“I told you not to do that, Severus!”  Eileen called querulously from the kitchen as Severus hefted the threadbare carpet over his shoulder.  He meant to beat it outside to clean the air for the boy.

Harry, Severus reminded himself forcefully.  That was what the child wanted to be called.  Harry.

Potter’s son watched his guardian from the chair in the kitchen where he had his tea after school most days.  “I can get the door for you, Sev’rus.”

“Do that.”  Severus grunted as he worked hard not to sneer at the urchin.  It was because of this boy that Severus was now cleaning the ancient, wool carpet that had definitely seen better days, years ago.  It was greying, the wool that it was made of stank of misery and cigarette smoke, and for some reason it also smelled faintly of cat urine.  The Snapes had never owned a cat, much less allowed one in the house.

He had cast a lightening charm on the carpet, but only a weak one. It would not do, as his mother reminded him constantly, to have the neighbours see him hefting a largish rug about as if it weighed nothing. And by the same token, he could not cleanse the carpet with magic.  He had tried that last week with little effect on the actual dust that seemed to fill the very space between the molecules of ancient wool. The boy had developed allergies, no doubt from his years spent at his aunt’s house in the scant space she provided him.  An under the stairs cupboard, for Merlin’s sake! 

Potter sneezed twice as he went to the door and started to wipe his nose with his sleeve, but arrested the motion at Severus’ raised eyebrow.  Instead, Harry fished a nearly unrecognizable tissue out of his dungarees and swiped at his nose before he opened the door with a bang.  He sneezed again as Severus passed him.

It galled Severus that he’d had to take the boy outside the wizarding world and into the labyrinthine bowels of the NHS to obtain relief from such a common ailment as allergies.  But Potter, of course, could not have the standard wizard’s sicknesses.  No, the child had to be slightly asthmatic, a fairly rare disease in the magical world, and was also allergic to the main component of the standard allergy potions.

Not that Severus was any better with his resistance to the opiates that helped the average wizard defeat pain.  The standard dose of laudanum barely had an effect on his symptoms, yet when he increased the dosage he was completely incapacitated.  His mother had the same problem, she had said with misplaced pride.  Drug resistance was a Prince family trait apparently.  

“Do you need your… inhaler…Harry?”  Severus asked as he shot the boy a sharp look, a distasteful expression on his face as he wrapped his tongue around the very Muggle word. 

Harry answered clearly, “No, Sir.”

“Take a deep breath.”  Severus commanded, even as the weight of the carpet dragged at his shoulder, creating a deep ache in his back and arms.  Harry complied, and Severus noted with some relief that there was no wheeze in the process.  Severus said, “Now, complete the remainder of your schoolwork so that I can go over it when I’ve finished.  And, remember to stay clean.  We have an appointment at the oculists this afternoon.”

The boy slouched and all but flung his body into the vinyl-upholstered kitchen chair that was honestly more tape than vinyl at this point in its sad life.  “Yessir.”

After reaching his goal, Severus struggled with the bulky carpet to get it over the rocky terrain under the clothesline that had been up since he was a child.  His mother came to the back door in her dressing gown, gold-toned genie slippers, and curlers in her lank hair apparently to watch him. “I told you not to bother with that, Severus.  I am perfectly capable of cleaning that rug myself.”

Severus took a deep breath through his nose and counted to ten before he answered, “No, mother, you are not, otherwise you would have done this job years ago.  I wouldn’t have to do this any way if you would just let me buy you a new one.”

“Don’t get cheeky with me, boyo.” Eileen huffed as she shivered in the winter air.

“Mother…,” Severus began, with an impatient tone.  He clamped his mouth shut as several retorts came to mind, none of which would make his lot any easier with her today.  He finally said, “It’s cold. Shouldn’t you set a good example for the boy?”

She remained shivering in the winter air, giving him the same glare that he had adopted and used to send students scattering.  It didn’t work on him anymore, and she knew it.  Severus added, “I’ll just be few moments, Mum.”

“Ooh, there’s that nosey old biddy, Margie Talkington, peeking out of her fancy lace curtains again!”  Eileen observed as she began furiously pulling the curlers out of her hair and shoving them into the terry pockets of her dressing gown.  “Do be careful not to use,” she modulated her tone to a whisper to spell, “m-a-g-i-c.”

“I’m sure Madam Talkington knows how to spell,” Severus said, beginning to breathe heavily as he rolled out the rug on the ground in preparation to heave it over the line. “And as you know, I am well aware of the Ministry restrictions, Mother, having been a wizard for the last twenty-eight years.”

