Severus carefully decanted the contents of a copper cauldron into the glass phials lined up on his kitchen table and sighed wearily. He had occupied himself by brewing a variety of standard healing potions since early afternoon and it was now just gone three o’clock in the morning. It was a necessary use of his time. Travelling to Sweden with Potter was going to be a trial. Merlin knew, the boy was accident prone even when inhabiting his normal teenaged body. It was no great leap to assume that a series of scraped knees, head injuries and various other childhood mishaps awaited Potter now that he had to grow accustomed to his smaller de-aged stature.
Severus stoppered the potions phials with an expert hand and swiftly deposited them into the wizard space that he had earlier created in the smaller of the two suitcases. His shoulders stiffened in irritation as he recalled the conversation with Dumbledore from earlier that day about this very overnight case. The Headmaster had ‘just popped in for a visit’ just after Severus had returned home from a most unwelcome visit to that hodgepodge of a dwelling that the Weasleys called ‘The Burrow’.
Prior to Dumbledore’s arrival, Potter was already in a panic about the fact that Severus had arrived in the kitchen of Spinner’s End with two suitcases. In fact, the obnoxious child had grabbed the smaller of the two cases and had trailed after him into the sitting room, demanding to know what it was for. The boy’s state of mind had not been improved by Dumbledore’s enthusiastic greeting as the elderly wizard had exited the Floo.
“Ah! Severus, Harry,” Dumbledore had eyed the luggage that Potter was clutching. “Already packed for your little holiday together?”
Needless to say, the conversation had degenerated somewhat from that point forward.
Despite not being known for his tact or forbearance, Severus had been hoping to ease Potter into the idea that he was to spend the remainder of the Christmas break in the company of his reviled Potions Master. The last thing Severus wanted, or needed, was another paroxysm of rage like the one the boy had demonstrated that very morning.
He had to admit now that perhaps he not behaved like the adult in the situation when he had lost his own tenuous grip on his patience at that point.
What had followed was a very lengthy and circuitous explanation by the Headmaster that had informed Potter of very little as to why he was now de-aged and set to travel to Sweden upon the morrow. Dumbledore had instead concocted some ridiculously convoluted story that involved the absolute necessity of Potter acting for the duration as Serverus’s long-lost son. The worst of it all, apart from having to treat the loathsome Potter boy as if he were his own child, was that Severus was required, as part of the duplicity, to lie to his family. This did not sit well with him.
Shaking his head in resignation as his thoughts returned to the present, Severus zippered the case and set it near the door in readiness for their departure in the morning. He slipped quietly through the sitting room and began his weary ascent of the stairs to his bedroom, carefully avoiding the riser that always squeaked and groaned the moment any weight was placed upon it. If he fell asleep immediately, Severus thought to himself, he would have three hours of rest.
The entire time, Severus remained very careful to not even so much as glance at the settee and its diminutive sleeping occupant. Any interaction with the boy could most decidedly wait until morning.
***
Five-year-old boys do not have very long legs. They are also somewhat short on stamina. And patience. Greasy git, double-agent Potions Masters who are travelling incognito have an incredibly lengthy gait. They have inexhaustible supplies of energy for stalking angrily through queuing crowds of Muggles. Interestingly, they, too, appear to be somewhat short on patience. Harry had quickly discovered these things about his recently transformed body and his new pseudo-guardian upon their arrival at the international terminal of the Birmingham Airport.
The past 24 hours had been an overwhelming combination of emotions for both Severus Snape and Harry Potter. Following Dumbledore's revelation about Harry’s transformation into the 5-year-old alter ego of Henrik Marcus Snape, son of Severus Tobias Snape and Yasmin Helena Jansen (Muggle-born, deceased), Harry was informed by a twinkle-eyed Headmaster and a darkly-glowering Potions Professor that he would be spending Christmas at a property near Stockholm, belonging to Snape’s Aunt. Neither Harry, nor Snape, was impressed with this change of plans for the holiday. To add insult to injury, it was decided (by Professor Dumbledore, of course), that in order to avoid the potential tracking of Harry’s magical signature by the equally sinister forces of either Lord Voldemort or Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, the duo would need to travel to their destination using Muggle methods.
