'Harry?' Toby's soft voice trailed to his ears the moment he had pulled his Gryffindor jumper over his head.

'Yeah?' Harry turned towards the boy as he fussed with his robes. Toby sighed and sat upright as he stared at his guardian with a serious expression.

'When we were in Hogsmade and Snape found us, I told him you were Harry Potter and that you stopped You-Know-Who.' Toby reminded him.

'It's Hogsmeade, and yeah...so?' Harry frowned.

'Who is You-Know-Who? I heard people talking, he sounds really bad and scary, but you stopped him when you were a baby.' Toby was clearly confused. 'Is that why everyone stares at you lots?'

Sighing, Harry moved to sit on the edge of the bed and explain it to the boy; he had feared this moment would come and yet he didn't want to avoid it, just like when he had been eleven and Hagrid had told him when he'd asked. It had scared him and was a lot to take in at once, but ultimately Harry was thankful that someone had answered his questions then rather than him having to hear it from a book or the hushed whispers that frequently spread through the school.

'Some people don't like to say his name because they're scared of him, that's why they call him You Know Who instead, or He Who Must No Be Named.' Harry said softly while Toby watched him intently.

 'He's a bad wizard named Voldemort. He convinced other bad people to join him and called those followers his Death Eaters. Voldemort came to my house when I was a baby and tried to kill me after he'd killed my parents.' He remembered sadly while Toby gasped with horror.

'How did you stop him?' The boy gulped.

'I didn't.' Harry answered. 'My mother did; she sacrificed herself for me when she refused to stand aside...that's how I got this.' He moved his hair away from his forehead to reveal his lightning bolt scar.

'It's from when Voldemort tried to kill me but couldn't because of my mother's protection.'

'Wow, your mum sounds really brave.' Toby lowered his eyes to the sheets that were still covering him.

'Do you know anything about your parents?' Harry wondered. He had actually been rather intrigued by the boy's history but had refused to believe that Toby might have a future elsewhere that was a consequence of his past.

'No.' Toby shook his head and fixated his gaze on a fold of the blanket nearest his right hand. 'I only know my mum is dead too, that's why I went to the orphanage when I was a baby.'

'I'm sorry.' Harry said sympathetically. 'I never knew my parents either.'

Toby smiled a little and looked up at Harry. 'C-can we pretend? That we're brothers?' He bit his lip anxiously. 'I want to pretend that your mother is mine too, cuz she sounds like a really nice mother but mine was bad.'

Harry didn't ask how Toby knew his mother had been bad but a chilling sensation filled him as he wanted to shout that Lily was his mother and no one else's. He didn't want to share her at all and it was wrong for Toby to think he could just claim her like that. Plus, the mentioned situation would be impossible, since she died long before Toby had even been born.

And yet, the dejected and lonely look on the little boy's face crushed those foul thoughts of selfishness. Harry remembered having similar longings with Ron's mum back in second year, although in a distant less-noticed way, he probably still did.

'Yeah, okay.' Harry nodded. 'She's our mother, but our dads are different. Yours might still be out there.'He thought of Snape and refused to choose that man over James, his father.

'What was her name?' Toby wondered after he'd nodded his head in agreement.

'Lily.' Harry smiled.

'Like the flower?'

'Yeah.' Harry nodded. Inspired, he turned to reach for his photo album and handed it to Toby. 'Have a look.'

Toby took the album into his hands carefully as though it was made of a soft clay that could mold and change with his touch. He flipped it open and smiled wistfully at the laughing woman in the pictures.

'Thanks, Harry.' He whispered.

'Anytime.' The Gryffindor sighed and stood as he finished getting ready for the day. There was a long moment of silence as Toby looked through the album and smiled at the images he saw there while Harry watched him.

Once he was done, Toby placed it back where it belonged and watched the Gryffindor he now regarded as his older brother. They had no idea that their brotherly pretending was ridden with truth.

'What was she like...Lily?' Toby asked. 'I mean, mum.' He frowned at the weirdness of calling anyone that.

