Luckily for Severus’ peace of mind – and Potter’s continuing state of good health – he hadn’t discovered that his exhibit case was now a shambles of pottery shards. Instead, Potter had been casually walking back towards the door, stopping every now and then to closer examine one figurine or another.

It was also fortunate that the boy hadn’t been startled too badly when Severus had abruptly burst in. If he’d had time to think, then Severus would have made a calmer entrance. It was pure chance, he reflected to himself ruefully later on, that Potter hadn’t jumped a mile, straight into one of the display shelves.

Hustling him back out of the case as quickly as he’d hustled him in, Severus pointed him in Albus’ direction while he secured the exhibit case again, after giving a quick glance at the Lily figurine and a brief caress of her nametag.

He joined the others just in time to hear Albus asking Potter about his summer.

“It’s – it’s been fine, sir,” Potter answered, hesitantly. “Much better than it usually is,” he added in a low mutter, casting a sideways glance at Severus.

Unfortunately, Severus doubted that he’d have to work too hard to make it better than it had been, and Albus’ look told him the headmaster shared his opinion.

“Still, you must be looking forward to next week, eh, my boy?” Albus asked, gesturing for Potter to take the other armchair. Severus nodded as the boy looked questioningly at him, and Potter sank onto the seat, still clutching the Abraxan foal to his chest.

“Um, next week?” he asked, when it became apparent that Albus was waiting for an answer. “I don’t know what—” His voice trailed off, even as Severus’ mind flicked through a mental calendar and came to a halt on the last day of the month.

Oh, Merlin! Potter’s birthday! he thought, and barely managed to suppress a wince. Seeing the twinkle in Albus’ eyes, Severus had to stifle a groan too, and escaped into the kitchen, ostentatiously to look for Marble, who’d remained in there since Lucius’ visit. No doubt Albus expects me to buy Potter a present, he grumbled mentally to himself.

“Oh,” he heard Potter say, tone full of surprise. “My birthday. Er, right. I suppose . . .”

Wincing, Severus remembered some of his own birthdays, where his best present had been when his father had ignored him. He hadn’t quite known what to do the first time he’d had his birthday at Hogwarts – it had been the first time that he’d ever received a proper present from anyone. Even Lily had never gotten him one in those early days before they’d gone off to school; she’d known all too well that Severus would never have been allowed to keep it for long. Instead, she’d usually settled for getting her mother to bake his favourite kind of biscuits for him, and they’d spend an hour or so after school in her parents’ kitchen, eating warm biscuits, drinking cold milk, and generally laughing their heads off at what they planned to do once they really knew how to use magic.

He was broken from his reverie by Marble abruptly landing on his shoulder. Fluttering his wings for balance, the Aethonian huffed softly, and nudged Severus’ cheek with his cold, hard nose.

Severus reached up to run a finger down Marble’s neck. “Yes, you were very clever,” he admitted. Marble gave a smug nicker, and stretched his neck out so Severus could stroke more of it. “It’s a good thing you don’t actually eat,” Severus pretended to grumble. “I’d spend a fortune buying you treats.”

With a neigh that sounded suspiciously like a cackling laugh, Marble launched himself into the air, and swooped back into the living room.

Hoping that all talk of birthdays was past, Severus followed him and stood in the doorway, his arms folded across his chest.

“Ah, Severus,” Albus said. “I was just informing Harry that I’ll have to send his letter by Floo or portkey.”

“You’ve still not discovered what’s blocking the owls, then?” Severus asked, raising an eyebrow.

Albus scowled. “No,” he admitted, reluctantly. “And I have tried every method of revealing that I know of, and even a few that I don’t technically know of, and yet nothing shows up!” He slapped a hand on the arm of the chair in frustration, then peered at Severus. “Are you sure you added nothing that would cause this?” he asked.

It was Severus’ turn to scowl. “Of course I haven’t!” he barked, indignantly. “For Merlin’s sake, Albus, you saw for yourself what spells I have here! And WHY would I inconvenience myself this way?”

