A dull throbbing in the very back of his skull was the first sensation to hit Severus upon his return to consciousness. The second was the painful grasp of a hand on his shoulder, shaking him roughly. He opened his eyes and immediately closed them again as light swept through his senses like a spear to the head. The hand continued its brutal assault, now accompanied by a desperate-sounding voice.
“-erus! Please, you must wake up!”
Severus groaned and moved his head away from the offending voice. He lifted a heavy arm and tried to clumsily bat away the cruel hand that clutched at his shoulder and found, to his dismay, that a second hand had grabbed his flailing limb, effectively pinning him in place. He had no choice but to open his eyes, so that he might give his assailant the full weight of his stare. Slowly, he peeled one weighty lid back and allowed his pupil time to adjust to the invasive light. A face resolved into being before him. Blue eyes, surrounded by folds of crinkled and crepey skin. A white beard. Half-moon glasses. Albus Dumbledore.
With a jolt, Severus remembered where he was and what had happened to him. Legilimency was responsible for his painful head. But why was Albus rousing him so roughly? Had something gone wrong? He lurched upright, giving the Headmaster a tremendous start, as he clutched a hand to his traitorous head. He felt a terrible throb in his skull at the sudden movement.
“What did you find, Albus?” he rasped, surprised to find his voice so croaky and his throat so wretchedly sore. "Was there any evidence of mind magic?"
“Never mind that now, Severus!” Dumbledore spoke in a low tone. “Please, it’s Harry-“
“Harry?” Severus swept his gaze around the confines of the living room, and, seeing no sign of the boy, stood on legs that barely wanted to support him as he headed clumsily for the staircase. “What has happened?”
“Stop, Severus, please!” Dumbledore grasped at his arm. “That’s just it – I don’t know what happened. I suppose I must have dozed off, it was very late. But it could only have been a matter of minutes. When I opened my eyes…Harry was gone.”
“Gone?” A terrible dread oozed its way through his solar plexus and down into his gut. Not now. This cannot happen now.
The older man gestured to the settee with a shaking hand. “He was right there. Sitting beside me right there on that cushion. And then he wasn’t – Severus, the place where he had been was still warm. I thought perhaps he had sneaked away upstairs, but there is no sign of the boy. Harry – he is gone.”
Severus muttered a soft curse and called Kora.
***
Harry was not unaware, as he followed the skinny black-haired boy back to the Gatehouse Cottage, that this was probably the longest amount of time that he had managed to remain in the past. He felt both trepidation and excitement at the idea of meeting Severus Snape’s mother. To be honest, the idea that Snape even had a mother seemed entirely unlikely. He and the other boys in the Gryffindor dormitory had occasionally joked with one another that Professor Snape had one day simply materialised in the Hogwarts dungeons and had haunted the place ever since; rather like the ghoul in Ron’s attic at the Burrow. That scenario felt much more likely than the idea that Snape had been born and raised by actual people.
This younger version of Severus Snape seemed to have little in common with his adult counterpart and, yet, he was undeniably Snape. He moved like Snape, spoke like Snape and right at that moment held the same superior attitude as Snape as he marched determinedly through the gardens with Harry in tow. The boy in question suddenly halted as they reached the cottage and he turned to Harry, a worried look upon his face.
“We will have to be quiet when we go back inside. Hopefully Mum isn’t up yet,” he paused and scratched at his arm absentmindedly as he gave Harry a frankly curious look. “Where’s your mum, Henrik? I mean, you are awfully young to be running around on your own – especially since it’s so early and all.”
Harry nearly fell flat on his face, so shocked was he by the question that Severus had just broached. What could he say? The truth seemed so…brutal. He had no parents. He was alone in the world and nobody particularly cared that he was here right now with no adult supervision.
But was that the truth? Deep in his heart, Harry knew that there was one person who did care. Snape would be apoplectic to discover that his charge had once again managed to slip away from him, wandering aimlessly in a time where – when? - he did not belong. Did he offer Severus the bald truth? Or was it better to completely adopt the persona of Henrik while he was visiting the past? After all, unlike Harry, Henrik was not alone. He had a parent, a father, who cared for his wellbeing, and a great-aunt who dearly wanted him to become a permanent part of the family.
“Well,” Harry offered hesitantly. “My mum died.”
It was true, even if the finer details required a little more massaging.
“Oh,” Severus offered, uncomfortable with this new information. “That must be horrible.”
