7th May, 1998

The soot-blackened church was tiny but, as the group of mourners consisted mainly of the Hogwarts' staff, many of the pews stood empty. Sitting beside Hermione, Harry allowed the words of the muggle vicar to wash over him.

The coffin looked strangely small, almost pathetically so. It was hard to believe that it contained the mortal remains of Severus Snape, a man whose presence was so pervasive that it practically filled the dungeons. It was strange to think that those billowing, silken robes would no longer sweep along the floors of Hogwarts, that the deep, smooth baritone would no longer sound in its stone corridors, taking points, assigning detentions, asserting Snape's authority as Head Snake.

It was hard to look at that narrow coffin. Hard to see that powerful warlock so diminished by death.

But Harry just couldn't look away.

Following the coffin out into the stale, smoggy graveyard was hard too. No-one amongst the staff felt that they exactly deserved to be pallbearers, not after the way they'd betrayed Snape and Dumbledore's trust in him. It was obvious, however, that the men from the funeral home didn't exactly have their work cut out for them. Snape had always been willowy but, during the months of his tenure as Headmaster, he'd shrunk to practically a skeleton.

"Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust"

Another good man to the grave, Harry thought, clutching his wreath of arum lilies. He didn't like Snape, not after all the vitriol, but he respected him and, although he knew the man would take it as an insult, felt a fair amount of pity. No one should live a life like that.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned. A tall, slender man stood, dove-grey top hat in hand. In the thin sunlight, his blond hair gleamed.

"Mr. Nimrod?" Harry asked uncertainly, his childhood memory fuzzy.

"No" The man replied, his brown eyes solemn. "My name iz Cygnus Von Poseihudor und I haff ze last vill und testament of Mr. Snape. I am, how you call it, his executor."

"Oh." Please… Please let him just want to congratulate me. I couldn't bear it if…

"Ze funeral party are returnink to Hogvarts and your so kind Madam McGonagall haff invited me to speak vith you in her study."

"Okay, sure" Harry said hoarsely, "I'll, um, see you there."

Von Poseihudor bowed elegantly, then glided off into the crowd.

A small, soft warm hand slipped into Harry calloused fingers. He turned to look into Hermione's warm brown eyes. "It'll be okay, Harry. He probably just… maybe it's something of your mother's that Professor Snape was keeping safe."

"Maybe" Harry replied, his green eyes tired. Voldemort may be gone for good but the shockwaves his brief, violent life had created seemed like they would never fade.

"One more step along to world I go." He muttered. Great, now he was speaking to himself. Next step, St. Mungo's secure ward.

"And it's from the old I travel to the new, keep me travelling along with you" Hermione replied, a gentle smile on her pink lips.

oOoOo

"Hey mate, how was it?" Ron asked, wrapping a long hand around Harry's forearm.

"Tough. He didn't deserve that." Harry replied, watching affectionately as Ron enveloped Hermione a tight hug, resting his chin on her smooth chignon. The ginger bristles of his beard tugged a few locks loose but Hermione was too busy struggling to contain her tears to notice.

"I guess not." Concerned blue eyes flickered between his friends' pale, strained faces. "Perhaps I should have, y'know, been there for you. It just felt a bit, uh, hypocritical what with…"

"I understand, mate." Harry replied, turning to walk towards the castle. "Most of the people there felt uncomfortable. Except that Cygnus bloke; he's Snape's executor apparently."

"Cygnus?"

"German guy."

"Austrian from his accent" Hermione corrected, sorting through her bag. Over her head, the two young men shared an amused grin.

"Anyway, Snape's left me something."

"You sure you can trust him?" Ron asked, setting his shoulders. "It sounds a bit suspicious, this bequest. Perhaps Bill, Charlie and I should go have a chat with him."

"McGonagall seems to trust him" Hermione replied, clearing a smear of mascara from under her eyes "She's let him use her office."

"But… I mean, Durmstrang's in central Europe!"

Hermione shrugged "Professor Snape was a double agent, Ron. Most of the powerful witches and Wizards in Britain were either obvious targets or Death-eaters and, if he gave his will to a Death-eater… well, leaving something to you would make the recipient of every other bequest a target for Voldemort. Not to mention the fact that the contents of his estate would be confiscated. On the other hand, if Professor Snape gave his will to anyone else, it was likely that they would either destroy it when Dumbledore died, because Professor Snape had to seem to ally himself with Voldemort, or they might die at the hands of a death-eater. If the latter occurred, then the will might be found and Voldemort would know that Professor Snape was Dumbledore's man." Hermione paused, catching her breath. "So, all in all, it makes sense that Snape's executor would be foreign."

"Okay, sure" Ron replied, his brain reeling from the sudden influx of information.

Hermione nodded, breathing deeply as she stepped up the Castle stairs.

"I swear one day you're going to suffocate yourself; either lecture or hike, not both at once" Ron muttered under his breath.

"Mr. Potter?"

