Snape paced back and forth, measuring the length of his kitchen. He was late. It was not unusual for Dumbledore, but still, he could not help but feel a familiar agitation, a kind of unease that overcame him before any of their meetings.
The Potter boy was long in bed. Snape had made certain to send him upstairs well before Dumbledore's expected arrival, knowing that this would not be a social call. And to be perfectly certain that the boy would not wander downstairs and disturb them, Snape had even spiked the boy's evening tea with a mild sleeping draught, one that he had brewed to take full effect an hour after consumption. By now, Potter was sleeping like the dead.
Snape heard the roar of fireplace in the sitting room, and he hurriedly strode into the room just in time to see Dumbledore ducking out of the fireplace, brushing ash from himself.
The older wizard straightened, and, turning to Snape with a gentle smile on his lips, greeted him. "Severus," he sighed. "My apologies for my tardiness. I was engaged in a rather nostalgic conversation with Headmaster Dippet about a certain play…."
"No matter," Snape murmured smoothly. "A drink before we begin? Brandy?"
"If you have some," Dumbledore agreed amiably, "and if you are willing to indulge me…."
Snape conjured a glass and summoned the dusty bottle of brandy he kept just for these occasions.
Dumbledore accepted the floating glass and settled into the loveseat, his usual seat whenever he was visiting Spinner's End. Snape remained standing, arms folded stiffly behind his back.
"Ah," Dumbledore sighed, "these aching knees. But such is the curse of old age. How are things going with young Harry?"
Snape's lips twitched slightly. "As well as can be expected. He has only very nearly killed himself on two occasions thus far, so I suppose I cannot complain. Have you found him a suitable guardian?"
Dumbledore took a deep draft of his brandy before answering. "This is marvelous, Severus. Where did you purchase this again?"
Severus bit back his irritation. After nearly nine years of serving under the man, he was accustomed to these stalling tactics, and he had little patience for it. Often times it seemed as if Dumbledore was content to treat him as a student still. "Have you found him a home or not?" Snape repeated coolly.
Dumbledore sighed and set the tumbler down before him on the coffee table. "I am looking into the matter."
Snape could barely contain himself. "I told you," he ground out through clenched teeth, "that placing him in a permanent home is of the utmost importance. Lucius Malfoy is—"
"Lucius Malfoy will, under no circumstances, take charge of the boy. The minister is prepared to intervene should Mr. Malfoy become too insistent."
"I'd sooner bet on Hufflepuff taking the House Championship next year than rely on that slimy—"
"Severus," Dumbledore admonished Snape gently, "Cornelius is firm in this. He is well aware of my feelings, and my fears. If we must choose another guardian, it will most assuredly be someone better-suited—"
"Lucius is an accomplished schemer, and mark my words, he will not let this die easily. Potter is a political prop and a status symbol, and since the ministry has let slip that he is currently in search of a new home, he will doggedly pursue adoption. Potter has no living relatives other than those dreadful muggles. You've said it yourself. His parents' closest friends were blown up, tortured to insanity, taken to Azkaban, or—well, God knows where Lupin is these days. The precious Boy Who Lived is up for grabs, and you're a damned fool if you think that Lucius does not possess the faculty or influence to convince the ministry that he should be the one to take up the burden. You may hold sway there, but that may not be enough—"
"I am well aware of the importance of the matter," Dumbledore uttered. "Believe me when I say I have every interest in curbing pernicious influences on the boy. But I need you to trust that I can handle these matters."
Snape's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing more.
"I trust that you were gracious to Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore continued mildly.
"Of course," Snape muttered. "Though I hardly—"
"There will come a day, Severus, when the relationships you continue to cultivate at my behest will play a critical role in our efforts, in the battle to come."
Snape's mouth tightened even further at that. The battle to come. There was no battle, he thought bitterly. It had been eight years since that night, since the Dark Lord had fallen, and since then there had been nothing but faint whispers in the darkest shadows that Voldemort might still live. Snape had known better than to waste time chasing them down.
Instinctively, he gripped his arm, the place where the Dark Mark was branded into his skin. No, if the Dark Lord had returned, he would have known. Dumbledore still believed that there was a coming war, but Snape was not so paranoid.