“Yeah. It is. I really miss her,” Harry cleared his throat, aware that he was moments away from real tears. At this age, somehow, the loss of his parents could be felt all the more keenly.
“So, it’s just you and your dad, then?”
What could he say? For Henrik, this was the truth. For Harry, it was as big a lie as he could manage to tell himself, but he clung to the idea of it all the same.
“Yes,” he said softly. “Just me and my dad.”
Severus knit his brow and gave Harry a look of deep concern. “Is he alright then, your dad?”
“Alright?”
“Yeah, is he, you know…nice to you?”
A sudden realisation struck Harry that Severus was asking him this question because he was genuinely worried for Henrik, being left alone in the world with only a father to care for him. It made him wonder what Severus’ father might be like.
“My dad is-” he replied slowly, pausing for a moment before continuing with firm conviction. “He is strong, and smart, and brave and a really talented wizard. He looks after me and cares about me and he’s probably worried about where I am right now-“
Severus offered a hesitant smile and nodded. “Okay, Henrik. I believe you.”
Harry stalled and blushed a little. He had not intended to ramble on like that. The fact remained, however, that if Snape returned to consciousness only to discover Harry was missing, he would be worried about him. The thought made him feel warm inside. There were few occasions that Harry could think of when someone had actually felt troubled over his personal wellbeing. That was one of the surprising and unexpected parts of living with Severus Snape. The man, despite his snark, seemed to truly care.
Harry was still wrapped up in his introspection when he felt a slightly larger and warmer hand on his forearm. Severus stood quietly beside him, gently wrapping his fingers around Harry’s wrist and still smiling.
“I don’t like my dad much,” the boy spoke quietly. “But I really would like you to meet Mum.”
Harry looked into the boy’s bright dark eyes and drank in the unfamiliar smile and offered one of his own.
“I’d really like that.”
***
“It’s been almost an hour now, Severus,” Albus scrubbed at his tired eyes and sank helplessly back into one of the hard-backed dining chairs.
“I am aware, Headmaster,” Severus snapped. He winced as soon as the words left his lips. Dumbledore, in response, wore the look of a man who knew he had done wrong, and was now answering to the consequences of his actions. “Kora has confirmed that he is not to be located anywhere on the property.”
“So, we simply sit here and wait?”
“He will return,” Severus assured his employer, attempting to ignore the gnawing fear that chewed at his own stomach. “This is not the first time that the child has mysteriously disappeared. I told you of this the very first time it occurred. Did you not feel my concerns were justified at the time?”
The Headmaster sighed and shook his head. “No, I knew that there was something strange at play. I had merely hoped that…” Trailing off, the elderly wizard gave Severus a piercing look.
“You have grown to care for the boy.”
Severus snorted and turned away. “He is more trouble than he is worth. I have scarcely had a moment’s rest since we arrived.”
The tall wizard slowly lowered his lanky frame into the chair facing Albus. He kept his gaze averted and scratched absent-mindedly at a knot in the timber of the scrubbed pine table.
“Harry is not – what I expected,” Severus ventured, still avoiding those vivid blue eyes that saw too much. “He is deeply unhappy, Albus.”
“Yes,” the Headmaster nodded sadly. “Harry has had a difficult time of it. Far more so than I could ever have anticipated. And his trials are not yet at an end.”
“He is just a boy.”
“Yes.”
A lingering silence hung between them.
“’Yes'? That is all you have to say?” Severus fixed Dumbledore with an angry stare. “What would you have him do, Albus? Continue on as he has been? Commit some more foolish acts of bravery and heroism, and risk his life for the good of the Wizarding world, with no thought for his own needs? Already the boy’s actions have indirectly led to the death of one Order member, not to mention injuries to his closest friends and allies. I fear that he will disappoint you. Harry is, after all, just a child.”
“Harry is not just a child, Severus. Yes, he is a boy. But he has been marked by a powerful wizard as an adversary. And Harry has taken up that mantle. In every way, he is growing to be the hero that it is prophesied he will become.”
Severus snorted. He had spent the past several years looking out for the boy and the past several days learning exactly who Harry Potter was.
The boy he had grown to know was no hero. He was a child, worn down by the circumstances of his life and desperate for attention, love and affection. He recognised all those things in Harry because he knew them in himself.
