gone and the house had started to re-grow some warmth. She'd been surprised to hear that Dumbledore had died, and from the looks on both Harry and Severus' faces she knew it had been Albus to pass on and not Aberforth. Was it from the war? That was a possibility, but the mood of the room's occupants was too at ease to be in the middle of war. Her ears focused in as they continued talking.
"That's alright. I wouldn't know what to tell them anyway." Harry scoffed, placing things back in the box.
"I killed Voldemort is always a good place to start." Snape deadpanned, skimming through the paper again.
"You're just as guilty as I am for that." Harry snapped. "I think my father might be pissed off to find out you'd adopted me." Harry added, his voice thoughtful.
"Not nearly as angry as your mother would be to know you were raised by Petunia for fourteen years." Snape countered.
"Hmm. Yeah. It's done though, and as they say, that which does not kill us makes us stronger." Harry mumbled, rubbing his tattoo absentmindedly.
"That's bullshit." Snape said, folding down the corner of the paper. "Everything that happened to you in that house affected the person who you became, and they were not all positive things. From your sickeningly sweet caring nature to your utter disregard to personal safety, to the nightmares you wake up yelling about."
Harry stood and stretched, giving a small smile. "But you love me anyway."
"Hmmph." Snape put the paper back up and turned to the sports section. "I have no idea why I indulge you. Now go and order some monstrosity from the pizza shop before Weasley arrives and eats us out of house and home."
Lily could almost feel James' presence releasing some tension next to her, and while she knew he likely had many rather pointed questions for Severus, he was as relieved as her to know that Harry had a proper guardian. She could only imagine what her darling sister had been like to grow up with, and whatever circumstance had brought Harry under the wing of Severus was likely to have been an unpleasant catalyst. She was pleased to see that Harry had a home though, and that it seemed Voldemort was no more. Lily settled her mind back into relaxation in the frame as the fireplace flared and a tall young man with absurdly red hair stumbled out. He clapped Harry on the back and gave a nervous but polite nod to Severus before taking off with Harry towards the stairs.
Lily allowed herself a mental smile. Her Harry as a toddler had taken everything apart to see how it worked, and if this Harry still had that quest for information, she was certain that the spell on the portrait would be lifted in short order. They need only be patient a little longer, before they could finally sit down and learn about the young man their little boy had become.