He had no delusions. He still served the headmaster because of his vow so many years ago. A useless promise in the end, since Dumbledore had not saved her. But for all his many faults, Snape was not disloyal, and so he would continue to pay his debt even when circumstances were not dire.
"Forgive me, Severus, but you seem rather agitated by this prospect. Surely you do not care if the boy is raised by Lucius? I doubt the Malfoys would allow him to suffer even the slightest under their roof, considering all they could gain from him—"
"I know Lucius' thinking," Snape hissed, "and you insult me if you believe that I condone his… ideology. After everything, you believe I would willingly hand a powerful symbol like Potter over to the man? You think I wish his rhetoric to gain a greater backing in the community? I—"
"Peace, Severus," Dumbledore murmured. "I did not mean to imply anything of the sort. I was only curious as to why you should be so invested." Snape heard the satisfaction in Dumbledore's tone, though, and saw the glimmer of approval flash from behind those spectacles.
After all these years, he thought bitterly, and he was still being tested. He would never be anything but a traitor and a coward in the man's eyes. Dumbledore was adept at hiding his truest feelings. But his disgust for Snape, the revulsion the headmaster had revealed that terrible night when Snape had turned to him, that was still there, Snape was sure of it.
"You forget that I am not one of the select purebloods, Albus," Snape murmured quietly, regaining control over himself. He paced over to his bookshelf and pretended to scan the titles, though it was just a pretense to shield his face from Dumbledore's piercing eyes. "That she was muggle-born." Snape did not add the bitterness of that ugly slur, mudblood, that the Malfoys so casually threw around. He did not speak of the sickness that twisted his stomach when he thought of the cause he'd once served as a Death Eater. "Blood purity was never the appeal for me."
"Of course not," Dumbledore agreed, his words warm and sympathetic. "Forgive an old man for his senility."
Snape winced. It would have been easier to remain insulted, he thought, had Dumbledore not been so self-deprecating most of the time.
"The simple solution to this dilemma," Dumbledore continued, "seems rather apparent, though."
"I agreed to two weeks," Snape said tautly, "out of respect for my vow. I will not raise Potter's son."
Snape did not have to turn to see Dumbledore's expression; he could feel the disappointment in the air, and could hear it latent in the older wizard's voice.
Dumbledore sighed. "I had hoped that perhaps—"
"We have not bonded," Snape cut him off. "I have not suddenly become fond of the boy. His presence here is tolerable, nothing more."
"Of course," Dumbledore agreed. "I will continue to make my inquiries."
A long silence stretched between them, one that weighed uncomfortably on Snape.
At last Snape turned back to Dumbledore. "I have no news concerning the Dark Lord, which should not surprise you. Most families who followed Him now believe Him to be gone. No one is searching."
"Good," Dumbledore murmured, though the word rang hollow. "But I must ask that
, as always, that you keep an ear to the ground, as the muggles say."
"I will," Snape promised. "I will keep you apprised of all that I hear… though I would not expect any major rumors or leads until the school year begins again. The students tend to be more careless with their words than their parents."
"An admirable trait," Dumbledore mused, "brash honesty. A pity that, as we grow, we learn to twist our words so terribly into falsehoods."
Snape hmphed softly.
They lapsed back into silence again, though this stretch was more comfortable. Dumbledore continued to nurse his brandy. Snape conjured a fire in the hearth and moved to stand before it, where he could gaze at the flames.
"Hagrid has asked me to inquire if he might visit," Dumbledore said after a while. "He does not wish to be an inconvenience, but as you know, he is very fond of the boy, and was rather close with the Potters—"
"I am aware," Snape interrupted. "My home is not well-suited to a man of his size. If he wishes to take Potter out on an excursion, he has my blessing."
"Excellent," Dumbledore murmured. "I shall inform him as soon as I get the chance."
After a moment, Snape inquired, "Have you heard anything more about the Dark Lord?"
Dumbledore set his brandy glass down. "I have not," he replied, with unusual weight and solemnity. "I confess, I had rather hoped that you would have some news after making your inquiries…."