'I know she was a good person. She was really good in Charms and Potions.' Harry swallowed and avoided looking at the younger boy. 'She was in Gryffindor, like my dad too. But...I really don't know that much about her.'

'I bet she had lots of friends.' Toby mused. 'And who was that wizard at Hogsmade with us? You said he was Remus Lupin, but who is he?'

'He used to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher here when I was in third year.' Harry joined Toby on the bed again, not sure what else to do until it was time to head down for breakfast.

'He was one of my dads best friends, and he was close friends with mum too.'

'Can he tell you what mum was like?' Toby couldn't see why Remus hadn't told Harry lots about Lily if they had been friends.

'He did, a bit. But he's really busy.' Harry didn't say that Remus knew a lot more about his father than his mother and even he preferred to talk about the great James Potter, just as Sirius had.

'Maybe there's someone else you can ask?' Toby shrugged. 'Do you know anyone else who was at Hogwarts with mum?'

Harry frowned a little at how easily Toby could call a woman he didn't even know that, but than again how much different were they in that sense? Harry knew what his mother looked like, and little bits of her personality, but he didn't really know her any more than Toby did.

He had asked the Marauders but they were closer with James, he had asked other professors but they focused mainly on her honorable sacrifice, and deep down Harry had a feeling that they were only telling him the glorifying things...the aspects of his mother that would plant a wonderful picture of a woman in his mind. He didn't want that. Harry wanted the truth; he wanted to know what his mother had really been like as a person, a student, and a friend.

'You said Snape and your dad didn't like each other.' Toby pointed out. 'Wouldn't Snape know mum too then?'

Harry glanced at Toby with amusement as everything was so much simpler to a six-year-old, and yet the boy had a point. Snape hadn't said anything nice about his father, and he'd called his mother a mudblood in a memory Harry had seen...but the sad fact of Harry's life was, that no matter what, Snape had never really lied to him. If anything, he could rely on the man for the cold, hard facts.

He wouldn't have to worry about Snape sugar-coating everything because the man didn't care about Harry's feelings or what he would assume about anything...he merely told the truth and if Harry didn't like it than that wasn't Snape's problem.

Yes, Snape might be able to give him a tad more reliable information. But the real issue was...would he even bother? Lily was his mother, and Harry felt that nothing could possibly get any worst between himself and Snape...therefore it was worth a try to ask.

'Ah-choo!' Toby's sneeze brought Harry's mind out of its musing.

He led the boy out of bed to get him dressed and groomed for the day (he didn't really bother with the boy's hair but Toby was adamant to try and make it behave).

'Ah-choo!' Toby rubbed his nose and scowled.

'Bless you.' Harry replied but paused when he noticed the paleness of Toby's face and the light shiver that coursed through the boy's small form. It may be cold outside but in the dormitory a magical heater in the center of the room was keeping everything snugly warm.

'Toby, stand still.' Harry reached out his palm and placed it over the boy's forehead, feeling how heated it was against his skin.

'I'm not very hungry, can I skip breakfast today?' Toby groaned as he placed a hand on his stomach.

'I think you're sick.' Harry worried as he lifted the boy back onto the bed.

'Does that mean I can skip breakfast?' Toby asked sleepily as he lay down under the covers and rubbed a hand over his face.

'Dobby!' Harry called out for the house-else instead of answering the child.

'What's going on?' Dean groaned as he was awoken by the call.

'I'm trying to sleep here.' Seamus yawned while Ron continued to snore and Neville rolled over to get back to sleep.

'Toby's sick.' Harry answered and while Seamus slumped back under his covers, Dean yawned heavily and got out of bed.

Pop!

'Yes Master Harry Potter, sir?' Dobby bowed before him. 'Is you needing Dobby to look after young Toby?'

'He's not feeling well.' Harry glanced at the paling boy. 'I don't know what to do.' He scowled at the mental image of the disgusted Dursleys; whenever he had been sick as a child they merely locked him in his cupboard until he recovered.

