Overnight, a storm had swept through London, coating the city with more snow than anyone had seen in a few years. It made a beautiful picture from the window seat, where Tim curled up with his book after breakfast.

Lily and Albus had gone to their grandparents' this morning, well wrapped in warm cloaks. Severus much preferred to view winter scenes from behind glass, next to a roaring fire, so he was quite relieved that there was no mention of Tim going with his older siblings. Rather, the healer had come and taken a quick look at him.

It had been a week that he'd been trapped in this body, two days since the boy was allowed out of bed. Severus was still no closer to discovering how he had come to be here and how to free the boy of his presence. Severus still wasn't at all sure what he was. He was certain now that this was no dream. There were many things he did not yet understand, but of that he was certain.

The Dark Lord had described his own experience as a disembodied entity as painful and frightening. Severus' experience was quite different, if that was the case. While it was a little frightening to have so little control over the body he was inhabiting, Severus didn't find he suffered from any pain that didn't stem from the body itself.

Being trapped in the child's body was truly not as horrible as it could have been. If Tim had been a different sort of child, Severus would have assuredly gone mad in short order. Fortunately, Tim had a temperament that was similar to Severus' own. The Muggle-born child had a rich internal life, fed with books, stories, and music—some of which Severus found familiar. Tim also had a surprisingly extensive book collection, for a child his age. Apparently, Potter was fairly careless with his own library; Tim had a number of books that had to belong to the Auror on shelves in his room.

The boy was also frighteningly at ease with Severus, seeming to believe the older wizard was largely a product of his own imagination, Tim made no attempt to hide his thoughts from the alien presence. Which made it very difficult for Severus not to listen in on the child's internal monologue, a constant low murmur in Severus' mental ear. More worryingly, it appeared that many of Severus' thoughts were leaking and he didn't know how to stop that, either. From time to time, Tim would reply to some idle question or another that crossed Severus' mind.

Severus spent much of his time observing Tim's family. He had anticipated that, being both Weasley and Potter offspring, pranks and teasing from the other children would be the order of the day. The man had frankly assumed he would have to protect the small, sensitive boy from the older ones, purely in the interest of defending himself. Instead, he discovered that both the children who still lived at home had much more in common with the Evans side of their heritage than either the Potter or Weasley (Severus never knew the Pruitts).

The boy, Albus, was a prefect in Ravenclaw. His conversation generally began with, "I read this article..." and, clearly, he spent every waking moment at Hogwarts in the company of his cousin and the Malfoy boy, as much as he spoke about them. Interesting that the Weasleys and the Potters allowed it, to say nothing of what the Malfoys thought.

Lily was so like her namesake that it made Severus' throat hurt. She was as sweet and funny as his Lily had been and so endearingly concerned for her little brother.

Both of them had taken turns sitting with Tim while he was confined to his bed, entertaining him with games of gobstones, chess or exploding snap. There was no teasing of the little one, although that could have been due to his injuries.

Perhaps thanks to this, during the day Tim's mind was filled with fairly commonplace thoughts. Nighttime was a different matter. The child scarcely slept more than an hour or two without a nightmare or a night terror.

Often, the black haired man and blonde woman that Tim had dreamed about when he first awoke figured prominently.

At least with the nightmares, they had a plot and a meaning. Severus found that he could insert himself into them. He found that as soon as the child sensed his presence, the dream would derail into something more benign. Most of the time, the child couldn't even remember having them.

The night terrors were something different. Not dreams at all. They were merely rootless, overwhelming fear that trapped the child in a hypnagogic state between sleeping and waking. They were always accompanied by the sensation that something horrible was in the room with them.

Three times that week, the child had sat up in bed screaming but unable to wake. Severus had been infected with the child's terror, so much so that it felt as if he were in the grips of some spell that did nothing but produce stark, overwhelming panic. If someone were to create such a spell, it would have to be listed as an Unforgivable. Severus didn't understand why the child wasn't mad, if this was a common occurrence.

And it did seem to be common. In each of these episodes, Potter had come to the boy's rescue. The man had used Legillimency each time to pull the child away from the fear. It appeared to be a well practiced skill.

Not well practiced enough, however, for Potter never detected Severus' presence.

It had happened last night—apparently causing enough concern that Healer Ernie had been sent for again. The man had come to look at the child first thing that morning and was currently having a quiet word with the Potters in the kitchen.

What do you think they're talking about? The child was clearly addressing Severus.

Stubbornly, Severus ignored him.

The child's thoughts resumed their quiet murmur. The child stared out the window, watching the snow fall.

Do you know, it's been six years since Nana died? Tim thought at Severus, suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere. Along with the thought came a wash of old grief.

"Hey, Tim?" Potter was standing in the door of the drawing room. Apparently he wasn't going in to work this morning, as he was dressed in a sweater and jeans rather than the robes he wore to the Ministry, "How're you feeling?"

Tim smiled. "I'm okay." the boy was rather tense, though. "What were you talking with Healer Ernie about?"