Snape almost laughed. "You expected Karkaroff to know anything? The coward is worse than Lucius. He's been trying to distance himself from his Death Eater days ever since the Dark Lord fell. And I am not terribly well-liked amongst the more devoted of his followers, most of whom, I might remind you, have been in Azkaban since his fall. I doubt the Dementors let them skip about making inquiries about their former master…."
"Just as well," Dumbledore murmured absently. Snape could tell that the man's thoughts had already turned elsewhere. "Well, I should not keep you, Severus. Though I should like to stop by again soon, perhaps at a more reasonable hour, to speak with young Harry."
Snape fought not to show his irritation, though he knew that Dumbledore likely sensed it. As if he would mistreat the boy, he thought bitterly, especially when the circumstances that made this unideal arrangement necessary had been an abusive and neglectful home.
"Certainly," he murmured.
"Do not think that I underestimate the difficulty of this," Dumbledore said suddenly, his bright eyes razor-sharp again. "I know the depth of your animosity for James—"
"I told you I would not coddle the boy," Snape interrupted, "but I'd hoped you would know that I would not let him suffer either. I have seen to his needs, as promised. Even I am not so petty as to torture the boy—"
"I never doubted that," Dumbledore told him seriously. "I only meant to say that you are taking on a great burden, something that a lesser man would not accept. You are putting Harry's needs above your own comfort. It is an admirable thing—"
"I am not doing it for admiration," Snape bit out, struggling yet again to rein in his temper. "I am fulfilling my word to you, no more. I don't need praise at every turn. I'm not one of your students seeking approval."
Snape had to turn away from Dumbledore again, unable to bear the intensity of the old man's expression.
Worse than disapproval, worse than that twinkling smugness, was the look of genuine sadness that he saw creasing the man's face. A look of pity. It sickened Snape.
"I did not mean to imply that you were seeking my approval, Severus," Dumbledore said quietly. "I genuinely admire the work you are doing here."
Snape ignored the man's words. Yes, Dumbledore still saw him as an eager little student, trying to be teacher's pet, trying to please him. He wanted Snape to feel good now, to see raising the Potter boy as a noble act of sacrifice that would, in turn, make him a great man.
But Snape saw right through that. Two weeks. One now, just one more week, and then he would be back to his peace and quiet. No more floods of questions, no more crises to avert, no more constantly wondering after every little bang and bump if the Potter boy had knocked himself unconscious. One week and his obligation would be over.
"It's nothing." Snape said offhandedly. "More brandy, Albus?"
"No, no," Dumbledore waved him off, rising to his feet. "I promised not to keep you, and I have done just that. I must thank you again for accommodating me at such odd hours."
Snape retrieved his small clay dish of Floo Powder from the mantle and offered it out to Dumbledore, who took a pinch of the glittering powder.
Dumbledore locked eyes with Snape for a moment, and Snape found himself unable to turn away this time. "Take care of yourself, Severus," he said somberly.
Snape merely dipped his head slightly, his jaw tightening. "You as well."
And with that, Dumbledore threw the Floo Powder into the fireplace, which immediately turned bright green, ducked in, and was gone with a crackling roar.
Snape immediately extinguished the fire and lifted his hands to his temples to massage them. Why had he even been worried about the Potter boy? Dumbledore was a much bigger source of headaches than an eight-year-old—even a Potter—could ever be.
XXXXX
When Harry woke in the morning, he felt especially groggy. He thought his tea had tasted a little funny the night before, and now he wondered if Snape had slipped some kind of drug into it to help him sleep better.
The thought worried him. He wondered if Snape knew that he'd been having strange nightmares—green flashes of light, a high, cold laugh, a woman sobbing. He remembered having them a few other times when he was little. But whenever they started up again, he hardly was able to sleep through the night.
He rubbed his eyes, trying to erase the last bit of sleep from them. At least whatever Snape had given him had granted him a dreamless night. He felt well-rested—though a glance outside at the sun, which was already high in the sky, told him that he'd overslept again.
Not that Snape seemed to really care. But his expression grew extremely judgmental whenever Harry showed up to breakfast any later than nine. And Harry liked it much better when he could eat his breakfast without the man's sneer and occasional snide comments.