And so it was that Harry found himself toting a small suitcase and trotting hurriedly after the incongruously unexceptional figure of Severus Snape. The professor was dressed casually in a pair of charcoal woollen trousers, pale grey crew-neck sweater and black woollen pea coat (the same one that he had worn when ‘rescuing’ Harry from Kings Cross) whilst clutching the handle of a wheeled black suitcase in his white-knuckled grip. Snape looked quintessentially Muggle and was seemingly quite at home in their surroundings. Harry did not feel quite so comfortable. To begin with, he had never actually been to an airport before, having never earned the privilege of travelling anywhere with the Dursleys when they departed on any sort of holiday – whether that be a day trip or an overseas vacation. Instead, he had always been deposited at Mrs. Figg’s for the duration, forced to sit on her overstuffed chintz sofa eating suspiciously soft and tasteless Garibaldi biscuits of indeterminate age whilst flipping through photo albums chronicling the lives of her exceedingly dull cats. The bustle and noise of the airport therefore felt at once exciting and surprisingly intimidating.
The second reason for Harry’s discomfort in his present surroundings was due to the fact that he and Snape had already been embroiled that morning in a spectacular argument about the clothing that had been arranged for Harry to wear over the course of the holiday. Admittedly, his professor had not been responsible for the acquisition of said clothing, however, that did not change the fact that Harry was dismayed by the childish winter wear that currently lay folded away in his suitcase.
Given Harry’s new pintsize stature and therefore entirely unsuitable current wardrobe, Dumbledore had appealed to Molly Weasley for a collection of children’s outfits suitable for a cold climate and she had very obligingly delivered. Harry liked to think that she might have made more thoughtful selections if she had known who the wearer of the clothing would be. As it was, Harry’s disguise was top secret – not even the Order knew of recent events.
With his free hand, Harry tugged self-consciously at the bottom of his coat. Much of the outerwear Mrs Weasley had supplied was handmade knitwear in the typical ‘Weasley Jumper’ style. Consequently, Harry was presently garbed in a pair of tan corduroy trousers topped by an outlandish orange and green knitted turtleneck that sported a dancing snowman motif across the chest. Upon his (nearly bald) head sat a black-and-white striped bobble hat topped with a puffy lime-green pom-pom. Tied to the tabs on the sleeves of his pale-green waterproof parka jacket were matching black-and-white striped mittens.
Harry looked, in his opinion, an absolute prat. Snape told him that he would be thankful for the warm clothing when they arrived in Sweden. Harry didn’t think he would ever be grateful to be wearing an outfit such as this. Perhaps his prophesied ‘power to vanquish the Dark Lord’ would be to turn up dressed as he was and to hope that Lord Voldemort would take one look at Harry and die laughing.
Lost in these resentful thoughts, he failed to notice that Snape had come to a sudden stop ahead of him and Harry found his forward momentum immediately halted when he crashed heavily into the back of the man’s long legs. A strong hand grabbing hold of the front lapel of his parka was the only thing stopping Harry from collapsing in a heap on the tiled floor in front of the check-in counter.
“Do be careful to watch where you are going, Henrik,” a deceptively silky voice warned.
Nodding absent-mindedly in reply, Harry looked up at the smiling face of the blonde-haired desk attendant.
“Sorry, erm...Pappa.”
Harry ducked his head in embarrassment and smiled shyly at the blonde woman, giving Snape a sidelong glance and dropping the smaller overnight case with a soft thud.
“Just you and your son travelling today, Sir?” the attendant winked at Harry and turned her attention to Snape, her smile faltering momentarily at the stern countenance before her.
“Obviously,” Snape drawled as he glared down his nose at the small boy who had moved to stand beside him. He placed his long-fingered hand atop Harry’s bobble hat. The grasp was not gentle, and Harry shrank slightly under its weight. Maintaining his firm grip with one hand, the professor removed a bundle of documents from his coat pocket with the other and slid them across the counter to the cheerful woman. Moments later, divested of their luggage, apart from the overnight bag, the pair moved away from the counter, Snape with their plane tickets in hand. This procedure was then followed by a seemingly endless series of queues as they worked their way through security checks and customs and Harry found his initial childlike excitement about travelling in an aeroplane had long since deserted him.