Potter crossed the room to come sit next to the child. "You, and your head," he said simply. "He says your nightmares should go away again, soon." Potter slipped his arm around Tim's shoulder. "He's pretty certain that it's just your brain healing." Potter paused. "But he said it's safe to apparate with me... If you still want me to take you?"

Severus wondered what Potter meant; they hadn't discussed going anywhere that he remembered.

Tim drew a sharp breath in. "Is it Saturday?" he asked. "I lost track."

Potter gave the boy a squeeze. "Don't worry, you've been sleeping so much, you're bound to lose track."

"When are we going?" asked the child.

"Soon as you're ready, if you like. We're having people over for dinner tonight, so we should be back early."

Tim nodded, stood up. "Who's coming over?" he asked, as they headed downstairs.

"The Longbottoms and Professor McGonagal," Potter replied. As they walked, the man kept his arm about the boy's shoulder.

Tim nodded, feeling pleased; apparently these were not unwelcome guests. Severus wondered if Longbottom had a spouse and children and if perhaps Augusta would still be alive.

They wasted no time getting ready to go. Severus was interested that, whatever this outing, Tim was thinking about it with a mix of emotions more complex than childish enthusiasm. Wherever they were going, Tim wanted to go there, but there was a bite of sadness to it. That mix of old grief was stronger now.

Potter transfigured his cloak and the boy's into sturdy Muggle winter jackets. Ginny sent them out of the door with admonishments to be careful and not to be late.

They Apparated to a grey alley behind a grimy building. They left the alley and walked down a quiet street. It reminded Severus of Spinner's End; it had the same tired no-longer-respectable formerly working class feel as the old mill town had. The boy and his dad walked on in a companionable silence. Severus couldn't help but contrast the walk with walking with his own father. If Tobias was ever that silent, it meant he was brooding and one needed to get away from him sharpish. Not that Severus ever took any walks with the old drunk for pleasure.

Turning a corner, they came to a slightly busier street bordering on what looked like a council estate. What business Potter and the boy could have here, Severus didn't know. Few people were about this early in the morning. They walked by a block of flats, many of which had windows covered with cardboard, tinfoil or sheets rather than proper curtains.

Graffitied walls and rubbish lying in the road rounded out the squalid impression. A young Muggle man crouched in a doorway, shaking with more than chill. He eyed Potter and the boy, as if taking the measure of how easy a mark they were. Potter's hand came up around Tim's shoulder protectively while they passed.

What the hell was the man doing bringing a child here?

You really don't remember? Tim thought at Severus, That's so strange. This is near where I used to live with Nana and Mum. A stream of images passed through the child's mind. An elderly woman in a neat little home. The same woman lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to tubes and machines, her breath rattling in her chest. A nurse hustling the boy and the blond woman into the hallway while hospital staff worked futilely to bring the old lady back.

Tim sighed.

Potter looked down at the boy. "Penny for your thoughts?" he asked, finally.

"Just...thinking," Tim replied; he slipped his hand into Potter's. "I was thinking about when Nana died."

Potter nodded. "You were pretty little. What do you remember?" he asked, gravely.

"The hospital, mostly. Mum was...Mum had one of her bad turns. She left to meet Father, I think. She left me with Nana, but Nana got sick. Mrs. Next Door called an ambulance. I ended up with her until they found Mum. We went to the hospital, then. I think they called and said she should come." Severus was a little alarmed at how impassive the boy sounded.

For a minute, Potter remained quiet, finally saying the most obvious thing, "That must have been scary."

Tim wasn't bothered by Potter's seeming obtuseness. He merely nodded, giving the man's hand a squeeze. "Yeah."

They finally came to a rundown little church with a cemetery in back. They seemed to know where they were going, crunching through the freshly fallen snow, coming to a stop near the back.

Potter took out his wand, and with a muttered spell, brushed the snow from two stones. This seemed to be something of a ritual with the two, as Tim waited expectantly while Potter conjured two bouquets of lilies to and gave them to the boy.

Tim put them in two stone vases, there just for that purpose.

"Mum got so bad after Nana died," the boy said, sadly.

Severus felt himself getting caught up in the boy's pain, the way he'd gotten caught up in the boy's night terror. There was enough here to drown in, and try as he might, he could not wall himself off from it.

"Is it wrong that I miss Nana more than Mum?" Tim asked in a husky voice.

"I don't think so." Potter said softly. "Sometimes things are complicated."

"I used to get so mad that Mum always took me away from Nana." Tim sniffed, and Potter handed him a handkerchief. "I wish..." the boy trailed off. He sniffed again and Potter put his arm around the child. For just a second the boy stiffened, but Potter didn't withdraw his arm and Tim relaxed into his side.

This quiet man was not what Severus would have imagined Harry Potter growing into. When he'd pictured Potter as grown, he'd envisioned a version of Sirius Black, reckless and irresponsible, not this solid father who took his son to visit his grandmother’s grave on a snowy Saturday morning.