Sighing, Albus’ shoulders slumped. “No, of course, of course, dear boy,” he said. “I apologise; of course it isn’t anything you did. Nor you, Harry,” he added, causing Potter to jump at being addressed so abruptly.

Potter blinked. He hadn’t even considered the possibility it was something he’d done, Severus realised. Although, if it turned out it had been Potter’s fault, Severus would eat his best cauldron . . . after making Potter scrub it thoroughly clean, naturally.

“Still, there are still one or two avenues that I haven’t explored yet,” Albus continued. “With any luck, we’ll discover the answer before the summer ends.” The headmaster began to rise to his feet, but then paused, and sank back into the chair. “That is another question that must be answered,” he said, gazing steadily at Potter. “Where you will be staying next summer.”

Potter’s mouth opened, then he shot a glance at Severus, and closed it again. Severus raised an eyebrow. He was rather eager to hear Albus’ solution to the problem. He just hoped it didn’t involve him – he was not a babysitter!

“Do you have any preference, my boy?” asked Albus. Potter silently shook his head, and looked down at the Abraxan that was still cradled in his hands. “Mm, well,” Albus carried on after a moment, “we have almost an entire year before it becomes necessary to decide, don’t we?” The elderly wizard stood up and turned to Severus. “Let me know if Lucius pays a return visit,” he ordered, and without even waiting for Severus’ return nod, disapparated on the spot with a neat crack.

Three days later, Harry was in the kitchen when a small leather and metal trunk appeared in the middle of the living room. He was about to go and examine it when he remembered Snape’s reaction to the last item that had suddenly appeared that way. “You should always check unexpected things for curses.”

The problem was, Harry had no idea what curses he should even be looking for, let alone how to check. He frowned and gave a quick glance to the clock. Snape wouldn’t be out of his lab for at least an hour, and the trunk was right in the middle of the room. If the thing was booby-trapped, how far away from it was safe?

His curiosity was not diminished by the sight of the word “POTTER” stamped across the top of the trunk in what looked like gold letters.

“What do you think?” he asked Marble, who was peering down from the top of one of the bookcases. “Snape’ll likely kill me if I just go ahead and open it . . . but it says Potter on it; that must mean it’s mine.”

Marble gave a loud snort and tossed his head, scraping a hoof along the shelf. Harry’s shoulders slumped. “Yeah, I know,” he sighed. “I shouldn’t touch it, but wait for Snape to look at it.”

The Aethonian gave a pleased whicker and went back to snuffling around the top of the bookcase. Harry had no idea what on earth the Pegasus was up to, but at least he wasn’t bullying any more of the other figurines. Just as a precaution, he’d taken to carrying the Abraxan foal with him everywhere. Harry was pretty sure that Snape was gearing up for an explosion as to why he shouldn’t be touching the figurines, let alone carrying one all the time, but every time he’d even thought about putting it back on the shelf, Marble had turned a beady eye on it.

Biting his lower lip, Harry edged around the trunk to reach the armchair that his homework was resting on. He’d actually almost finished it all – Hermione would be proud of him, he was sure, although Ron would likely be horrified when he found out; it was highly doubtful that his first friend had even started their homework, let alone finished it. He only had Herbology left to do, and then, if he’d understood the headmaster’s comment correctly, he’d have his second-year books, and would have to start reading them.

Then again, if he’d been with the Dursleys, no doubt he’d have been doing it all on the train to Hogwarts.

Harry managed to engross himself in his homework so much (“Explain why it is illegal to plant Night-Blooming Ceffapods in Muggle areas” “The Muggles keep thinking they’re drunk because they start seeing dancing pink elephants”) that he actually jumped when Snape appeared in the doorway from the kitchen.

“Well, at least you’ve learned sense, Potter,” he said, in tones that actually contained something an awful lot like approval. He waved his wand in several intricate patterns over the trunk. It glowed a soft red colour, which made Harry wonder just how cursed the thing was. “Hmm, come here, Potter.”

Warily, Harry let his parchments slide to the chair and inched his way back around the trunk to reach Snape’s side.