Dumbledore had explained to Harry in a meeting the previous day about the change of plans for the holidays that the elixir that he had been dosed with was quite different to other potions that affect the physiology of a wizard. Unlike Polyjuice Potion, Aetate Mutatio did not require additional doses to maintain its transformative effect. Harry would therefore remain in his current state until he consumed the antidote. Although the potion would principally alter his physical appearance, both Snape and the Headmaster had warned Harry that he would likely experience some associated side-effects. Most significantly, whilst his cognitive capacity would remain unaffected, his emotional behaviour, sleep requirements and physical co-ordination would exhibit some changes that were likely to become more pronounced the longer he remained under the effects of the potion.
Harry had already experienced these symptoms to some degree, even though he had only been administered the potion two days ago. He found himself tiring easily, becoming quick to anger and experiencing wild mood swings that he knew were out of character for him, no matter how much Snape seemed to feel that the ‘Chosen One’ always behaved like a person with dissociative personality disorder (the man’s very words during their argument that morning).
When Harry had discovered that the trip to Sweden would involve flying in a Muggle plane, he had been filled with a secret thrill that he would finally get to experience air travel and he had barely been able to contain his shivers of excitement when the taxi had dropped them at the airport. That was at least two hours ago and now both Harry and Snape were feeling cranky and out-of-sorts at the rigmarole that Muggles had to go through simply to travel from A to B.
Following his Potions professor into a small coffee shop in the terminal, Harry found himself rubbing wearily at his eyes. He had promised himself that he would do his best to view this trip as an adventure and was determined to play the role of Snape’s son to the best of his ability, despite the antipathy between himself and the stern man. His hope was that Dumbledore would be so impressed with Harry’s skill under pressure that he would finally induct him as a full member of the Order of the Phoenix. He figured that information would no longer be withheld from him once he became an Order member.
Snape now guided Harry firmly to a booth against the wall and pushed him into the seat, moving off to the counter to purchase their meals. Surreptitiously waving his wand and casting a Silencing Charm, Snape returned to the table with a plastic container of sandwiches, a small bottle of juice and a steaming paper cup of hot tea. Harry stared with envy at Snape’s tea as he sullenly fidgeted with the orange plastic lid of his juice.
“I hope you realise what a difficult position this places me in.”
“Sir?”
“This,” Snape waved his arm in an all-encompassing gesture that included Harry, the coffee shop and other unidentified issues about which Harry was certain Snape would soon see fit to enlighten him.
“You. My family. Dumbledore. My life has suddenly become infinitely more complicated than it was just two days ago and yet again, you, Potter, seem to be at the centre of the problem.”
Harry scowled and looked down at his lap. He knew that once his professor started into one of these rants there was very little to do but wait it out. After all, it wasn’t like Harry had the power to change any of their current circumstances. He was just as much at Dumbledore’s mercy as Snape. In fact, things were even more dire for Harry because he was now trapped in the body of a child and utterly helpless to act independently of an adult in either the wizarding or Muggle worlds. He had no choice but to traipse after Snape like a little lost boy. He no longer had possession of his wand (Snape had it) and, worst of all, in this younger physical form, he no longer had the capacity to perform directed, intentional magic. Harry felt exceptionally vulnerable, not to mention frustrated by the fact that nobody wanted to explain to him why it was that the Dursleys had abandoned him at King’s Cross in the first instance.
“I am sure you regard all of this as another great adventure for the Boy-Who-Lived,” Snape continued bitterly. “Chasing after Basilisks, battling dragons and rescuing escaped convicts from the Dementor’s Kiss is not enough of a challenge for you anymore, is it, Potter? Now you have to attempt to destroy my peace of mind.”
Freezing at the indirect mention of his early interactions with Sirius, Harry could only continue to stare at his own hands clenching under the table. If Sirius had still been alive, Harry was certain that he would be enjoying his Christmas holiday at Number 12 Grimmauld Place right now, instead of sitting in a depressingly sterile airport café, listening to Severus Snape complain bitterly about Harry’s failings…both real and imagined.