Perhaps it was Albus' influence. Certainly, it had not been the influence of his guardians. Severus had become aware in Potter's fifth year that the boy's home life was not as idyllic as Severus had supposed. The scenes he'd witnessed in Potter's mind had been disturbing enough that he'd spoken to Lupin and the Weasleys about it just after Black had gotten himself killed.

He'd only intended to speak with the Weasleys, but Lupin and the Auror Tonks were there. He'd informed them of the Dursleys’ tendency toward abuse and neglect. He'd not wanted to be too dramatic, but he'd found himself telling Lupin in a tight voice that he wouldn't have condemned a dog to Potter's life with those Muggles.

Lupin had paled, catching the reference. It had been common knowledge in Slytherin House that Mr. and Mrs. Black were violent towards the elder brother.

When he'd been teaching the boy Occlumency, he'd considered going to the Headmaster and demanding that the boy be placed in a safer home, but after he'd caught Potter snooping in the Pensieve, he couldn't very well go to Dumbledore. He'd have had to explain that he was no longer teaching the boy.

Surprisingly, Potter had never, to Severus' knowledge, repeated what he'd seen in the Pensieve. That was something that still puzzled him. He would have expected the Weasley twins to repeat it on that bloody Potterwatch program

They stood there in the snow until Tim started to shiver. Immediately, Potter said, "Come on, love. You're cold." He pulled the child closer.

He had to know that the boy wasn't cold at all. The coats they were wearing had warming charms. Tim used the handkerchief to wipe his nose. Potter tactfully didn't remark on the boy's tears.

Severus snorted to himself; old Tobias had given Severus a smack for crying at his own grandmother's funeral.

Tim must have caught half of that thought, You used to tell me that he (an image of Potter clarified who he meant) wasn't like Father, A stream of images followed that thought. The black-haired man who was "Father" or "That Bastard" in the boy's thoughts had a great deal in common with Tobias Snape's parenting methods. And the boy's Muggle mother had a great deal in common with Eileen, it seemed.

Why are we here? Severus asked the child, his curiosity overcoming his caution.

I told you, Nana died six years ago today, the boy replied. Dad always brings me. Since the first Christmas we were back in England.

He sent Severus a string of images. Of Tim curling up in the drawing room on his favorite chair in a miserable heap. In the heat of the Carribean, it had been easy to ignore Christmas, easy to ignore the date. After two years without feeling this overwhelming weight, Tim had assumed it was gone for good.

Lily had come to sit by him, to see why he was so sad, and he'd driven her away with harsh words. Then Ginny and Potter had both come to speak with him, coaxing him to tell them what was causing this upset.

It had been several days before anyone realized. Tim hadn't the words to explain what was happening, really.

And you weren't around to help, the child said accusingly to Severus.

Severus wasn't sure what to make of that.

More images and feelings: apparently, it had been Aunt Hermione and Healer Phoebe who had worked out what was bothering the boy so, discovering the precise date of Nana's death.

Christmas was a hard time of year for Tim.

"You ready?" Potter asked after what seemed like a very long time to Severus. Tim allowed himself to be led back through the churchyard.

"Can we go to Godric's Hollow, too?" Tim asked.

Potter looked down at the boy, with a small frown between his eyebrows, "Where did you hear about Godric's Hollow?"

Merlin, Severus needed to do a better job of Occluding. He had only just thought of Lily's grave and the night she died. The boy had seized on the image and found the name.

"That's where your parents are buried, isn't it?" Tim replied softly, "I...must have read about it."

Potter shook his head, still with that frown. "I'll have to talk to the headmistress about the books she's keeping in the library." The man's eyes darkened with an unreadable expression.

Severus stiffened, wondering if Potter felt that the boy was taking liberties. He braced himself to be told off.

To Severus’ surprise (but not Tim’s) Potter smiled sadly. "All right." The man glanced back and forth, making sure they were alone on the street, before lifting the still-small-enough-to-be-carried boy into his arms. In an eyeblink, they were standing outside a different church.

The snow was deeper here, the church a quaint country chapel made of stone. Godric's Hollow had enough wizards that there were permanent Notice-me-not spells worked into the very stones. No one would see them Apparate or Disapparate

There was fluffy snow falling here, the type that would quickly coat their hair and eyelashes.

Severus had been here twice before. Once on the night Lily died and once to lay flowers at Lily's grave.

Potter put Tim down and they meandered through the gravestones in the snow. This was an older cemetery with upright stones. They came to stand before the one marked for James and Lily Potter.

Severus would have wept, were he in his own body. There was some twaddle on the stone about conquering Death. Reading that had made him feel as though his heart was being skewered through by a sharp stick. No one conquers Death.

Potter used his wand to produce a wreath of Christmas roses that he laid on the grave, "The first time I ever came here was on Christmas Eve, during the War," he told Tim quietly, "Your Aunt Hermione and I."

"Nobody ever took you before that?" Tim asked. This was as much Severus' question as the boy's.

Potter shook his head, but didn't elaborate. Suddenly the man said, "Come on, I'll show you something." Potter held out his hand and led the child out into the snow-covered street.