Harry turned, the soft Scottish accent tugging his mouth into a smile "Yes Headmistress McGonagall."

"Not yet, lad." The elderly professor replied, her grey eyes sad. "And, as you and Miss Granger and Mr Weasley are not returning next year, I think it will be Minerva."

"Um, thanks." Harry replied, brushing his messy, dark hair away from his eyes. "You wanted to see me about something?"

"Yes, Von Poseihudor would like to see you as soon as is convenient. He has a long flight ahead, I hear. He's in my old office."

"Okay," Harry replied, swallowing "I'll go now."

oOoOo

Von Poseihudor was sitting at Mcgonagall, no, Minerva's desk when Harry creaked open the heavy door. Beside his immaculate hat lay a smooth, oval ebony box with an inlaid silver lid.

"If you vould care to take a seat, Mr. Potter?"

Adams apple bobbing in his narrow neck, Harry dragged a chair up to the desk.

"Severus vas a very gut friend of mine und he spoke very often about you." The man said softly, his voice, while easily as high as Voldemort's, was smooth and melodic. "He left zhis in my safe-keeping, to giff to you vhen ze vorld vas free of Voldemort."

"Um, thanks…" Harry replied, looking down at his hands, which were knotted in his lap.

"It vas his vish zhat you vould open it zo zhat I could explain." Von Poseihudor said gently, his brown eyes kind. "Zere vas something very particular he vished you to know."

Harry tentatively reached across and eased open the velvet lined lid.

Dum, der, dum, der, dum, der, du, der, Dum, der, dum, der, dum, der, du, der…

"A music box." Harry gasped, watching the small, obsidian swan glide across the silver disk in slow figures of eight, his coral beak glittering.

"Tchaikovsky's Schvarzer schvan" Von Poseihudor smiled "Severus commissioned it for your mother vhen zhey vere at school. Alas, it arrived razer too late."

"I…"

"Look inside."

Hands shaking, Harry carefully tugged at the black ribbon, easing the little platform up into the lid. His breath caught.

"Severus zhought zhat you might haff lost ze last vun durink your many trials." Von Poseihudor said quietly as Harry picked up the elegant, black feather quill.

"How did he get this" Harry asked, raising horrified green eyes to the man's all too kindly face. "What…"

"Zhere is a memory stored in ze tip." Von Poseihudor bent behind the desk, when he immerged, he was holding Dumbledore's pensieve.

Swallowing, Harry removed the silver lid and squeezed the quill over the pensieve. Slowly, a shimmering, pearlescent memory dripped out.

Seriously doubting whether he wanted to do this, Harry dipped his little finger into the pool. The world rippled silver.

Shadow, just as beautiful as Harry remembered him, stood over a small child, the tininess of the boy's form accentuated by the loose folds of his ragged school uniform. A trickle of blood ran from the child's messy hair to his grubby, thin cheek.

The swan blurred suddenly, elongating and straightening into a tall, thin man; the dark hair and eyes had remained, as did the hooked nose. His face, however, was ashen white.

"Harry!"

He knelt, raising the child in his arms. "Episkey, renovate!"

When the boy did not stir, Snape fumbled in the pocket of his billowing dark robes, retrieving a deep pink potion. Raising Harry into a sitting position, he trickled the liquid down the child's narrow throat, massaging to help him swallow. Harry coughed feebly, a sliver of emerald showed through the almost closed lids of his eyes. Snape stood and sprinted, barefoot, off into the woods, Harry clasped firmly in his arms.

The scene dissolved into a flurry of sliver, then reformed to reveal Dumbledore's office.

"We have several hours before that bitch arrives at the hospital, Albus. The wards on the St. Kilda safe-house are second to none, if you use the elder wand to act as my binder, even the Dark Lord himself won't be able to break the Fidelus charm." Snape was pacing, a ruby flush burning across his high cheekbones.

"Severus…"

"I'll take a sabbatical, I have enough galleons to tide us over until Harry is eleven…"

"Severus. Harry must stay with his Aunt…"

"No. He. Must. Not!" Snape snarled, whirling to face Dumbledore, his dark eyes flashing. "He is being abused, Albus! They lock him in a bloody cupboard for Christ's sake!"

Dumbledore looked away, his blue eyes dulled "I cannot say that I am pleased by this news of neglect…"

"Abuse, Albus! Positive abuse. They're starving him, threadbare clothes even in the heart of winter!"

"However, Harry can only be protected sufficiently by the blood wards on his Aunt's house. He may not be happy but at least he's alive…"

"That push could have killed him Albus! I cannot accept this. I will not!"

"Severus! That's enough" Dumbledore snapped, blue eyes glaring under bushy white eyebrows. "I will write to Petunia telling her that Harry must be adequately clothed and fed…"

"That is not enough! To grow up amid such hostility, it will warp the child…"

"He cannot leave his relatives, Severus" Albus insisted. "That is my final word on this matter!"

"What was the point on sending me to spy on the boy?" Snape sneered, tucking his hands into his black-silk sleeves. "I have devoted my evenings for three months to this child, only to be told that he must be left in his misery! What was the point!"

