Severus picked up the screaming toddler off the bed and rushed him to the adjacent bathroom, where he turned on the shower head and sprayed down Harry’s chest and carefully splashing Harry’s face to try to remove as much of the potion residue as possible. Harry’s cries increased before the child suddenly blacked out, going limp in Severus’s arms.

Severus removed the contaminated shirt and summoned a towel to dry Harry off, being mindful of the superficial skin wounds on Harry’s face and chest. Unfortunately, the potion had managed to soak into Harry’s skin, and there was no telling what kind of consequences that would have for Harry. He would have to monitor Harry very closely over the next few days to make sure no further adverse reactions happened from this experience.

Summoning a burn salve and a fresh shirt, Severus shrunk the shirt and dressed Harry in it before applying a generous amount of the burn salve to Harry’s wounds, watching them fade away quickly.

“Potter,” Severus said softly, rubbing Harry’s sternum with a closed fist. “Wake up, Potter.”

Harry did not stir.

Severus picked up the child and carried him back to bed. There was nothing he could do now except give Harry time to recover from the traumatic experience. He felt Harry’s head, relieved to feel no warmth, then rested a couple fingers against his neck, feeling his strong pulse. Harry’s breathing was steady, and Severus felt better about not rushing him off to St. Mungo’s. He covered Harry with a blanket, and something fell at his feet.

It was the snake plush.

Severus picked up the toy, hesitated, then rested the snake plush in the crook of Harry’s arm before tucking the blanket around the small child. He dragged his desk chair over to the bed and transfigured it into a plush armchair. Sitting down, Severus sighed as he watched Harry’s chest rise and fall evenly. Stubborn, difficult, disobedient, impudent child, Severus couldn’t help but think even as he reached out to readjust the blanket once more before leaning back in his chair and dimming the lights in the room. He watched Harry for a few minutes before his own eyes betrayed him and he fell asleep.

A scream woke him an hour later and Severus was on his feet with his wand out.

“No, no, please!” Harry cried out, his eyes still shut. “Don’t lock me in my cupboard, I didn’t mean it!”

Harry turned back and forth in the bedsheets, sweat dripping down his forehead.

It took Severus a moment to realize there was no danger and that Harry was having a nightmare—no, a night terror by the looks of it. Severus put his wand away and leaned over the bed.

“Potter,” Severus said gently, but when Harry didn’t respond, he raised his voice. “Potter!”

“No, please, don’t,” Harry whimpered.

“Potter, wake up!” Severus grabbed Harry’s shoulder and pinned the boy back to the bed to stop his thrashing. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

“Don’t lock me in!” Harry cried out as his eyes shot open and darted around wildly, his breathing heavy.

Severus kept Harry pinned to the bed for a moment to make sure Harry was truly awake before he released him. He stared down at Harry for a moment, studying the lengthened hair on Harry’s forehead. There was a slight change in Harry’s nose as well as his ears, an obvious change even in the dark room. Severus frowned and stroked his chin in deep thought. While the potion was meant to be given orally only, the effects of the potion appeared to be working dermally as well, although very slowly. He wondered how long it would take for the effects to stop and at what point. Severus realized bright green eyes were staring up at him and he shook himself out of his analytical head and cleared his throat.

“Are you okay, Potter?”

Harry’s lower lip quivered as he shook his head.

“No? What is wrong then?” Severus swallowed before forcing the next words out of his mouth. “Did the nightmare scare you?”

Harry nodded and Severus resisted rolling his eyes, reminding himself that Harry was functioning on child instincts and emotions.

“Are you going to lock me in my cupboard?” Harry suddenly asked.

“Why on earth would I lock you in a—did you say your cupboard?”

Harry nodded his head, and Severus realized that Harry seemed fearful of him as the child held the blanket up close around his head and was squeezing the snake plush tightly against him. Severus frowned.

“Do you know where you are, Potter?”

Harry blinked a few times, then shook his head.