'Dobby is getting young Toby some soup.' The elf nodded and popped away again.

'I don't suppose we can take him to Madam Pomfrey?' Dean sighed as he looked down at the boy. 'I know more about muggle medicine than the magical kind, but I do think there are some potions that could help.'

'Thanks, Dean.' Harry nodded and searched through his trunk for his potions textbook. It would take far too long to search through every chapter for a potion that might be of assistance and he wasn't sure if he trusted his brewing skills quite that much yet. And besides, wasn't there some extra measures that had to be performed when brewing in order for it to be suitable for a young child rather than an older person? 

Harry couldn't leave Toby like this.

He glanced cautiously at Dean, who was rummaging through his own trunk for some socks, and hesitantly reached behind some sweaters for a pile of parchment and a quill. His fingers brushed against a softer kind and instantly he grasped it; he had completely forgotten about Snape's latest letter.

Harry looked over at Dobby, who was helping Toby sit up to eat some soup, and his other house mates who were dragging themselves out of bed to get ready for breakfast. Memorizing the question Snape had given him, Harry stood and decided that he would need Hermione.

And she wasn't hard to find. He had expected her to be sitting in the common room with a book and with a rush of relief, he was right.

'You're up early.' Hermione noticed as she glanced over her Charms textbook at him. 'What is it?' She spotted the concerned expression on her friend's face.

'He's sick.' Harry knew she would understand exactly who he was referring to.

Hermione was on her feet immediately and followed him back into the dormitory, passing Seamus and Neville on the way as they headed out to breakfast.

'What are the symptoms?' Hermione asked. She was no mediwitch or doctor, but seeing as neither of the other boys knew all that much about potions and how suitable they may be for young children...she was the best they had.

'Fever, loss of appetite, and sneezing.' Harry recited professionally while his insides squirmed with worry. What if it was something serious? Was taking him to Madam Pomfrey really worth the other risks? But if it was something really bad...would they even have a choice?

'Hm, well the soup seems to be a good idea for now.' Hermione noticed the mostly-empty bowl on the boy's lap. 'How are you feeling, Toby?'

'Like a Potions ingredient.' Toby grumbled, only mildly struggling with the big word he had just recently learned.

'Hermione, I need to ask you something.' Harry said carefully.

'What is it, Harry?' She turned towards him.

'Well uh, I need help with a question. It's not for school but it's been bugging me.' He shrugged and tried to make it seem like no big deal.

'Well, say there's a wizard who lives in...Eastern, no Western, Scotland.' He wished could just get out Snape's letter and read it from there or show her but it was too evidential.

'If he died of some really bad case of poisoning because he was exposed to an unknown toxin, what could have killed him? I mean, he was working on a potion that gets rid of blood clots or something, but some people think there are some main plans that could have caused his death.'

'Who are you talking about?' Hermione frowned.

'No one. It's just a scenario.' Harry wondered if he should tell her more details or if what he'd said was enough. 'What do you think?'

'Well, if he lived in Western Scotland than that leaves out the highly toxic Toadbush plant since it's only found in the North.' She thought upon the intellectual challenge, unable to resist.

'An anti-blood-clot potion does often have ground jiggernut in it, which some may be allergic to. But otherwise it could be any of the nine main toxic plants in the area.' She answered. 'Unless he mixed something. There are so many variables!' Hermione stressed as though she was being graded on it.

'Thanks, that should work.' Harry hastily grabbed a piece spare of parchment and took down notes.

'What's it for?' She asked curiously.

'Just something I was asked, it's nothing.' He dismissed. 'I just wanted to know the answer.'

'Oh, okay.' She didn't seem entirely convinced by dropped the subject as she returned her full attention to Toby.

So far all Hermione had been able to establish was that whatever was making Toby sick wasn't likely to be terribly serious or something in which could end very, very badly. Of that, everyone was relieved.

--

Twenty minutes later and Toby was resting under the watchful eyes of Dobby. Hermione, Ron and Harry rushed to breakfast and ate as quickly as they could before they headed to their Transfiguration class.