***
Of course, it stood to reason that when Severus opened the door, his mother would, indeed, be awake, as some time had passed since he had first discovered Harry standing in the living room of Gatehouse Cottage. It also followed that she was incredibly angry at her son for disobeying her explicit instructions about never leaving the house without her permission.
Eileen Snape was a thin and sour-looking woman. Harry could see many similarities between her and her adult son. The way she folded her arms to project her displeasure was slightly softened by the fact that she was wearing a faded lilac housecoat rather than a set of flowing black robes, but otherwise her bearing resembled the Potions Master in every way.
She had been sitting at the dining table when Severus and Harry had entered the room. In her bony hands, she had clutched a mug of tea. The air of the room was heavy with the cloying smell of some astringent herb and Harry assumed that whatever she was drinking was responsible for the strong odour. The moment Severus had seen her, he had stopped dead in his tracks and hung his head, scowling and looking every bit a recalcitrant child caught in the act.
Harry had felt an unbearable urge to laugh at his companion, but he had bitten down on his bottom lip upon seeing the expression on Mrs Snape’s sharp face. Her skin was pale, her colouring even fairer than her son’s, but the pallor of her cheeks was interrupted by the flush of two bright red spots on her high cheekbones. Harry watched with fascination as the blush continued to spread down her cheeks towards her narrow lips. She was enraged. And perhaps, Harry thought, looking at the set of her furrowed brow, a little frightened.
Shaking his head now, he returned his attention to the lecture that the woman was delivering to her son. She had still not acknowledged Harry’s presence, and he stared at both Severus and the boy’s mother openly, wondering how long she would continue to rant and rave before running out of steam.
“Have you anything at all to say for yourself?” she sneered at her son. “Any reason at all to give for why you would leave the cottage while I was still fast asleep upstairs, incorrectly under the assumption that my son was safely tucked up in his own bed?”
“Well…” Severus slowly lifted his head and glanced at Harry. He paused, seemingly waiting for his mother to shift her attention towards Harry.
“Well?” she frowned deeply and shifted impatiently towards Severus. “Is that all you have to say? Perhaps some alone time in your room will help you to think about it, hmm?”
Severus swallowed and widened his eyes as he looked between his mother and his new friend. Harry’s dawning comprehension caused his eyes to widen also. Clearly, Snape had already realised what Harry was just coming to terms with himself: Eileen Snape couldn’t see him! To test the theory, Harry stepped forward and held out a small hand, as if to introduce himself. The angry woman continued to ignore him and drilled into Severus with her furious black-eyed glare. Harry took a deep breath to settle himself before opening his mouth to speak. He was beaten to the chase by Severus, who was looking bemusedly at his mother.
“You can’t-“
“Do not presume to tell me what I can and cannot do, Severus! I am your mother. What I say goes, and you would do well to remember that!” With that, Mrs Snape grasped Severus firmly by his upper arm and frog-marched him to the staircase, which was painted a glorious post box red, just as it was in Harry’s timeframe. It looked perhaps even more red than Harry recalled. Almost as red as Snape’s mum’s face, he reflected with a snort.
Severus turned towards Harry with a deep scowl on his face.
“Don’t laugh at me!” he shouted.
“Laugh at you? Oh, I can assure you, Severus, I see no humour in this situation!” Eileen Snape’s nostrils flared as she attempted to pull her son closer to her side.
Severus gave Harry one last narrow-eyed glare and looked up at his mother, who was still clutching at his arm, and nodded. “Sorry, Mum.”
He jerked his head a little towards the staircase and Harry realised that Snape wanted him to slip up the stairs ahead of them. Presumably, Mrs Snape was going to lock the boy into his room. At least, Harry knew from his experiences from the Dursleys that generally that was what happened when one was sent to one’s room for any form of misdeed. He assumed that Severus wanted to continue their conversation and as much as Harry could apparently not be seen by anyone other than Severus Snape, it was also true that he could not walk through walls or locked doors. He would have to enter the room first and hope that he could remain undetected until such time as Snape was locked in.
Holding his breath, just in case Mrs Snape could hear him, even if she couldn’t see him (better safe than sorry), Harry dodged past the pair and softly crept up the stairs. Any noises he might have made during his ascent were drowned out by the heavy stomping of slippered feet as Severus was hauled unceremoniously up to the attic landing by his mother. Harry eased himself through the open door of Snape’s bedroom – which was also his bedroom in Harry’s own timeline – and swiftly headed to the window alcove, where he could be sure to avoid accidentally bumping into Eileen Snape.