Severus leaned forward, pulling his wand out and flashing a bright light in Harry’s eyes, startling the child who pushed back in the pillow. Harry squinted at the light, but Severus noted that his eyes reacted normally. Severus then noted a warmth emitting off the child and he rested a hand on Harry’s head, feeling with his palm first then the back of his hand to be sure. Harry felt very warm, and his wand confirmed a fever of thirty-nine degrees Celsius.

“Am I sick?” Harry asked.

“In many ways, but I believe you are simply delirious right now. Most likely from your fever.”

“Am I going to die?”

“Unfortunately, no. You are, however, going to take this potion.” Severus summoned a small vial from his supply closet and held it out to Harry.

“Potion?” Harry frowned. “Like magic?”

“Yes.”

“Magic isn’t real. You’re trying to trick me. What is it really?”

“You are indeed delirious. Take the potion now, Potter. I don’t have time for games.”

“It’s not a game. Aunt Petunia says only freaks believe in magic.”

That statement whipped an old wound within Severus, and he slammed his hand forward into the headboard with a loud thud, startling Harry who let out a small shriek.

“Watch it, Potter. I don’t care how old your present mind is but you will not be an insolent brat in my house.”

Harry started crying softly, hiding his face in the snake plush.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be a freak! Don’t lock me in the cupboard.” Harry mumbled the last part in the most pleading manner.

Severus narrowed his eyes as he pulled back and stared down at the blubbering child, realizing he had misread what Harry had been trying to say. He felt a twinge of guilt in the pit of his stomach for upsetting the child, but he ignored it in favor of getting Harry back to sleep as quickly as possible, at least to silence him again so he didn’t have to confront awkward feelings.

“You are not a freak, Potter. I should not have snapped at you. This is . . . medicine that will help your fever.”

“Really?”

“Really. Enough tears, no need for you to choke on it. Take it quickly, then I have—err, some warm milk you can drink to wash it down.”

“You’re not tricking me to take the medicine, are you? I really get milk?”

“Yes, Potter. I will give you milk when you take the medicine.”

Harry brushed away the last of his tears and sat up in the bed, setting the snake down next to him. He reached a hand for the vial. Severus gave Harry the small dose and watched mildly impressed as Harry drank the whole thing down with nothing more than a slight grimace. True to his word, Severus summoned a glass of milk from his kitchen, then held it in his hand for a minute as he cast a steam charm on it, heating up the glass until the milk was slightly frothy. Severus traded the glass of milk for the vial, which Harry accepted with wide eyes.

Harry stared down at the glass of milk before slowly bringing up the milk to his lips and sipping it. As if he had never indulged in such a treat, Harry began to gulp the milk quickly. Severus made no comment as he watched Harry drink it down. Once he was finished with the milk, he yawned and handed the glass back to Severus.

“Thank you.”

Severus sent the glass flying back to the kitchen to be washed and set away.

“How did you. . .”

“No questions,” Severus said, holding up a hand to stop Harry from asking anything further. “It is time for you to fall back to sleep. You are sick and need to heal.”

“But—”

“No, Potter. Go back to sleep. You are clearly tired.”

“No, I’m not,” Harry said through a yawn.

“Indeed.”

“I just wanted to know . . . about . . .” Harry tried to fight back every yawn that escaped his lips.

“You’ll find out everything you need to know soon enough. Go to sleep.”

Finally, Harry rolled over and snuggled the snake plush, yawning one last time before falling into a deep sleep. Severus didn’t move as he contemplated everything that had transpired. He remembered Petunia from his childhood, and while he didn’t like her as a teenager, he had thought she of all people would have grown up and matured enough to treat Harry like the prince the boy acted like. Perhaps that was not the case after all. Freak. The word rang over and over in his head. And locking him in a cupboard? Had Petunia really stooped so low. He wouldn’t even inflict that kind of trauma on a child—deserving of it or not.

