Potter's Apparition brought them right to the boundary of Hogwarts. The man set Tim back on his feet and they walked through the open front gate. Rather than following the neatly cleared path up to the castle, Potter led them off to the right, towards the frozen lake.

Severus realized with a thrill of dread where they must be headed.

He hadn't been able to go to Albus' funeral, of course. Not that he particularly wanted to; nothing could have eased Severus' grief over the loss (suicide? mercy killing?) of his friend and mentor. When the Ministry had been taken over and the charges for killing Dumbledore had evaporated, he could have gone to the tomb to pay his respects. In all likelihood, no one would have questioned it. Those who believed theProphet's ridiculous propaganda would not have taken it amiss; the Dark Lord himself would have assumed he was there merely to gloat, but Severus had never taken the opportunity.

When he had been made headmaster of Hogwarts, Severus had managed to avoid even looking at Albus' tomb. It wasn't in sight from the headmaster's windows, fortunately; he'd have had to actually go out of his way to see it. This he never did. To be honest, he'd developed something of a horror of the place.

Bad enough that Albus' bloody portrait hung in the office, enchanted to continue to give him Albus' instructions and advice. Severus considered burning it twice a day.

Now, Potter seemed intent on taking them to that cursed spot. If he could have, he would have dug his heels into the ground, refused to go any further, indulged in a childish tantrum. To his consternation, although Tim undeniably felt his fear and loathing of this place, the child had clamped down his own controls of both his body and their magic. He wanted to go where his dad was taking him.

The question of what and where Severus was seemed finally settled—as he had suspected, he was damned and this was Hell.

Naturally his Hell came equipped with a Harry Bloody Potter living out his happily-ever-after right in front of him. How his insides could feel like they were falling to pieces when, in truth, Severus had no insides of his own was beyond him. Even the relief of breaking down and weeping was denied him.

Tim drew a long breath and sniffed.

The man beside him looked at him sharply. "You all right?" he asked softly.

The boy nodded. He reached out and took Potter's hand. The contact calmed the body they shared, although it did nothing for Severus' mental anguish.

They wended an unhurried path through the snow. It had stopped snowing and the morning clouds were giving way to thin midday winter sunshine. It was colder here, too.

Potter pulled out his wand and, with repeated little flicks, cleared the snow in front of them so they didn't need to break a trail down to the lake. He also raised the temperature on the warming charm they were using, just a notch.

Somehow, Severus was surprised again by Potter's quiet competence. The Potter he remembered couldn't manage nonverbal spells and couldn't be bothered to look after other people's comfort. His warming and snow-clearing charms were in Lily's style—they weren't flashy or impressive, but done well, seemingly without effort or fuss. Severus could feel the tight control the man had on the warming charm, raising the heat only a degree or two. The snow was cleared neatly, leaving a comfortably walkable surface. These sorts of spells were actually fairly intricate and difficult to learn if one didn't have the patience. Severus would have thought that, especially as Potter was an Auror, he would have tended to concentrate on big impressive magics, not the little householdy spells that were generally the speciality of housewitches, healers, and potioneers

Potter was humming an odd little song under his breath, a children's lullaby, Severus thought. It seemed to be something he was doing without noticing. Tim apparently knew the song, because he picked up the melody, humming it to himself as well. Another thing Tim and their body found comforting.

Severus was brought up short by the thought. It was not "their body"; it was the boy's body, and he was just a passenger. He mentally shuddered, reminded of the Dark Lord and the thing that had been Quirrel. Would Severus eventually start poking out of the back of the child's head? Another shudder.

The shudder travelled through Tim's body. Potter put a hand around the boy's shoulder again.

"Here we are," said Potter quietly.

In front of them, two massive tombs rose up out of the snow. One was Albus', made of the purest white marble; about twenty feet away was a black marble tomb that matched it. Severus wondered who the fallen hero had been. Shacklebolt perhaps? Back in the War, Shacklebolt was running a fairly large and surprisingly (surprising the Death Eaters, at any rate) competent resistance.