“You’ve always had a smart mouth, Severus.  Don’t be long out here. I worry about you, son. You’re not well,” she said before she stepped back into the kitchen, shutting the door with an audible click of the latch.  

Severus hated that he was unwell.  He hated more that he would be unable to fulfil his obligations to Dumbledore if (when!) the Dark Lord returned.  Albus had been visibly disappointed to hear Poppy’s diagnosis and Severus had felt guilt for that as well as a sharp stab of resentment.  Albus, of course, had assured his Potions Master cum spy that he was still useful, just in a different capacity.  He had even gone so far as to mention that his greater duty was to the boy, but Severus still felt that he was less than useless to the Headmaster, and that made him more than a little afraid that his position in the world might be in jeopardy.  He might hate teaching most days, but he was still afforded a good deal of respect because he held that position.

Severus was finally able to heft the rug over the rickety clothesline and begin beating it with a ratty besom that his mother had kept for such purposes.  Sweat poured from his hairline, and he grimaced because he knew it would make his already greasy hair appear greasier.  It would also be a perfect magnet for the dust that was flying as he cleaned the rug.  He would have to shower before he did anything else, cutting into his already limited time.  He had hoped to spend some time in the Slug and Jiggers because his personal potions stores needed replenishing.

Within a few moments his joints felt as if they were on fire.  He gritted his teeth and continued.  

A little over a month and a half ago, Harry’s loving aunt had dumped the boy off at Spinner’s end.  Lucius had provided the name of a solicitor that had the necessary influence to move the Muggle red-tape for Severus to assume guardianship of Harry. It had surprised Severus more than a bit that Lucius had shown no interest in why Severus needed the solicitor.   Lucius had seemed strangely preoccupied and dismissive of Severus’ request, but had come through for him in the end.  It had taken two weeks, and several spells that just skirted the law, for Severus to obtain the papers needed to rightfully care for the boy in the Muggle world.

In the meantime, Severus had been forced to tutor Potter in his free periods and the evenings.  Both of them had been on edge during the process, Severus because he knew his usual acerbic manner would not do with this child, and the boy because he had been trained not to excel in any manner, rather letting his piggish cousin set the family academic records (and Severus knew the boy to be a pig just by the size of the clothes handed down to Harry.)  It was with great relief to both of them when the boy had finally been enrolled in the Cokeworth primary school for the last three weeks.  In that time Severus had shuttled Harry back and forth between his mother’s house and Hogwarts.  The boy would stay at Spinner’s End until Severus’ duties were over for the day, including his dinner in the Great Hall.  Severus had insisted that the boy’s exposure to the student body needed to wait so that the news of the presence of the Boy Who Lived in a former Death Eater’s household might be properly timed.  Even Severus could see that the boy’s past had a deleterious effect on his development.  The last thing Potter needed at this point was a swarm of reporters and a public outcry against his guardian, and Severus felt obligated to give Lily’s son the best possible home life that he could.

The thought of an outcry against his guardianship soured Severus’ already dark mood, and so he decided to practice Occlusion instead of thinking over-much.  He still had to get through the rest of his trying day with mother and Potter.  It would be best if he did so in a marginally sanguine mood rather than his saturnine norm.

&*&*&

Severus had failed to account for the Saturday crowds in Diagon Alley.

Eileen walked beside Snape, her hand bag in the crook of her arm, an outdated pillbox hat perched on the top of her head, the black decorative netting on it waving raggedly in the breeze.  She wore her best coat, a drab burnt orange creation from the same era as the hat, the pink hem of a knit Chanel suit knock-off from the local Tesco’s hanging stiffly against her opaque black hose.  Her shoes were obviously from some Muggle jumble sale, scuffed and cracked with another person’s wear pattern.  Severus could tell they were uncomfortable, but knew not to suggest any number of solutions to her.  His mother was, and always would be an extremely proud woman. 

Potter, who wore his new, square, tortoise-shell rimmed spectacles, clung to Severus’ hand as he walked, exaggeratedly stepping over real and imagined impediments.  The oculist had said the boy would have a tendency to overcompensate for a few days until his eyes adjusted to his new glasses, due to his astigmatism.  The boy also wore the damned multi-coloured knit cap that he had worn that fateful first day of Severus’ acquaintance, simply because Potter refused to throw the blasted thing away. 