Severus barely got any sleep that night as his mind fought with images of himself locked in small tight places, and then Harry would wake him with his own terrors. This went on for the next few days. Harry remained in a delirious state as he fought with a fever that would rise and drop faster than the Whomping Willow lashing out at an intruder. Severus would spell food and water into Harry’s stomach and used an elimination charm to manage Harry’s toiletry needs while the child was too out of it. Twice Harry had wet the bed when Severus was too late with the elimination charm, but Severus managed to spell the sheets clean once more.

Every few hours, it seemed, Harry was awake in bed crying over something. Sometimes it was a nightmare, and Severus heard some awful things.

“I didn’t mean to steal food, I’m just really hungry!”

“I really tried finishing all the chores! Don’t lock me up, please!”

“I’m sorry I’m such a freak. I’m sorry!”

Every time, Severus would gently wake Harry from the nightmare, and the child would be just as confused about where he was and would stare up fearfully at Severus, who would then amaze the child with small uses of magic.

Yet, other times, Harry knew exactly where he was and he would cry out for other reasons, usually for pain relief from a super high fever or because he was actively vomiting. Harry was usually still quite out of it, but at least he was coherent.

“Snape!” Harry called out as he thrashed in his bed, kicking the blankets off. “Help!”

“I know, Potter,” Severus said wearily as he entered the bedroom. “Is it your head again? I have a fever reducer and a headache reliever for you.”

“My hand hurts, too.” Harry said, clenching his fists and squeezing his eyes shut. At this point, he had slowly grown to about the size of a five or six year old, and it had been a slow and painful process indeed.

“Your hand?” Severus asked. That was a new one.

“It really hurts.” Harry insisted.

Severus draped the cool cloth he had brought in over Harry’s forehead before picking up Harry’s hands and looking at them both. He huffed as he saw nothing obvious.

“Which hand, Potter? I cannot help you with phantom pains you might be feeling in your fevered state.”

“It hurts, it hurts,” Harry mumbled, clenching both hands again. “Make her stop, I don’t want to write anymore lines.”

Hmm, that’s an interesting request.

“Make who stop?”

“Umbridge. It’s cutting my hand. It hurts, it hurts.”

Harry thrashed in his bed once more before Severus carefully restrained Harry and poured the potions in Harry’s mouth. Almost routinely, Harry managed to be still long enough to swallow on his own. Harry seemed a little more comfortable, but he continued to whine as he settled back in the bed.

“I don’t want to write any more lines.”

“What lines is Umbridge having you write?”

“I . . . I must not tell lies.”

“Have you been telling lies, Potter?”

“No, I promise. It hurts. I don’t want to write with my blood anymore.”

“With your blood? What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Potter?”

“It’s cutting me.” Harry slowly faded back into a turmoiled dreamworld. “Make it stop.”

Severus agitatedly rubbed his hands down his face. What the hell was Harry talking about now. What was Umbridge doing to Harry and perhaps even the other students. Something was cutting him while he was writing lines. What an absurd thought. Severus stared down at the sleeping child for a moment before reaching out his hand and feeling Harry’s head. It was still warm but much cooler than it had been moments ago. Severus picked up Harry’s right hand and rubbed a thumb over the smooth skin. While the deaging potion had made Harry younger, old scars never left, not even the lightening bolt scar that remained so prominent on Harry’s forehead. However, he did notice that scars were faded and hard to discern at the moment. But he knew just the recipe for faded scars.

Rushing to his lab, Severus pulled out a few basic ingredients: string of turtles, a red thumb, two goat’s beards, and a mother-in-law’s tongue. He had discovered this recipe on accident while messing around with enhancement healing potions. He had uncovered an enhancement potion that reveals old scars to their fullest, regardless of concealment charms, which Aurors quickly started buying for several cases. However, it would work nicely with Harry as well.

With a hot cup of milk thistle tea, he mixed the ingredients and let it simmer for twenty minutes before returning to Harry’s bedroom with the small cauldron held in large forceps. He allowed the cauldron to continue cooling while he pulled out Harry’s hands and ran his fingers over them gently, making sure he wasn’t missing anything obvious.