The tall, broad figure of Hagrid was clearing the deep snow away from between the graves, exposing a tall grey obelisk.

"Hey, Hagrid," called Potter cheerfully.

The enormous man turned around, his face wreathed in smiles. "Harry! Didn' think I'd see yeh 'till Christmas Eve." The man's gaze shifted to the boy. "Hullo, Tim." Hagrid was unchanged, as far as Severus could tell. Perhaps his brown hair was touched here and there with silver, perhaps the smile lines were a little deeper.

Potter smiled affably, shrugged. "Just came to pay my respects a little early."

Tim nodded earnestly. "We went to my mum and nana's grave to take flowers."

Hagrid's smile turned sad and sympathetic. "Yeah, the season makes yeh miss people." He reached out and patted Harry on the shoulder. "Well, I'll leave yeh alone, like." His voice was soft and kind. "If yer goin' to stop by fer a cuppa, I'll put th' kettle on." The half giant spoke as though it were part of Potter's ritual. In all likelihood it was—Hagrid had always been a bottomless source of support for any who needed it. He tended to treat the emotionally wounded with the same care he gave to his pet monsters: never caring how snarly, bitter or angry they were.

Hagrid was another one who had seemed to watch Severus closely during his tenure as headmaster.

"Thanks, but I think after this we need to go home." Potter glanced down at the boy. "Tim's only been out of bed for a couple days."

Hagrid nodded. "I heard yeh stopped the potions lab explodin'," he said to the child with a proud smile.

Tim shrugged. "I don't remember."

The big man patted Tim much more gently than he had patted Potter's shoulder. "Aye, well, tha's wha' happens when yeh get yer brains rattled." He grinned, a little wickedly. "Get yer dad to tell yeh some o' his stories. He rattled his brains on more than one occasion."

Potter flushed a little and gave Hagrid a slightly reproving look. "Don't give him any ideas; he'll have enough of his own."

Hagrid just laughed, "The other ones I'll grant yeh. They take after the Weasleys. This one here...he favors yeh a lot more." Hagrid paused, contemplatively, "'Cept he hasn't been caught ou' at all hours duelin', or chasin' after trolls." He gave Harry a wink and, giving them both a wave, the half giant turned and made his way in the direction of his house.

Severus couldn't understand how this quiet, studious boy could be in any way compared to Potter.

Apparently the same occurred to the boy. Severus could feel his face contract into a puzzled frown. "How can I be like you?" Tim asked quietly, but then spoke more loudly. "I'm not really..."He trailed off and Severus heard the end of the thought: I'm not really your son.

Potter seemed to have heard the thought as well; perhaps this was merely well-worn territory. He looked down at Tim, and there was a little smile playing at the corner of the man's mouth. He got down on one knee right in front of Tim so that they were eye to eye. "Timothy Rhys Dawson Potter," the man said softly, taking the child's hands, "you are my son and it doesn't matter how you came to be. Who you love and who loves you are far and away more important than whose blood you have."

Potter still wore his heart on his sleeve; the man's eyes were filled with pride and fond regard. Severus' father had certainly never looked at him so. Eileen had loved her son, but she had never lifted hand nor wand to protect him from Tobias' wicked temper. She herself was so downtrodden that Severus had frequently been in the position of caring for her.

The only eyes Severus had seen that warm light in had been Lily's, until he'd ruined everything.

"They said that a real Potter wouldn't have gotten sorted into Slytherin," Tim whispered. This had been preying on his mind quite a bit, worrying him more than having a foreign identity rattling around in the back of his mind.

Potter smiled lopsidedly. "Well, clearly they have no idea what they're talking about. The Sorting Hat really wanted to put me in Slytherin."

"No way," Tim exclaimed, astonished. Severus wondered if the man were making up things to reassure the child.

