Hogwarts, 1984

Severus jerked awake with a start.

It took him a few minutes to calm down and realise that it had just been a nightmare. He rubbed his neck absently, ignoring the usual morning’s stabbing pains in his knee.

Not once, since the Wolfsbane Potion had been discovered, had Severus transformed without it. But before that, he had had to endure the horror of becoming a wolf in mind as well as body, and it was an experience he never wished to repeat. Unfortunately, it seemed to be haunting him.

It wasn’t just the wild bloodlust either. In the nightmares, Severus felt constricted, like something was restraining him; trapped and helpless. There was also a voice, but he couldn’t quite make out whose or what it was trying to tell him.

Severus got shakily out of bed, grasped his walking stick and hobbled into the kitchen for a glass of water. The nightmares had been coming for weeks now—or was it months? He had lost track—but every one still left him shaken.

-

“You look terrible.”

Severus growled, but quietly. His relationship with Albus had been tense ever since he had refused to take in the Potter boy, but Albus at least was trying to bring it back to a more comfortable standpoint. That seemed to include making personal observations.

“So would you if you’d had my nights,” Severus grumbled. “Where are those papers then?”

“Here.” Albus pulled a sheaf of past exam papers from his desk and passed them to Severus. “What do you mean, your nights? The full moon was over a week ago.”

“Oh really? I didn’t know.”

Albus sighed. “Please, Severus, not the sarcasm. It’s too early in the morning.”

A bell rang above Albus’ fireplace, and he flicked his wand. The fire turned green and out stepped Arabella Figg.

“Ah, Arabella,” Albus said, sounding cheerful although Severus noticed the twinkle suddenly left his eyes. “It’s been a while. How are things?”

Severus resisted the urge to snort, knowing perfectly well that by ‘things’, Albus meant ‘Harry Potter’.

“Well,” Mrs Figg said, sounding awkward, “I’m not sure. That’s why I’ve come to you. I’ve looked into it as best I can, but any more and the family will suspect something.”

Albus gestured for her to sit down, now looking worried. Severus hesitated, and then sat down as well, his curiosity piqued. The other two ignored him.

“I haven’t seen Harry in some time,” Mrs Figg said. “He never played outside much, I thought he just avoided his cousin because they don’t get on very well. His aunt and uncle had me sit him a few times when they went out, and he’s a very shy boy, wouldn’t really talk to me. But they haven’t had me sit him in months, and I haven’t seen him out of the house at all in that time. In fact I know I’ve seen all three of his relatives get in the car and he was nowhere to be seen.”

“Maybe they got another sitter,” Severus suggested, thinking smugly that James Potter would be turning in his grave to know his son had turned out shy.

“I don’t think so. I asked why Harry is never seen outside anymore, and I know some of the other neighbours have asked in curiosity. Mrs Dursley said something about him having very bad hayfever and not liking outdoors. But that’s no reason to leave a three-year-old home alone. Something’s up, I’m sure of it.”

“Arabella,” Albus said seriously, “think back. When was the last time you saw Harry out of doors?”

“I don’t know. Months ago. Before his third birthday, definitely.”

That can’t be a coincidence, Severus thought. No sooner had the thought come into his head, something else did.

Help him.

“What—?” Severus nearly jumped out of his skin. Albus and Mrs Figg looked round at him.

“Severus, are you all right?”

“I thought I heard—didn’t you hear …?”

From the way they were looking at him, they hadn’t. Severus cleared his throat and tried to regain some composure. “Sorry. Carry on.”

The voice had come and gone too quickly for him to figure out whose it was, but he was certain of one thing: it was the same voice from his dream. Was he going mad, or was there something actually trying to communicate with him?

He considered the words. Help him. Who? The Potter boy?

Something Mrs Figg said jerked him out of his thoughts. “Hold on, what was that you said?”

“I said, I’ve started to wonder if there was something wrong even before then. He always seemed all right, a very polite young man, much better behaved than that son of theirs—but he was never dressed properly, too small for his age, didn’t seem to have any toys of his own … and there was something funny about his name, he would never answer when I called him by name. It was difficult to get his attention.”

A sort of sick feeling came to Severus’ stomach as Albus asked Mrs Figg why she hadn’t related these details to him before.

“Well there could be lots of reasons why he’s smaller than normal, and the rest he always had an excuse for,” Mrs Figg said, tears welling in her eyes. “It’s only now he’s disappeared from view I’ve been putting it all together and wondering what life inside that house is really like …”

Severus stood up abruptly. “I’ll find out.”