Finally, the potion was cool, and he applied a generous amount of the thickened salve to Harry’s hands, then allowed them to soak in the potion while he put the cauldron back in his lab.

When he came back, he saw a few scars on Harry’s hands, old ones most likely earned from Quidditch games. But the one that held his attention the longest was not only a scar but a damn full sentence.

Carved in Harry’s right hand were the words “I must not tell lies.”

What the bloody hell was Umbridge forcing Harry to do?

Severus stood stock still for several moments as anger seethed within him. He had never liked that pink, disgusting, self-egocentric toad from the Ministry, but this was far above a personal dislike of character. This was child abuse on a whole upper level than even himself was willing to commit. Sure, he probably scarred himself into many students’ nightmares which wasn’t great, but he had never caused physical harm to any of his students. And especially nothing permanent.

The potions effects faded away with the scars that disappeared into the background, waiting to reappear in full force when Harry was of the appropriate age he had earned the scars. Harry was still in a deep sleep, and like the last few days, would probably remain in a deep sleep for another hour.

Plenty of time.

Severus turned sharply and went back into his lab. He grabbed a vial from the far back wall in his supply closet and pocketed it. He headed to his living room, grabbed a handful of floo powder, then vanished in a flash of green flames as he floo’d from his safe house.

“No!” Harry cried, bolting up right in his bed. “Snape!”

Severus shot up from his own bed in the next room over and hurried to his lab for a fever reducer and a headache reliever, as he had done several times before.

“Snape!” Harry cried again in a very distressed voice.

“Relax, I heard you,” Severus said as he entered Harry’s room. “What is it, a headache?”

“No, no, Arthur—Arthur Weasley. He’s been hurt, the snake, Voldemort’s snake, it attacked him, he’s hurt and bleeding.”

Severus winced at the name, almost glancing over his shoulder as if the Dark Lord would be behind him but he caught himself at the last minute, reminding himself that his home was untraceable and had been for years.

“Enough, Potter,” Severus said, stepping closer and pushing gently on Harry’s chest to encourage him to lie back down. “It was most likely a nightmare.”

“No, it wasn’t a nightmare. It wasn’t, I know it wasn’t.” Harry pushed against Severus then gripped Severus’s wrist desperately. “You have to believe me. I saw it, I saw everything, through—through the snake’s eyes. He’s really hurt, we have to tell someone.”

“We are doing nothing,” Severus said firmly.

“No, you have to believe me,” Harry pleaded.

“I will alert the headmaster of . . . what has occurred, but you will remain here and rest. You are still affected by the potion in your system, and you need to take it easy.”

“I need to be there,” Harry insisted.

“No, Potter. You are in a very vulnerable state and you are still very ill. You will stay put while I go speak to the headmaster of what you have witnessed. Do not get out of this bed for any reason and do not even think of leaving the Escape Cottage of so help me, you will regret it. Is that clear?”

Harry reluctantly laid back down and nodded his head miserably. Severus made sure he wasn’t planning on moving before he stepped out of the room and quickly headed for his fireplace, using the floo to travel back to Hogwarts.

He had an exhausting conversation with Albus, but it turned out Harry had been right. He returned to the cottage two hours later, half expecting the place to be burned down or Harry to be missing in action. He was pleased to find his home intact and Harry asleep in the bed. Severus stepped into the room and rested a hand on Harry’s head. He sighed in relief. Finally, the fever was broken.

Harry stirred under his touch and his eyes blinked open. Then they widened and he sat up abruptly.

“Is he okay? He isn’t dead, is he? I should have been there.”

“Enough, or I will tell you nothing.”

Harry stopped talking and waited for Severus to explain.