He needn’t have concerned himself on that score, however, as the wiry woman pushed Severus into the room without a word and promptly slammed the door shut. Harry heard the familiar sound of a key turning in a lock and then listened to the retreating sound of Snape’s mother as she descended the stairs.
Harry looked around the room and noticed at once how much brighter and more open the small space felt in the summer. In his own timeline, the bedroom was warm, cosy and snug, washed for only a few hours a day with muted winter light. Now, the walls were painted with dappled sunlight. He would never have guessed how something as simple as the quality of the light could make a difference to how a room could feel. It was still a warm and homey place to be, but there was a cheerful ambience that was distinctly at odds with the current mood of his grim host.
“I wasn’t laughing at you when we were downstairs,” Harry felt the need to reassure Severus, given that the boy looked positively livid at his forced imprisonment in the bedroom with Harry. “I was just laughing at your mum.” He immediately realised the error of his wording, but it was too late.
“In exactly what way is my mother amusing to you, Henrik?” the boy stepped slowly towards the alcove where Harry huddled, watching every contained movement that Severus made in his barely-suppressed fury.
“I – erm. No, I meant, well, her face went all red and she was standing near the steps and they were red too and I don’t know what I was thinking, I just-“ Harry babbled desperately and clutched at the window seat, wanting to appease the irate boy and feeling strangely like he had just been caught out of Gryffindor Tower by Snape after curfew, based on the raised eyebrow and the twisted smirk that the man’s younger counterpart now sported.
Severus gave a snort of his own and relaxed.
“Hm, Mum has a pretty quick temper. It’s okay, though. She’ll calm down soon enough and then she’ll let us out,” he bit his lip.
“I think she gets too angry sometimes and that’s why she locks me in my room. So that she can calm down. She doesn’t want to be like my d-“
Harry waited for Severus to continue, but the boy turned away from him with a resigned expression. He wandered over to the desk and perched on the edge of the straight-backed chair, studiously avoiding eye-contact with Harry.
“Anyway, Henrik,” he said pensively. “I guess you are a product of my imagination, after all.”
“What?” Harry stared incredulously, feeling a little bit of his own anger start to build deep in his gut.
“Well, I am the only one who can see you. I think I must have just-“ Severus twirled his finger in a circular gesture at his temple in the universal sign for ‘crazy’. “-dreamed you up.”
“I am as real as you are!” Harry protested. “Look, I don’t know why your mum can’t see me, but I am a real person.”
He wrung his hands in frustration and walked hesitantly towards Severus. He knew that the time had come for him to reveal to the boy that he was from the future and that he knew Severus as an adult. The thought of sharing that information filled Harry with a deep sense of foreboding, but at this stage there were few other options.
“I don’t know,” Severus looked at him doubtfully. “You do seem real to me. But I just can’t understand why Mum couldn’t see you if you are actually here. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“I’m not from here,“ Harry stepped forward again, determined to convince his friend once and for all that he was not a product of his imagination.
He gave a strangled little chuckle. “Well, actually, I am from here - exactly from here - because, you see, this is my bedroom, too. At the moment, I am living at Gatehouse Cottage.”
“What do you mean, you are living here? How can this be your bedroom, too?” Severus was staring at him as if he had just grown a second head.
Harry opened his mouth and felt that terrible twist of his very being that meant his time with Severus was over. His entire body tingled and hummed with nerve endings set on fire. Desperately, he tried to hold on long enough to talk to his friend, to explain what was happening. Blearily, he was able to make out the faintest details of Severus, who was jumping from the chair and extending a hand to him. The scene looked like a projection, or an afterimage imprinted on his retinas following flash photography. He could feel a strange slippery effect on his skin that he had never noticed on any of the previous occasions when he had been returned to his own timeline. It was almost as if he was pressing against some kind of filmy barrier that rushed and slid against his skin like water. He tried to gain some sort of purchase against it, to press through and grab the hand that Severus held out to him, but it was futile. The last thing Harry knew was a garbled rushing of sound like static and the sensation of falling. It was too late.
***
A slight thump from the ceiling snapped Dumbledore from his thoughts and had Severus Snape jumping to his feet.
“He’s back,” he announced abruptly, not knowing how he knew that, but aware that it was fact all the same. The Headmaster stood also, his face creased in a determined frown.