Harry dug in his drawer for a pair of socks, carefully avoiding the ones that had belonged to Uncle Vernon. He settled on a serviceable pair of Dudley's, which would still be too big for Harry's feet, he knew. But at least there were only a few small holes in them.
Once he'd dressed, Harry ambled down the stairs, trying to distract himself with thoughts of how he would spend the day. He'd nearly finished Quidditch Through the Ages, and now he was very curious to learn more about Hogwarts, since Snape had refused to indulge his questions, claiming that everything he could possibly want to know could be found in his copy of Hogwarts, A History. Harry had already taken the volume out to look it over. It had seemed rather large and intimidating, and he'd been reluctant to try reading it.
But now his curiosity was almost too much, and he was ready to try tackling it.
Harry found Snape sitting at the table as usually, finished with breakfast but lingering over a cup of tea, his face obscured behind the latest book he'd taken up. Something with a green cover on volatility theory—whatever that was. As usual, Snape did not even glance up at Harry.
Harry helped himself to toast, which was a habit now. He no longer waited to be invited. He'd also discovered that Snape kept juice in the fridge, though for what reason Harry had no idea. So he'd started pouring himself a glass of orange juice every morning as well.
It occurred to him, as he went to retrieve the bottle, that the amount had not diminished at all over the past few days. The bottle was still just as full as it had been when Harry had first discovered its existence.
"Sir," Harry began tentatively. He'd learned to wait and see what Snape's reaction was before proceeding with his question. If it was just an impatient sigh or a scathing look, it was generally safe to proceed. But if the man's eyes narrowed or if he snapped "what?", Harry knew it was best to abandon the question and save it for a better time.
"Yes?"
Harry relaxed a little. Not too bad this morning, he decided. "Do you ever have to go grocery shopping?"
"As long as my ingredients are never depleted, no." Snape turned to him, brow knitted together. "Meaning that if you are thinking about polishing something off, you will come fetch me."
Harry wondered if he should press his luck. But Snape seemed to be in a relatively good humor today, he thought. "Why can't they get depleted?"
"Because," Snape sighed, "food can be multiplied from existing stores, but it cannot be created from thin air, meaning that I need a remainder of an ingredient in order to replenish it."
Harry decided that he'd go for broke. The rules of magic were fascinating to him. "But why can't food be created from nothing?"
"Because of the principal exceptions to Gamp's law of—because that's just how it is," Snape cut himself off, his voice rising with agitation.
And there, Harry decided, was the limit. "Oh. Okay. Thanks for explaining."
Snape lapsed back into silence, focusing his attention back on his book, and they said nothing more while Harry finished off his breakfast.
"I will be cleaning the house today," Snape said once Harry had risen to take his plates to the sink. "So you—"
"You need me to help?" Harry guessed. He figured that he couldn't get out of chores forever. It was a miracle, really, that he'd avoided them for this long.
"No," Snape said, "I need you to stay out of my way. You may play in either the front or back yard, but either way, you will need to remain outside until lunch at least."
Harry was suspicious that he wouldn't be required to do any work. If Snape had been his Aunt Petunia, he thought, he would be expected to do very nearly everything.
"Do I need to clean the Flobberworm cage?" he guessed, though he hoped that Snape wouldn't make him do that again.
Snape lowered his book slightly, enough to arch an eyebrow at Harry. "Were you planning on disobeying me again?"
Harry shook his head vigorously.
"Then no, I don't think that will be necessary."
Harry sagged down in relief. "Good. But—but maybe I could do something else? My aunt taught me how to wash the windows and loads of other stuff…." It didn't feel right to him to just go out and play while Snape did all the housework. He barely even had to do the dishes.
"Cleaning Charms are much faster, safer, and more effective than child labor," Snape told him smoothly. "So unless you do something to merit punishment, physical labor will be wholly unnecessary."
Right. Magic. How had Harry forgotten?
And then a thought popped into Harry's head. "D'you think I could maybe go meet some of the other children around here?"
"No." Snape's response was swift, dismissive, and unequivocal. And he did not offer to explain.