“Mr. Weasley is alive though in critical condition at St. Mungo’s. The Dark Lord’s snake did attack him tonight. The snake’s fangs have an unusual kind of venom that keeps wounds open, so Mr. Weasley is taking blood replenishing potions until he recovers on his own or an appropriate antidote is found.”

“What about his family?”

“They are with him currently, giving him their full support. They are all safe.”

Harry visibly relaxed before he gave Severus a concerned look.

“What did I see?”

“About that,” Severus said, sitting down in the armchair he had left up so he could closely monitor Harry during really bad spells, “the headmaster and I talked about this vision you had. It appears that you have a connection to the Dark Lord, one that allows you to see what he is up to, and . . . could allow him to see what you’re up to.”

Harry’s eyes widened. Severus continued slowly so he didn’t frighten Harry.

“It is unclear what the extent of this connection between you and the Dark Lord is, but it seems that he is unaware of it and we need to keep it that way. But it is highly likely he will discover the connection you both possess, so the headmaster and I both agreed that you need to be taught Occlumency.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked.

“It is the ability to close one’s mind against a Legilimency, which is the act of navigating through the many layers of a person’s mind and potentially extracting information if you know how to interpret what you find.”

“So . . . it’s like mind reading?”

Severus sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“The mind is not a book,” Severus explained, “to be opened at will and examined at leisure. Thoughts are not etched on the inside of skulls to be pursued by any invader. The mind is a complex and many layered thing, Potter. Or at least . . . never mind. The point is that the Dark Lord is a master Legilimens and an expert at invading and interpreting thoughts and emotions correctly.”

“So he could read my mind and use that information against me,” Harry theorized.

“It’s not mind reading,” Severus snapped then growled under his breath. “But yes, Potter. He could. That is why you will be taught Occlumency.”

“By who?”

“Me. And you will start your lessons when you are back to your correct age.”

“But what if he . . .”

“If you experience any more visions, and you report them to me. However, Occlumency is taxing mind magic and something young bodies should not be attempting. For now, you will rest. It appears the potions effects have finally ceased.”

Harry looked down at himself.

“How old am I now?”

Severus flicked his wand at Harry.

“You are seven years old now. While the potion is not meant to be applied to the skin, its magic still worked, albeit very slowly. And because of that, you will now take it easy for a couple of days to make sure there are no adverse reactions, and that the potion has in fact worked itself out of your system.”

“How long have I been in bed?”

“Five days. And you will stay in bed until I say otherwise.”

“I’ve been in bed that long? What about aging up? I have to start learning the Occlumency and . . .”

“No, Potter.” Severus stood up and once again gently pushed Harry back down in the bed. “Rest. You will take the age up potion when I feel you are ready again. As I’ve said before, you are not to leave this bed for any reason.”

Harry crossed his arms and pouted but laid down in the bed.

As Severus began to walk out of the room he heard a softly muttered, “Joke’s on you, I already left the bed when you were gone.”

Severus turned sharply and glared at Harry, who blanched before saying, “Just to use the loo.”

Severus pinned Harry with a glare for a few seconds longer before stepping out of the room.

“Stupid dungeon bat ears,” Harry muttered again.

Severus smirked in the hallway. I can let that one go, he thought.

For the next few days, Harry remained confined to his bedroom, though he was allowed to get up and stretch his legs now and then. The first and last time he had dared to wander farther than his bedroom door, Severus had chased him back in his room with the threat to use the stirring rod to swat his insolent rear end.

Finally, Severus allowed Harry free range of the house on day four, the day before Christmas Eve.

“Can we go to Hogwarts for Christmas Eve?” Harry asked during a lunch meal.

“No.”

“Why?”

“Do you really want to parade around Hogwarts as a seven-year-old?”

“Well, I guess not. But it’ll be my first Christmas not in Hogwarts since I started school.”

“What a pity you’ll have to break the trend.”

Harry huffed and picked through his food.

“At least I won’t have to see Um-err, Professor Umbridge until after the holidays.”

Severus glanced up from his Daily Prophet over to Harry’s somewhat relieved look.