“Let me fill you in on how things are going to be from this point forward,” with an ugly sneer, Snape leaned forward and aggressively tapped the table in front of Harry with his index finger. Harry looked up abruptly from his perusal of his own clasped fingers to stare sulkily at the man. “You will not speak unless spoken to. You will follow my directions without question. You will not go anywhere or do anything without my express permission. You will not deviate from the story that the Headmaster prepared for you yesterday…that is, assuming you have bothered to commit the details to memory.”
“I have!” Harry suddenly interrupted, hating the small and petulant tone of his own voice.
“Very well, repeat it to me now.”
“My name is Henrik Marcus Snape. My mother, Jasmin – er, I mean, Yasmin,” Harry gulped at Snape’s steely-eyed glare. “Yasmin Helena Jansen, usually just called me Henry. I’m five, nearly six years old. My mum died just recently of respiratory failure after a short illness. I never knew anything about my father; Mum told me that he had left her before I was born.”
At Snape’s raised eyebrow and impatient expression, Harry gathered that the man expected to hear the full version of the concocted personal history of his alter ego. He sighed and then hurriedly continued when Snape leaned towards him menacingly.
“We lived in a flat in London and I did not know anything about the magical world until after her death, when my father – that’s you - came to find me. In her will, she named you as my guardian should anything happen to her. The will was charmed by her so that when she died, you were immediately informed of my existence. You had ended your relationship with her when she was only three months pregnant with me. She had kept her pregnancy a secret from you and you didn’t know that you had a child with her. You have agreed to look after me until a more suitable guardian can be found.”
“Hmm. While the facts are essentially correct, you will need to simplify your language, should anyone question you directly about this. Remember, you are a mere child. In this, it should not be a challenge for you to behave and communicate in a more infantile manner," Snape smirked at his own insulting turn of phrase. "Now, eat,” he pushed the container of sandwiches impatiently towards Harry and sipped from his cup of tea.
Harry looked up at Snape from beneath his lowered brows, fighting to keep a hold on his temper. He wanted to take this opportunity to get some things of his own sorted. The discussion with Professor Dumbledore yesterday had, as usual, failed to provide Harry with all of the necessary information he needed. Ignoring Snape’s directive to eat, Harry took a deep breath and continued the conversation. “What is going to happen to me? I mean, after we get back from Sweden.”
“You will be returned to your previous big-headed, idiotic teenage self and I shall, thankfully, be rid of you,” came the sharp rejoinder.
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Then by all means enlighten me, Potter, as I am not sure I can follow the meandering stumble that passes for your thought process.”
Taking a calming breath, Harry looked away for a moment, before facing the expressionless mask that was Snape’s face. “I mean, Professor Dumbledore said that I couldn’t stay at the Dursley's anymore. He said it isn’t safe for me. So, I just wondered, well…That is, I would like to know…” he suddenly found himself unable to continue as an uncomfortable lump in the back of his throat forced him to swallow.
Harry shook his head in frustration and disbelief that he felt anything at all about losing the Dursleys as family. He knew there was more to the story than the Headmaster had revealed; he could see it in the vaguely dissatisfied expression that Dumbledore had worn yesterday as he had skirted around the edges of his explanation. The fact was, Harry was now alone in the world as far as family was concerned. Petunia Dursley had been his last tenuous link with his mother and now that relationship was severed, for reasons yet to be fully explained. He knew that he shouldn’t care – it wasn’t as if the Dursleys had ever treated him as anything other than an inconvenience at best and a terrible burden at the worst of times.
Telling himself that this sudden swell of emotion was more to do with the side-effects of the Aetate Mutatio potion than any deeper hidden feeling for his aunt, Harry glanced up at Snape and was surprised to see an unidentifiable shift of something in the man’s black gaze. As quickly as it had appeared, however, it was gone, and Snape was once again wearing his customary blank face.
“The Headmaster will make some alternative arrangements for your…care,” the sallow-faced man stated slowly. “In the interim, I, regretfully, am responsible for ensuring that you do not meet an untimely end, either at the hand of the Dark Lord or through your own carelessness and incompetence.”
Although the words were the usual vitriol, there was no real malice in Snape’s tone. Harry had a moment to wonder at that before jumping as the flat of a long-fingered hand smacked the table in front of him.
“Eat,” Snape snapped, looking pointedly at the untouched sandwiches that still sat before him.
Harry ate.
Chapter 4