"I wished to know whether Harry was well."

"He isn't!"

"And, now that we have determined that there are no Death-Eaters in the area, I think it best that we leave the boy alone."

Snape blanched "Shadow is his mainstay... You cannot ask me to abandon the child."

Dumbledore sighed "I never meant for you to become close to Harry, Severus. He is too young for subterfuge and you, I am sorry to say, must strive to remain in Lucius' good graces."

"There is no must about it!"

"You know that, for Harry to survive Voldemort's return, we need information." Dumbledore replied in a tone which brooked no opposition. "You are our only spy within Voldemort's inner circle and, therefore, our best hope, especially if I do not outlive the next war. Hogwarts cannot be allowed to fall into the hands of a real Deatheater. Imagine how many children would suffer. Innocent lives would be lost, Severus, if you were not here to protect them!"

Angry tears glittered in those obsidian eyes "So, I must learn to treat Harry like a stranger."

"You must treat him like the child who murdered your beloved leader." The old headmaster said heavily. "The Death-eaters' children will be watching your every move; if you treat Harry with anything less than dislike, their suspicions will be aroused."

"And what if Harry is sorted into my house!" Severus snarled, his dark eyes flashing. "What then!"

"There will be measures taken to avoid that turn of events."

"Damn you, Albus. Damn you!"

A smooth, alabaster hand reached around Harry's forearm, tugging him out of the pensieve, into the sunlit office. Pale and shaking, Harry began to retch. A bowl appeared in front of him and, as Harry vomited, a gentle hand swept the teenager's mop of dark hair from his sweating brow.

"Zhese are ze bitter vaters but, vhen you remember in ze future, your recollections vill be sveet." Von Poseihudor intoned soothingly. "He loved you Harry. Oh, yes, you made him angry at times but he alvays remembered ze leetle boy who von his heart."

Breathing deeply, Harry looked up with tear-filled green eyes. "I didn't even… I never thought Shadow might be an Animagus…"

"It vas a terrible secret for him; Severus' true form vould have instantly told his allegiance for svans are ze purest of birds. Alas, he did not register himself ven he found his form. I vould haff called him to my Court und Voldemort could not haff ensnared him vith his lies..."

Harry nodded, his heart-rate slowing "I don't know how to feel. I mean, I guess I should feel a bit betrayed- I trusted Shadow- but, well… I just feel sad."

"His only crime vas pity, Harry" Von Poseihudor replied. "Und, perhaps, loving not visely but to vell. Severus never meant to deceive you, only to watch from afar, yet it is too easy by leetle kindnesses to vin a child's heart und, in doing zo, lose vun's own."

Harry nodded. "I understand. It's just hard, y'know. But thanks."

Von Poseihudor smiled. "I am glad zhat you understand. Now, I must fly, it is late und my journey is long. If you are efer passing ze Tyrol, you vould be most velcome to visit vith me."

With a bow, the elegant man opened the large window and, in one, swift movement, blurred into a snowy white swan. Sitting on the window-ledge he whistled softly, before spreading his wings and stepping off into the darkening air. Rushing to the window, Harry was just in time to see the air-currents catch those immense wings, sending the ghostly form gliding across the lake, into the evening.

Sighing heavily, Harry walked back to the desk. He stared at the pensieve, remembering the last time he'd viewed Snape's memories. Everything took on a different complexion now. No wonder Snape had looked like he wanted to hit Dumbledore when he realised Harry was being raised like a pig for slaughter. Pity the memory had faded out then, Harry thought bitterly, he'd have liked to see what happened next…

Dipping the quill into the pensieve, Harry retrieved Snape's final memory. It felt strange to hold one of Shadow… no, Snape's feathers after all these years. It was still as soft as he remembered. Harry sighed, recalling the swan's eyes; sometimes hard as black diamonds, at other times as gentle and warm as treacle. However, Snape's eyes had always glittered with the former expression when he looked upon Harry. Well, almost always.

"Look at me." he had said, just before he died. There had been no animosity in those obsidian orbs, no sarcasm or cruelty or anger. Just gentle compassion. In hindsight, it could even have been love.

Closing the pen, Harry laid it reverently in the box and, as he did so, the back of his hand brushed something rough and dry. A small scroll of paper.

Half anxious, half exited, Harry peeled the paper open.

Beneath the scrawled poem, written in a child's unsteady hand, a cut-out swan floated on a tarnished circle of tinfoil.

A lump growing in his throat, Harry snapped the box shut. When, eventually, he opened his unusually shiny eyes, it was to see words forming, in an all too familiar hand, upon the silver inlay.

"You're a very fine swan indeed."

Smiling through his tears, Harry laughed as his subconscious whispered the final verse of his amended song;

"Not a quack, not a quack, not a waddle or a quack
But a glide and a whistle and a inky black back
And a head so noble and high.
So who's an ugly duckling?
Not I!"