Apparently it had been the first item of clothing Potter had ever picked for himself, and he took unholy pride in the monstrous bit of knit wool. Severus hadn’t the heart to get rid of it after the boy’s hesitant explanation.  As ugly as the thing was, it did cover Potter’s distinctive scar, thus making it unnecessary to glamour the child. 

They had only two more stops before Severus could return to Hogwarts, oversee a detention, mark a week’s worth of essays, and then fall into bed, only to begin the process all over again on Monday. 

He was tired, he was in pain, and most days it took all his strength to care for himself and the boy.   Today had proven even more trying, given that his mother needed help that was beyond his ability to give.  He would hire someone to do the odd jobs she needed completed, but she had already nixed that possibility with an imperious “We Princes do for ourselves, Sunny Jim.”

They made their way to Madam Malkin’s, where Harry was outfitted in an extensive wardrobe, from his small clothes to a Muggle-style woollen coat.  He had also asked, albeit reticently, for a child-sized version of the Hogwarts uniform, with the Hogwart’s crest.  The boy had hesitantly requested the costume so that he might be able to blend in when he was finally allowed to join the staff at dinner.  As Harry was fitted, Severus noted his mother fingering some of the finer woollen fabrics that lay about the shop. She seemed to linger over the navy blue.  It had been years since she had proper robes, and Yule was coming... 

“Mum, why don’t you and Harry head to the Leaky Cauldron, whilst I finish my errands.”  Severus expected his mother to put up more of a fight, but nodded as she absently patted the fabric one last time.

“Don’t be long, Son.”  She put out her hand for Harry to take, and the boy joined her after a swift unreadable look to Severus. “I’ll order your usual roast beef and Yorkshire pudding.”

Severus made short work of obtaining the robes for his mother as Madam Malkin had assure him that a sizing spell would do the work in the absence of exact measurements.  He paid for the purchase, asking that it be delivered to Hogwarts before Yule, and then went to the potioneer’s shop.  He made his purchases at Slug and Jiggers, including a small potion’s kit for Potter, complete with non-volatile ingredients and a children’s potions book. He shrank and pocketed his purchases, glad that his Yule shopping was over for another year.  Albus’ socks had been procured during Severus’ stay in Oslo at the International Potioneer’s Convention, Filch’s customary flask would come from the Hog’s Head, Poppy’s supply of skin balm would be finished next week, and the rest of the staff would get the obligatory card and money.

&*&*&

“Eat your peas, boyo, you want to grow up big and strong like Severus, don’t you?”  Eileen admonished even as she covered her own half-eaten greens with her discarded serviette. 

“I hate peas.”  Potter said in a small, disgusted voice.  He tugged his hair over his scar, having already been the focus of several pointed stares by some of the patrons of the establishment.  Tom, the proprietor, had been apprised of the situation by Albus so that their party might enjoy some anonymity on such a busy day.

Severus hated peas himself, and wondered why his mother continued to order those grey-green abominations, but it would not do for him to support insubordination, so he said nothing as he manfully wrestled with his own portion. 

“If you don’t eat your peas, there will be no afters, young man.”  Eileen folded her hands over her pocket book. “Surely you want to try an ice at Fortescue’s”

“I wasn’t aware we had made such plans, Mother.”  Severus took another forkful of the over-cooked peas and manfully swallowed them.

Eileen shot him a quelling look.  “I promised Harry when you were showering.”

The boy said, “Yeah, Sev’rus.  Grandma E said I could because I told her… erm, nothing.”

The boy made a masterful effort to put as many of the peas on his fork as possible, spilling more than half before they actually came to his mouth.  He huffed and began the process again, his frustration evident in the way he blew his fringe from his sweating forehead.

“Severus Snape, as I live and breathe!” Rita Skeeter’s fingernails on slate drawl broke the relative calm of the moment.  She slid into the seat next to Eileen, her Quick Quote quill already transcribing. “And who is this?”

The reporter’s predatory gaze shifted between Eileen, who appeared to puff up like startled partridge, and a shrinking Potter.  Severus scowled.  “Rita, my mother, Eileen Snape, and my… ward, Harry.”

Skeeter’s hand went theatrically to her bosom, showing her perfectly manicured acid pink nails against her impressively displayed décolletage.  “Harry is such an uncommon wizarding name… surely he’s not…”  Skeeter leaned in and whispered conspiratorially, “The Boy Who Lived, Severus?”

Her free hand shot out and lifted the boy’s fringe, exposing his scar.  The boy exclaimed, “Hey!”