"Please?" Harry tried. "I swear I'll stay right on this street, and I'll behave, and I won't say a word about magic—"
"I said no, Potter. You've already proven your propensity for danger and trouble, and I have no interest in seeing what fresh mess you'll create for me if I give you free range of the neighborhood. You'll remain in the yard."
"What if—"
"Do you want to be punished?" Snape inquired in a deadly whisper, his eyes flashing from behind his book. "Because that can be arranged."
Harry shut his mouth. He'd gone too far, he realized. He shook his head at Snape, keeping his eyes locked on the tiled pattern of the kitchen floor.
"You've plenty to keep yourself occupied. Don't act as if you don't."
Harry had no answer for that. Snape was right. He would just go fetch his Castle Siege set and spend the afternoon pretending he was a knight commander. The enchanted set was better than anything that even Dudley had gotten, including all his fancy computer games. Harry realized he should be very grateful for that.
"I'll be in the front yard," Harry mumbled, and hastily retreated from the kitchen before he could annoy Snape any further.
XXXXX
Harry scrambled after the fleeing pikeman, scurrying to catch him before he crossed the border to the sidewalk. He still remembered Snape's initial warning not to venture beyond it, and he'd already decided that he would be on his very best behavior for the rest of the day.
But this was the third time that the cowardly little man had tried to flee the battle. The first few times he'd made a dash for the house or a beeline for the bushes, but now he seemed intent on making it out to the street.
Harry could hardly blame him. He'd been commanding the miniature castle's interior forces, and they had successfully repelled the invading force to the point that they'd been able to open the drawbridge and begin openly attacking the troops stationed outside. Most of the brave little men had stood and fought, but this particular little pikeman seemed intent on avoiding death (which really was just lying down on the ground and not moving until the game reset).
"Get back here, yellow-bellied coward!" one of the pikeman's knight commanders cried, as he dueled with one of Harry's knights. "I'll have you hanged for this!"
Harry dove for the pikeman just as they reached the edge of the sidewalk, but he missed, and the pikeman managed to scurry beyond, out into the Muggle world.
Snape was going to kill him, he thought.
Harry hesitated at the edge of the yard. If he was quick, he reasoned, and just darted over to retrieve the stupid little man. And then he would lock the pikeman in the wooden chest, where he couldn't cause any more trouble.
Harry took a deep breath and crossed over onto the sidewalk. His spine tingled a little as he broke the plane, and he wondered if it was just his imagination or if it was because he really could feel the magical boundary.
Harry spied the little pikeman headed toward a sewer grate. Harry scrambled after him. This time he managed to dive quickly enough to get his hand around the little man, though he guessed he'd scraped his knees in the process.
"Where'd you come from?"
Harry looked up, startled, so see a small throng of children of varying ages staring down at him. The one who'd spoken, a tall, lanky boy with a freckled face and chestnut hair, held a yellow rubber ball in his hands.
Harry shoved the pikeman hastily in his pocket, hoping that none of them had seen it. "I was just standing right over there."
"No you weren't," the boy protested, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
Right. The Cloaking Charm. Harry had forgotten.
"I was… hiding."
"Why were you hiding?" the young girl next to him demanded. She wore her blond hair in pigtails and had folded her arms tightly over his chest.
"Didn't want to be seen," Harry mumbled to his feet. He could feel the pikeman squirming around in his pocket, trying to free himself.
"He's a creep, just like that snake man," a younger boy conjectured, his eyes suspicious.
"I was just nervous," Harry lied. "I—I have to go—"
"Unhand me!" the pikeman cried shrilly from his pocket.
"What was that?" the tall boy demanded.
"A toy," Harry hedged, shoving the soldier back down and holding his pocket closed.
"Let us see."
Harry crushed his hand harder against his pocket. "You can't. He's... uh, it's broken—"
The tall boy exchanged a knowing glance with the pigtail girl. "You're going to let us see," the tall boy said slowly, his words menacing.
Harry knew that tone from Dudley and his cretin friends. The "or else" was strongly implied, and Harry didn't want to find out how good these children were at beating him and tormenting him.