Both men hurried up the stairs, Dumbledore only slightly behind Severus, who ignored his own shaking hand as he reached for the door latch.
The opening door revealed a small body, lying motionless in the middle of the room, face down with one arm outstretched as if reaching towards the desk in supplication. Severus hurried to Harry’s side and gently turned the child onto his back, pushing two fingers against the boy’s pale throat.
Dumbledore crouched down and felt for a pulse on the narrow wrist, moving his hand up to the child’s chest when he was unable to ascertain any sign of life. Severus desperately shifted his fingers, clearly feeling no reassuring thud of a pulse as he had the last time he had discovered Harry in a similar state. Harry’s skin was cool to the touch and slightly clammy. Leaning over the tiny form and placing his cheek close to the slightly open mouth, Severus allowed his gaze to travel down to rest on Harry’s upper torso, where Dumbledore’s gnarled hand lay, completely still.
“Severus,” Dumbledore said softly. “He’s not breathing.” The elderly wizard, who knelt on Harry’s other side, brushed his left hand over the soft bristles of the boy’s hair. He then used the same hand to gently but firmly push against his colleague’s shoulder, forcing Severus to sit up as the Headmaster pointed his wand at the unmoving chest and murmured a string of Latin under his breath.
Severus could feel his own heart thumping harshly against his breastbone, and heard his own panicked breathing; it was a crazed counterpoint to the immobile and silent boy who lay on the floor like a puppet with its strings cut. Dumbledore continued to chant, and a warm hum of magic gradually surrounded the three of them.
What felt like an eternity, but must only have been a matter of seconds later, the most wonderful sound broke through the stillness of the moment. Harry’s chest lifted and he took in a huge gasp of air in one involuntary movement. He filled his lungs and then exhaled. There was a pause and then Harry took another, slightly shallower breath, and another, and another.
Severus sagged with relief for an instant and pushed away the confusing emotions that pulled at his attention, focusing instead on his unconscious ward. He lifted the boy once again into his arms and for the briefest of moments, clutched the child more fiercely to his chest, as if reassuring himself that the living body he held was truly there. Harry lay completely limp in his hold, his head lolling, legs akimbo and one arm bonelessly dangling as Severus readjusted the weight of the child in his arms and carefully stood, never taking his eyes from Harry’s pallid face, watching to ensure that he continued to breathe.
“It’s okay, Harry,” he murmured in a deep voice. “You are alright. You are safe now. We are just going to make you more comfortable. Everything is okay.”
Severus could hear the shuffle of robes as Dumbledore moved from his kneeling position on the floor, but he ignored the man’s presence in the room as he lowered Harry onto the waiting bed. He gently pulled the patchwork quilt out from under the boy’s legs and laid it atop him, tucking it in so that he would stay warm. He knew that shock was a distinct danger after Harry’s close brush with death. The entire time he worked, Severus did not stop speaking to the boy, so it gave Dumbledore quite a start when he realised that the man was now speaking to him in that same soothing tone of voice.
“My potions kit,” Severus continued quietly. “Is in my bedroom downstairs, Albus. I require it and also a bowl and some flannels. Once you have brought me these items, you will return to Hogwarts – the wards here will allow you to apparate directly out of the grounds - and you will then escort Poppy Pomfrey back to Gatehouse Cottage.”
"It is only days away from Christmas, Severus. Poppy has most likely already departed Hogwarts to spend time with her family."
"Then find her and bring her here!" he hissed in reply.
“Severus-“ Dumbledore began.
“Don’t,” the Potions Master whispered sharply, jerking around to stare at the Headmaster, his face a mask of rage. “Do not argue with me. This has gone far enough. It is almost dawn now. You will bring Poppy here by the end of this day and she will tend to Harry. She has the Healing skill to determine if there has been any permanent damage caused. We will speak of all else after Harry’s needs have been attended to. Is that clear?”
“Of course, Severus,” Dumbledore’s voice seemed weighted down with both age and weariness. “Of course, you are right, my dear boy.”
The Headmaster turned to go, pausing at the door briefly to take in the sight of Severus Snape, seated on the edge of the single bed, one hand resting lightly on Harry’s chest and the other on the boy’s forehead.
“Potions kit,” Severus said again, not even glancing up from his perusal of Harry’s prone form.
Dumbledore nodded, and disappeared into the shadows of the attic landing.
Chapter 12