Harry's mind kept drifting back to the pale little boy suffering in the Gryffindor tower and the man that might be able to help. He took nearly no notes that lesson and only just managed to remember the incantation they were to be using, having asked Hermione to repeat it to him at least twice. It didn't seem to bother her though, as Ron had done the same thing.

'Mr Potter!' McGonagall barked at him halfway through the lesson when his turtle went from green to purple multiple times.

'Sorry.' He tried to focus on turning it into a kettle but with little success; it was meant to be done non-verbally and his mind simply wasn't in it.

When classes had ended for the day, Harry split from his friends instead of going to dinner and headed straight to the library.

Passing Madam Pince (who still gave him a very odd expression whenever she watched him and Harry was yet to understand why), he sat at one of the tables in the back and hoped to remain isolated for at least a full ten minutes. Pulling out Snape's letter from his bag, he glanced down at the notes he had made that morning, only to notice that he had added several more reminders and facts to it over the course of the day.

With a heavy sigh, Harry rose from his seat and perused the shelves nearby where his gaze scanned over the ones partaking to Western poisons. After a little bit of research, Harry was getting quite annoyed with Snape. The question had to be some sort of trick because there were far too many possible answers in which to give.

Huffing with irritation and not wanting to write a ten-foot essay on the subject (maybe that had been Snape's plan?), he was nearly ready to give up. Harry yanked the letter towards himself again and glared down at it, convinced that there was some hidden meaning in the question itself. Surely the man would know that there was too much to be considered in order to work out what had killed that wizard?

Unless he wanted Harry to fail. Which, had the man known who was writing to him, Harry found that to be entirely possible.

Harry eyed the letter yet again and reviewed it with a quizzical frown. Maybe he was thinking too much like Hermione? Snape was a sneaky Slytherin and wouldn't want to be too obvious. Plus, he had agreed to answer Toby's questions so that Harry didn't have to do all of this frustrating research, so why give Harry a question that would achieve that? Payback? Manipulated irony? Or is Snape searching for a different answer than a solution to the question? The man had wanted a satisfying answer, not a correct one!

Inspired, Harry clutched his black-inked quill and began to write.

Harry was getting tired of carefully watching everything he said and trying to speak in proper, respected English.

Sighing, he read over it to make sure there were no clues to who he was in it and than spelled the handwriting. He folded it and decided to go to the owlery right away to post it. Maybe he would still be able to get back to the Great Hall in time for dinner?

'Sorry!' Harry said quickly when he turned a corner of shelves and bumped into someone.

'Well, be careful.' The Ravenclaw seventh year frowned at him but paused once she realized who he was. 'Oh.'

He had intended to keep walking but there was a nagging feeling in his mind that he knew her somehow. She didn't look very familiar, with her dark brown hair that stopped at her shoulders, and deeply hazel eyes. She was only a bit taller than he was and wore an oddly alarmed expression on her face as she stared back at him.

'Do we know each other?' He had to ask.

'Everyone knows the great Harry Potter.' She rolled her eyes. 'But no, I don't believe we've met. I'm Grace Pandorus.' She offered her hand for him to shake.

'Nice to meet you.' Harry said automatically as he shook her hand. 'Well, I uh...better get going.' He nodded and rushed out of the library.

The Ravenclaw watched him leave and sighed as she turned back to the shelf and checked the title book she was already holding,The Art of Bewitched Fire. With a soft hum, she continued along the rows of shelves and pondered on her weird first meeting with the famous Harry Potter.

 He seemed to be just like any other six-year to her, and yet Grace wondered why a Gryffindor such as himself would be carrying a letter addressed to Professor Snape.

A week passed by rather slowly for Harry. He had been anxious about his letter to Snape, about Toby's sickness, and also about the Quidditch match against Slytherin.

And things only got worst.