He thought about darting back to the front lawn, wondering if they'd be able to follow. But if they saw his miniature castle and all the enchanted little men, he was sure that he would be in terrible trouble. He'd already broken one of Snape's rules.
Luckily, the pikeman acted before Harry had to make the choice. He somehow managed to wriggle through Harry's hand and slid down Harry's jeans, landing hard on the pavement. He was about to tear off again, but the tall boy reacted faster, stooping down and scooping the disheveled little man up.
"He's—"
The tall boy grinned. "You know about her, too?"
Harry was very confused suddenly. "Her?" he stammered, not understanding.
"The nice woman. The witch in the woods." The tall boy held the pikeman up by his collar. The pathetic little man kicked and struggled, eventually dropping his toothpick-sized pike to the ground. "You know, the one who makes magic toys. We thought we were the only ones who knew about her."
Harry felt even more confused now. "Uh… no. I'm not even supposed to leave the yard, actually—"
The boy's brow knitted together in confusion. "Then how did you get this?" He shook the pikeman a little.
"Found it," Harry lied quickly.
But that seemed to be good enough for the boy and the rest of the children. His brow smoothed. "Oh. She probably made it too. Though this is really neat. So far the coolest thing any of us has gotten was this necklace she made for Haley. Haley, show him."
The girl with the pigtails smiled brightly and touched the crystal pendant suspended at her neck. As soon as she touched it, it began to glow, and her hair turned a shocking shade of pink. Her excited eyes met Harry's, and she touched it again, turning her hair back to normal.
"Wow," Harry mumbled. He started to wonder if maybe Snape was mistaken, if there were more people in the neighborhood like them. There was at least one, he realized, whoever this mysterious witch in the woods was.
"We can't tell our parents though," the boy informed Harry solemnly. "If we do, she promised that her gifts would turn bad. We have to keep them hidden and be really careful about who we show them to." The boy glanced over his shoulder quickly, as if someone might be lurking there. "Some of the kids around here have big mouths. They'd ruin everything."
"Well, I won't say a word," Harry promised solemnly. "Honest."
The tall boy grinned. "Good. You're all right." He offered the pikeman back to Harry, who hastily shoved him back into his pocket and crammed his fist in there, to make sure he wouldn't escape again.
The tall boy extended a hand to Harry. "I'm Peter."
Harry shook it, feeling a little thrill run through him. This had to be the first time in his life that Dudley wasn't there to stop him from making any friends. This might actually work out for him. "Harry."
The tall boy pointed out the rest of the children. "You know Haley." He gestured to the little suspicious boy. "Marcus." "Jenny, Andrew. Freda."
Harry waved to each of them in turn, feeling a little shy. "It's really nice to meet you all. But I'm not supposed to be out in the street. I'll be in trouble—"
"You live with the snake man?" Marcus demanded, his little blue eyes flashing suspiciously again.
"Snape," Harry corrected him. "And yeah, I do."
"He's not watching you now, though?" Peter asked, his eyes flickering back to Snape's house.
"Er… no, I don't think so. He's busy."
Peter grinned. "Well, we were just going to go see the witch. She promised us that if we keep coming back, we can get new presents. You want to come?"
Harry hesitated. He figured he was already in enough trouble if Snape found out about this—which, Harry figured, the man would. He didn't seem like the kind of man to let much slip past him. "I would, but—"
"It's not far," Peter promised. "If you've got thirty minutes or so, we can go and come back without him ever knowing. Maybe you can get a friend for your little soldier."
Harry glanced nervously back at Snape's house. There was no sign of movement from within. And he figured it couldn't be that late in the day, maybe ten or eleven. Snape had said he'd be busy until lunch at least. And Harry couldn't deny that he was extremely curious about what a witch was doing living in the woods near here, especially without Snape knowing.
It would just be a short trip, he reasoned. He'd be back before Snape even realized he was gone. All the other children had already been to see her, and they were fine. So the witch couldn't be that dangerous. And, Harry thought, he'd met loads of witches and wizards now, almost all of them nice—especially Mr. Fortescue.
What was the worst that could happen?
Chapter 5