They both looked up at him, neither looking more surprised than Albus. “You, Severus?” He could hear the silent addition: Even though he’s ‘my problem’?

“Yes,” Severus said shortly. He wasn’t about to go into his reasons, especially not with Mrs Figg there, but something about what she had said had rung warning bells very loudly in his head. Coupled with the voice and nightmares that could be either his conscience trying to tell him something, or …

Well, he wasn’t sure now was the time to theorise, but he wasn’t about to ignore the signs when a child—no matter whose he was—was at stake.

-

Severus walked purposefully along the pavement, looking for Number Four. The road was all hideously neat; he was all for organised, he hated messes; but the inhabitants of this area had to all be obsessive-compulsive, the way there was not a single blade of grass out of place. It was so unnatural.

Ah, Number Four. He rapped on the door with his walking stick and waited.

After a moment, the door was opened by a bony blonde woman. She had a very rotund boy at her feet, who was peering curiously at Severus through piggy little eyes.

“Well, that’s not Harry Potter,” Severus said with absolute certainty, turning his eyes back to Petunia.

She had paled at his words. “Wh-who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m not surprised you don’t recognise me, Petunia. It has been a few years.”

She frowned, and after a moment, paled dramatically. “You!”

“Yes, me,” Severus said coldly. “As for why I am here, I heard on the grapevine that your nephew is suffering from severe hayfever.”

“Er … yes,” Petunia said, edging backwards slightly.

“I brought something that should clear that right up.” Severus rummaged in his Muggle coat and brought out a potion vial. “One capful each day and he’ll be back to playing in the garden like every other child.”

Petunia swallowed. Severus didn’t miss her eyes flickering to a closed door in the hall, and back again.

“You’re ugly,” the little boy at Petunia’s feet said, still staring at Snape. “Girly hair.”

To Severus’ disgust, Petunia gave a nervous half-laugh. “Oh, now, Diddykins! That’s not a very nice thing to say!”

‘Diddykins’ stuck his tongue out, clearly indicating that he didn’t care. Severus scowled at the boy, half a mind to take him back to Hogwarts with him and donate him to the Quidditch department for use as a rather large Quaffle.

“You, boy, need to learn to respect your elders,” he snarled. “Think yourself lucky you’re a Muggle and will never have to suffer one of my detentions.”

Diddykins blew a raspberry. Severus chose to ignore the boy and turned back to the reason he had come. “So, where is your nephew?”

Again, Petunia’s eyes flickered to the door. “Er, still in bed. I’ll give him that.” She held out her hand, even as she did so starting to close the door on Severus.

He put his stick in the way, ignoring Petunia’s protests, and stepped inside the house completely. “No, I wish to speak to him in person. Where is his bedroom?”

Petunia gulped, and Severus narrowed her eyes at her.

“As you no doubt recall Petunia, I am very stubborn and can perform some rather nasty spells. I suggest you tell me where he is right now, unless you want the truth forced from your lips.”

She pursed her lips and said nothing. “Right,” Severus said, but before he could turn her into any sort of farm animal, he had a better idea, and pointed his wand at her son.

“NO!” Petunia leapt forwards. “I’ll tell—”

“Too late,” Severus said in satisfaction. Diddykins Dursley was now a very large beach ball. Petunia opened her mouth to scream, and he cast a quick silencing charm.

Severus flicked his wand, and the ball bounced around the hall. Severus had to admit, this was rather fun. “So. Where is your nephew? Don’t scream and I’ll turn your son back.” He removed the silencing charm.

“In the cellar, in the cellar!” Petunia sobbed. “Please, please turn Dudley back!”

“The cellar?” Severus said, lowering his wand and Dudley the ball fell to the floor, and a moment later was a child again, eagle-spread on the hall floor. Petunia ran over to him, but Severus hadn’t finished. “Why on earth is he in the cellar? I thought Albus built that for when he transformed?”

“Y-yes,” Petunia stammered.

“Well the full moon was ten days ago! What’s he doing down there now?” Severus snarled. Petunia whimpered and clutched her large son to her bosom, he desperately trying to prise her off him.

Severus flicked his wand at the cellar door, undoing the locks, and the door flew open. Now ignoring the Dursleys, he descended the steps, the sick feeling in his gut reaching intolerable proportions.

Until he saw the sight below, and was sure that he would actually be sick.