Two pairs of eyes – one green, one onyx – stared each other down.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“NO!”

“Yes. Now stop that this instant and come here.”

“NO! Nonononononono! Noooooooo!!”

“Harry James Potter! Stop that this instant and come here!”

“No!”

Severus Snape closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. Why, in Merlin’s name, had he insisted on taking in the orphaned Harry Potter? He didn’t even like children. He didn’t care about children. Even working as a Professor for the last ten years hadn’t made him like the little brats.

Severus opened his eyes, ready to try reasoning with the five year old little boy, only to blink at the empty space where the said little boy had been standing not two minutes before.

“Harry?” he called out. Where had that little rascal got to now? His only response was a faint giggle, so faint that Severus couldn’t tell where it had originated from. The doors to the outside were heavily warded, as was the staircase heading upstairs and the door to his potions lab. Which left the kitchen, the front hall, the dining room and the front lounge. Deciding to start at the front of the house and work his way back, Severus strode towards the entrance hall.

“Harry, come out now!” he ordered, moving towards the coat closet and flinging open the door. “This is no time for games.” The closet was empty of little boys, although the nest of cloaks on the floor showed that Harry had utilised the place as a hideout recently.

Severus snapped his fingers, and the cloaks all floated back up into their proper places, before he shut the door. Grumbling to himself, Severus turned towards the kitchen. “Merlin, the little brat liked getting his hair cut last month,” he growled.

The kitchen was spotlessly clean – except for the counter where Harry had been . . . ahem . . . “helping” Severus to make breakfast that morning. Severus shuddered at the sight of it and, as he had at least once every day since he’d adopted Harry, thanked Merlin that he was a wizard. Another click of his fingers and a wave of his hand set the crockery flying into the sink, whilst a sponge eagerly scrubbed at the counter top.

There was no sign of Harry under the table, nor in any of the cupboards that he could possibly reach. Just to be doubly certain, Severus also checked the cupboards that Harry shouldn’t be able to even get near until he was a great deal older. He just never knew with Harry – every day was an adventure of some kind for the precocious little boy, and Severus was constantly surprised that his hair hadn’t turned white or that he hadn’t dropped dead of a heart attack yet.

“Harry!” Severus called, double-checking the pantry. “Come out now, it’s time for your haircut!”

“Nope, nope, nope!” sang a little voice from somewhere else in the house. Severus growled to himself. When he got his hands on Harry, he was going to banish that word from his vocabulary! He thought he’d got past the terrible twos and the persistent two-year stretch of “No, don’t WANNA!” that Harry had gone through.

He really hated it when he was wrong.

The dining room had too many hiding places. It was entirely possible that Harry could move from one to another without being seen all day, and Severus didn’t fancy going around the room in circles, checking each place until he was dizzy. So to save time, he simply levitated the furniture. No squeals, no giggles, no laughter. Harry obviously wasn’t hiding anywhere in here. The little boy loved flying – of any kind – and his joy always made itself known through some sort of sound, be it giggles, laughter, yells, or squeaks.

Lowering the furniture, Severus made his way to the front room. It was the only place left, so unless the little scamp had managed to slip past Severus, then he was definitely in there somewhere.

“Harry James Potter, I know you’re in here!” he said as he entered the room. There was no answer this time, but still, Severus was sure Harry had taken refuge in here. He swept through the room, peering behind the sofa and chairs, and tugging the curtains to ensure Harry wasn’t hiding behind them.

He’d just reached the other side of the room, when there came an explosive giggle from behind him. He whirled around, just in time to see a small, shaggy-haired boy dash out from behind one of the bookshelves and race towards the door. “Harry, no! Come here!”

But before Severus could do more than take a step forward, the boy’s shaggy hair dropped into his eyes, obscuring his vision. Unable to see the wrinkle in the rug caused by Severus moving an armchair, Harry tripped over it, and landed heavily against the small side-table placed there.

There was a shocked pause, and then Harry let out a heart-breaking wail. Severus dashed to his side, heart in his throat. Merlin, he knew he should have been stricter with Harry! He was losing his touch . . .

“There, there,” he crooned, scooping Harry into his arms and frantically examining his bleeding forehead. “I’ve got you, you’re all right.” He waved his hand over Harry’s head, and the bleeding slowed and then stopped. “See, there now, all better.” Harry buried his tear-streaked face into Severus’ shoulder and sobbed.

“Perhaps next time,” Severus said, striding towards the door, “you won’t make such a fuss when I suggest you need a hair-cut, hmm?”

His only answer was a small, defiant, “No!” and a sulky sniffle.