“Why it is!”  Skeeter leaned across the table, ruffling the boy’s hair up as she pulled him closer by his fringe.  “Now what could possess a man with your… past affiliations… to take in the very boy who ruined your leader’s plans?  Oh, but that’s right, I do seem to remember something about Albus Dumbledore believing you to be his spy.”

Harry squirmed against the intrusive reporter’s hold, tears coming quickly to his eyes as she pulled him closer to her.  “You’re hurting me!”

Eileen rose from her seat.  “Get your hands off my grandson, you daft cow!” 

Severus watched in fascinated dread as his mother brought her hand down on the reporter’s back and gave a small push. A blinding flash occurred as she did, and Skeeter was sent across the wooden planks of the pub.  She ended up in a heap on the floor, the chair she had occupied now splintered under her.   Several patrons laughed at the scene while others rushed to the reporter’s aid.

Once Skeeter regained her feet, she said, “You all saw it! I was accosted by a former Death Eater and his mother!  The public needs to know what’s happened to our poor little national hero!  Forced to live with a Death Eater and an obvious blood supremacist!  You all saw what she did to me, didn’t you?”

Eileen remained standing, holding her hand out and staring at it as if it were not part of her own body.  Severus threw some coins on the table, gathered Harry to him as he pulled on his mother’s arm.  “We must leave, now, Mother.”

He hefted Harry up onto his hip and dragged Eileen behind him.  Tom rushed forward, helping them in their escape to the Floo as he attempted to mollify the still expostulating Skeeter.  Severus gave him a slight nod to him as they passed.  He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and said as softly as he could, “Number Thirty-eight, Spinner’s End.”

Severus stumbled out of the way of his mother who landed with a sharp crack as she fell to her knees.  “I-I’m so sorry, Severus… I didn’t know I could still do magic… what have I done to you both?”

She buried her face in her hands and sobbed. 

Severus eased Harry off his hip, “Go play quietly abovestairs.  We’ll be leaving shortly, so do not make a mess.”

Harry looked as if he might join Eileen in a ridiculous display of emotion as he bit his lip and swayed slightly.  Severus watched the boy’s indecision for only a few moments before he said, “Now, Potter.”

The boy, still chewing on his bottom lip, darted forward and gave Eileen a fierce hug before he ran out of the room.  Severus did not miss the loud sniffle that sounded in the hallway, nor did he fail to notice that the boy’s heavy footsteps went no further than two or three stairs before they stopped.

“Mum, you’ve had a shock, “ Severus began as he knelt and gathered his mother’s bird-like frame into his arms uncomfortably. “You’ve done nothing that I didn’t want to do to her myself…”

Her shoulder’s shook as he ran his hand over the back of her head, catching a rough nail in the bedraggled net that dangled from the hat she wore.  “Shh… Mum, Albus will handle Skeeter and life will go on.”

She finally lifted her face from her hands, a watery smile wreathed her face as she said, “I just realised that I did magic, Severus!  I’m a witch again.”

“You always were, Mother.”  Severus huffed as he patted her back awkwardly.  “I suppose this means you’ll need to purchase a wand again.”

 “No need.  Your father didn’t destroy my real wand.”  She laughed aloud, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in years.  “What he broke was the switch he used to use on your backside.”

“You were always canny, Mum.”

“And don’t you forget it,” Eileen said.  “Now go see to that boy of yours.  You’ve upset him enough for one day.”

&*&*&

Severus’ duties were done for the day, the boy was in the bath, and he was exhausted. 

They had made it to Hogwarts later than Snape had wanted, after Severus and his mother discussed what was to be done about the situation in which they found themselves.  They had both decided that Harry would remain in school unless his attendance was discovered by the press.  Severus would help Eileen in remedial wand work at least three times a week, and they would both let Albus deal with Skeeter’s dubious-style of reporting.  It wasn’t an ideal situation, but it was what it was.

He and Harry had returned to Hogwarts and he had left the boy in Poppy’s care while he supervised the detention.  They had been too late for Severus to dine in the Great Hall, and so they had a light dinner in their quarters.  Harry had played whilst Severus did a good deal of marking that he had been unable to get to during the week.  Snape had finally told the boy to bathe whilst Severus straightened the room and took his medicine.

Severus was finally able to rest after the draining day.  He eased into his favourite chair situated next to the fire, his head and neck throbbing, his hands aching.  He closed his eyes for a moment’s rest and didn’t notice when Harry covered him with the duvet from his own bed, before the boy put himself to sleep for the night.