"Yes, I had to talk it out of it. I told it it could put me anywhere else." Potter's smile was sincere. "See, the only thing I knew about Slytherin was that Voldemort had been in it. That, and I met someone who was sure he'd be sorted into Slytherin on the train and I didn't like him very much. On the other hand, I'd just met your Uncle Ron and all his family was in Gryffindor."

"Oh."

The man smiled again, an oddly regretful smile. "It told me I could be great, and that Slytherin could help me. I didn't listen and it put me in Gryffindor. At the time I was just relieved I wasn't in Snape's house. I often wonder what would have happened. I'm sure it would have been a disaster, but maybe things would have been different." He shrugged, stood up, and looked towards the black tomb. "People are complicated."

Severus agreed.

The boy's attention was drawn by the flat grey stone that was set between the tombs. "What's that?" he asked.

Severus could only assume that students didn't come here very much, since Tim didn't seem to know anything about the place.

The stone was a flattened obelisk about twice Potter's height and was inscribed with a list of names. They seemed to be in no particular order that Severus could see, although he recognized all of them. Many of them were sixth and seventh year students when Severus had been headmaster, others were members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Potter walked up to the stone and brushed his hands across the names Remus Lupin and Nymphadora Tonks-Lupin."These are the people who died during the Battle of Hogwarts," Potter said quietly.

Tim came to stand by Potter, staring at the names. Severus guess-timated there were fifty or sixty. The next name Potter's hand lingered on was Fred Weasley.

The names gave Severus a shiver that the child's body echoed.

Potter shook himself, as though drawing himself away from uneasy memories. "But this wasn't what I brought you to see." He turned away from the stone towards the black tomb.

Inscribed on a plate on the side of the tomb was:

Severus Tobias Snape

January, 1959 - May, 1998

"All that is gold does not glitter"

"I know that poem!" Tim said, excitedly.

Potter nodded, that sad little smile on his face again. "Yeah, your Aunt Hermione suggested it. It fit." Potter's wand came out again (Severus hadn't realized he'd put it away). A few flicks and Potter had conjured a bouquet of red and yellow daylillies that he set down on a little ledge on the side of the tomb. Their bright color stood in sharp contrast to the black stone and the white snow. "He was about the most complicated person I ever met."

Severus was more than merely astonished; he felt shaken down to his foundations.

Potter was going on, "After the War, we had him buried next to Dumbledore because he'd done so much for all of us. Half the things he did we won't ever know about."

Tim felt in his jacket pocket for his wand. "Mum told me he saved her from something horrible."

Potter nodded, his face going dark. "Saved more than just her, I expect. And he made the healing potion for the Cruciatus Curse. I owe him a lot." The man put his arm around his son again.

"The way people talk about him... it seems like he wasn't very nice."

"Good isn't necessarily nice," Potter replied. "It's like Mary... she did the best she could, but she was..." The man groped for words.

"A junkie," the child supplied flatly. Severus winced, unpleasant scenes from the boy's nightmares coming to mind.

After a pause, Potter sighed. "Yeah. And Snape was... well, he was a lot of things. Most of them unpleasant. But in the end, his whole life was defined by who he loved. Voldemort fell because of Snape. If not for him...well... none of us would be here, I think."

"I wouldn't have got better if it weren't for him, would I?" the boy asked softly.

Potter shook his head, slowly. "I don't think anyone but him could have invented that potion. Ask Neville about how Snape used to steal people's handkerchiefs. We think he was feeding it to half the school, in the end."

Potter was talking about the Tears potion. Severus did indeed steal people's handkerchiefs for their tears of grief. Merlin knew there was enough of it.

"Come on, we should get on. Your mum told us not to be late," Potter finally said.

Potter flicked his wand to conjure flowers to match the ones on the black tomb, which he set on Albus' tomb. He was quiet, although Severus had been certain that Potter was going to regale the child with Tales of Albus Dumbledore; instead, they walked quietly down the path they'd come.