“You are obviously not allowed to use magic outside of school,” Snape started, “but that doesn’t stop you from learning wand movements and incantations. Stand here, Potter.” He pointed a finger at the space just in front of him.

Wondering if Snape was going to curse him in the back – or use him bodily to discover what curses were on the trunk – Harry did so, and tried not to be obvious that his neck and shoulders had tensed at having someone behind him like that.

“Normally, you don’t start to learn curses and their counters until fourth year,” Snape continued, “but seeing as you’re the Boy-Who-Lived,” his lip curled in disdain, “then it may be in your interests to get a head start. Now, pretending you’re holding your wand like so . . .”

Surprisingly, Harry actually enjoyed learning how to detect if something was cursed. Considering Snape was a lot more enthusiastic – and patient – than he ever was in the Potions classroom, then Harry supposed that Percy Weasley had been right, way back at the Welcome Feast last year. He most likely did want the DADA job.

“And to end the spell, swish your wand upside down like this, and a curl like that, and then—” Snape brought his wand up abruptly in front of him, and the glow that had been surrounding the trunk disappeared. “No curses. You may as well open it now,” he said, in a very stilted way that Harry presumed was supposed to be casual.

“It really is for me?” Harry asked, feeling a burst of delight tickle his stomach.

Snape snorted and strode past the trunk to sit in his armchair, casually plucking Marble out of the air as the Aethonian tried to dive-bomb him. Marble snorted in protest, and struggled free of Snape’s grip to stand on the arm of the chair, but then heaved a great sigh and lay down. Snape gave a huff of amusement, and ran a finger along his back. The Pegasus’ flanks twitched, but he didn’t bother to move away.

“Yes, it’s for you, Potter,” said Snape. “Albus went looking for anything your parents had. He was not allowed into the family vault, nor could he gain you access, but the goblins were apparently willing to pick out a few things. I believe it was supposed to be a birthday present,” he continued, waving a hand dismissively, “but of course Albus had to send it so it appeared right in front of you . . .”

Harry gaped at the trunk. Not only a birthday present (from who? The headmaster? SNAPE?!), but things that his parents had owned, had touched. Torn between just standing and staring at it in reverence, and dashing over and throwing himself across it, Harry slowly inched towards the trunk, and held out a trembling hand to touch the gold letters.

To his surprise, as soon as his fingers brushed the lid, there was a pulse of warmth that shot straight up his arm and settled in his chest. While he was basking in the glow of that, a small click came from the trunk’s lid.

“Interesting,” said Snape’s voice, and Harry jumped, having forgotten his professor was still in the room. “A blood ward – I didn’t think the Potters had anything to do with blood magic.”

“Is it bad, sir?” Harry asked.

Snape shook his head. “Of course not,” he said. “There were blood wards on your relatives’ house, too, powered by your mother’s sacrifice and the matching blood in Petunia’s veins. Most blood wards are created for situations exactly like this – to enable the relatives of a person access to something but ensuring that no one who might be . . . undesirable can touch it. Strong wards don’t even let anybody else see there’s something hidden.”

Dropping to his knees beside the trunk, Harry tentatively hefted the lid. Either it was a lot less solid than it looked, or there was more magic at work, because the lid flew open, smacking against the back of the trunk with a bang.

Harry winced, shot a quick glance at Snape to see how angry he was, and resolved to be more careful.

The first layer in the trunk appeared to be books, but when Harry pulled two of them out, he discovered they were photo albums. Opening one to a random page, he gasped as he saw a little girl and a young boy in a garden, convulsed with laughter, while another, older, girl was running away with her hands over her face.

Remembering what Snape had said about knowing his mother when they were young, Harry tilted the album so the professor could see the picture. “Sir?” he asked. “Is this . . . you?”

Snape snorted as soon as he saw the photo. “Mrs Evans must have taken that. Sneaky woman!” he said, fondly. “Yes, Potter, that is me. Your mother had just had a ferocious argument with Petunia, and had a burst of accidental magic. Petunia suddenly broke out in purple and green spots.”