At first,Toby had mostly been a bit feverish and not very hungry for several days, until he became quite ill and threw up constantly. Hermione had determined that he was going to be fine and it was just a wizarding bug, but with the Quidditch match drawing too near, Harry had to make arrangements for Dean to take his place during the match. Harry hated it and was moody about it the day prior, but he simply could not neglect Toby's tearful, pleading request to stay with him and help him feel better.

And so while nearly the whole student body of Hogwarts were outside cheering on either Gryffindor or Slytherin during the first Quidditch match of the season, the red and gold Seeker plus Quidditch Captain had claimed to be sick.

It was almost not a lie, as he spent the entire day stuck in the dormitory and passing or cleaning a bucket (luckily Hermione brushed up his skills on cleaning spells beforehand), whenever the need emerged. Toby was clearly very thankful and got a lot more sleep with Harry by his bedside to tell him about some of his adventures at Hogwarts or to read him stories.

Whenever Toby fell in a fretful slumber, Harry itched to run to the window or even outside of the common room to try and get a good look at the Quidditch pitch, but he could never bring himself to do it. Toby needed him more.

Harry wished he could even reply to one of Snape's letters as a distraction, however he was yet to receive a reply from the man and it only made him further nervous about he kind of response he would get.

By late afternoon, Toby was already looking a much better and his paleness had begun to fade. He was sleeping longer and seemed a lot less sicker than he had in the past few days. Harry turned in the seat beside the bed when e could hear the noise level increasing in the common room, which instantly woke Toby.

'Hmmhm?' The boy groaned and rubbed his eyes. Harry scowled towards the door and clenched his wand as he stood to shut it. His magic had reacted to his annoyance and the door swung closed on its own.

Frowning at it for a moment with surprise, Harry couldn't help but be reminded of how Snape could do that all the time.

'Harry?' Toby croaked. 'May I have some more water, please?'

The teenager said nothing as he nodded and helped the boy sit up so that he could sip from the glass that sat beside the bed (Dobby had done something to it because whenever it emptied it would magically re-fill itself). Harry also hated the sound of weakness and suffering in Toby's voice and wished there was more he could do for him.

He had worked with Hermione over the past few days to gather some herbs around the Hogwarts grounds so they could brew two simple potions together in which aimed to speed up Toby's recovery. Hermione had even – however reluctantly - allowed a few tips Harry had learned from the Prince's book. The pair had worked together really well, which caused Harry to wonder if he did actually have some skill in the subject after all. The potions were already showing signs of working and yet Harry still felt as though it wasn't enough.

'WE WON!' Ron declared as he burst in to the room, a full grin on his face and with a light bruise that was beginning to appear on his left cheek.

'Ouch.' Toby hissed at the abrupt sound that frightened him and made him move suddenly with a painful jerk of motion.

'Ron!' Harry growled at him and the redhead's gaze instantly fell to the sick boy.

'Oh, sorry.' He winced remorsefully but it didn't last. 'But we won, Harry! By sixty points.'

'Wicked, great job.' Harry nodded and watched his friend leave to rejoin the celebration taking place downstairs. He raised his wand and hoped the door would swing shut as it had before. It didn't.

Sighing, he got up to close it and returned to sit on the bed with Toby. The small boy shuffled closer to Harry and rested against his side as he tried to get back to sleep, even though it would be impossible with all the noise going on downstairs. Harry doubted even a silencing charm would drown out the full volume of the Gryffindor's cheers.

He was glad they'd beaten Slytherin (although vaguely he wondered where Ron had gotten the confidence to do as well as he often had trouble with nerves, and if the fact that Malfoy had called in sick as well had altered anything), and yet it wasn't the same because Harry hadn't been there to play his roll as Captain and Seeker.

It almost felt as though he wasn't needed at all.

'I'm sorry, Harry.'Toby whispered. 'For making you miss the game.'

'It's fine.' The teen forced up a smile. 'You come before everything. It's no problem.'

'Thanks, big brother.'

Harry glanced down at the lightly umbering boy and felt better about missing the match when he realized that in its own way...it had been worth it.