Harry giggled, just imagining his aunt with great big multi-coloured spots. Flipping through the album, he could see lots of pictures of the little girl, quite a few of which also featured the young Snape, and a few which included other people that he didn’t know. Trying one of the other albums, he discovered it held pictures of Hogwarts.

“Oh, wow,” he gasped, coming across a wizarding photo that sparkled. It showed a large crowd dancing in what looked like it could be the Great Hall. Icicles and snowflakes were everywhere. A couple on the left of the photo suddenly twirled themselves closer to the middle, and Harry gasped again as he realised that they were his parents.

“The Yule Ball,” Snape commented, his tone gone sour. “Our sixth year.”

Although he desperately wanted to hear more – what on earth was the Yule Ball? – Harry hastily shut that particular photo album and turned to rummage in the trunk again. The next layer seemed to be clothes, as he pulled out several large woollen jumpers, two T-shirts, a large, extremely fancy dress that Snape grudgingly told him had been Lily’s wedding dress, and three different length dressing-gowns. Tucked into the pocket of one of the dressing-gowns was a pair of extremely small shoes.

“No doubt yours,” said Snape, raising an eyebrow. “I believe parents become unreasonably attached to baby clothing . . .”

“No way!” Harry gaped at the shoes. They both fit comfortably in the palm of one hand. It was hard to believe that he’d ever been small enough to wear them. As gingerly as if they were made of glass, he tucked them back safely, and made sure not to throw the dressing-gown anywhere.

The next item from the trunk seemed to be a large ball of what felt like velvet. Snape suddenly sat upright, his breath catching in his throat. “Open it,” he demanded. “If that’s what I think it is—”

Puzzled, Harry unwrapped and unwrapped and unwrapped. In the end, resting on a thick pile of velvet over his knees, lay an Abraxan figurine. Moving cautiously, he lifted the figurine upright. Snape made a noise that, in anyone else, Harry might have called a sob.

“Lily’s favourite,” he said, huskily. “She found it at a yard sale just before her thirteenth birthday. It was being held by a group of elderly witches – all the matrons from the old families had them – and Lily fell in love with that one as soon as she saw it. She was determined to have it, even if it cost her every last Knut she had on her.” Snape suddenly chuckled. “See, Potter, the matrons would usually name a price, and that was it – you had to pay that much if you wanted it. Supposedly the money raised went to good causes, although that depended on your definition of good. And here was Lily, who actually had the audacity to start bargaining with one matron.”

“Wow,” Harry mouthed, looking down at the figure. He could see why his mother had fallen in love with it. It was a slender figure, with a feminine look about it. Its body was a dark golden colour that seemed to shimmer with the colour of cream if you turned it just the right way. Its mane was long, flowing over the shoulders – withers, Snape had called them once – and falling to halfway down the chest. The forelock that went between the ears looped and curled around the edge of one eye. One foreleg was raised, just balancing on the tip of the hoof. Its wings were half open, in what looked like a playful gesture. Its head tilted to give it a coy look, the expression on its face was pure mischief.

“Lily seemed to get very annoyed that this matron didn’t seem to understand the concept of negotiating, and she ended up with her hands on her hips, stating that she was going to pay so much and no more, while the elderly matron just gaped at her.” Snape outright laughed at the memory, causing Harry to smile, too. “I think she agreed to Lily’s price in the end just to get rid of her.”

“Does this one have a name?” Harry asked.

“I believe it’s called Strawberry Meadows,” Snape said. He shook his head. “I have no idea why, but Lily liked it.”

“How come there aren’t more animated figures?” wondered Harry.

“Because it’s very hard, very complicated magic,” the professor explained. “Certain spells have to be cast at every stage of production, and some of them take enormous amounts of magic, which usually means either one very strong caster, or several casting at once.” Snape shook his head. “Be grateful that one isn’t animated, otherwise I think we’d have the house down around our ears.”

Marble snorted indignantly, but Harry thought Snape was right. Strawberry Meadows had the kind of look that just screamed ‘I’m a trouble-maker’, but he rather thought he’d love her anyway.