“Professor Umbridge,” Severus began, “came down with a sudden and severe case of Spattergroit. Unfortunately, she will be out of school on sick leave for several months.”

“Are you serious?” Harry asked.

“I wouldn’t tell you if I was not, Potter.”

Harry was quiet for a few seconds before he eyed Severus suspiciously.

“Did you have something to do with that?”

“Of course not, Potter, don’t be ridiculous. Why would you make such a scandalous accusation?”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, then whispered, “Would have been pretty cool if you did, though.”

Severus smirked but did not say anything.

“So, who’s taking her place?”

“That will be decided by the headmaster, as it should have been a decision made by the headmaster all along.”

“That’s good,” Harry said, unconsciously rubbing his hand.

Severus observed the action, then changed the topic.

“I understand it can be hard being cooped up in the house for so long. You must be dying for some fresh air. Why don’t you go explore the backyard while I clean up?”

“Really?” Harry frowned at Severus.

“Absolutely. There is also a shed just to the side of the cottage that may or may not contain a broom. If you happen to find one, be sure to put it back.”

Harry shot out of his seat and ran for the backyard.

“Make sure you grab a cloak or something warm,” Severus called out.

Severus cleaned up the kitchen, keeping an eye on Harry from his window. He had watched Harry struggle with an oversized green cloak that fit like a long robe on the child before he discovered the broom in the shed. Before the child could even jump on it, Severus muttered a spell that would keep the broom under twenty miles per hour and would allow it to go no higher than ten feet in the air. Harry was still just a small seven-year-old who could fall off and suffer serious damage. He could tell that Harry had discovered the restrictions when he tried to push against the spell, only to be dropped down to the ground.

Severus checked on Harry every so often while the child played outside, alternating between the broom and checking out the pond. After two hours and Harry was still playing outside, Severus decided to head out to the yard and see what Harry found so fascinating about his half-frozen pond.

Harry was sitting in the grass by the pond, the broom on the ground next to him.

“What are you up to, Potter?”

Harry looked up at Severus, then pointed at the pond where motionless fish lingered at the bottom.

“Just talking to the fish. Nukes is upset that he hasn’t eaten in days, but Lilypad thinks he’s just a bottomless pit that can never be satisfied. Oh, and the big red and white one is Comet, he’s just happy to nap. He’s my favorite.”

While Severus first wanted to ask if Harry had lost his damn mind, he decided to ask, “Are you planning on naming the house next, too? You’ve named everything else.”

“The house already has a name,” Harry pointed out.

Severus snorted.

“So it does.”

“Was that a laugh, Professor?” Harry asked with a grin.

“Don’t get used to it,” Severus said. He motioned for Harry to get up. “If you are quite done making a mess of your trousers, it is time to come inside for a bath. Make sure you put the broom back where it belongs.”

Harry jumped to his feet.

“The next time I age, can you take the restrictions off of it?”

“We’ll see.”

Harry accepted the answer and ran to the shed to put the broom back.

After a bath, some quiet time which Harry spent reading a book in the living room while Severus read research articles, the two made a quick dinner together before Severus wanted Harry to go to bed.

“But it’s too early.”

“You’ve had a tiring day, Potter. I allowed you to do far more than I had originally intended.”

“Can’t we play a game of chess first?” Harry asked. I found your old chess set.”

“It was never missing. I am not arguing with you. I told you to go to bed. Do not end this day on a sour note.”

Harry ignored Severus in favor of pulling out the muggle chess box from the shelves in the living area. He set it down on the low coffee table and began setting it up.

“Potter,” Severus growled. “You are deliberately disobeying me.”

“One game, please,” Harry begged as he continued to set up the game. “I promise to go right to bed right after.”

“Bargaining will get you nothing but an earlier bedtime.”

“I thought Slytherins loved to bargain.”

“Biased, are we?”

“Just one quick game.”

“Oh, I’ll make it quick all right.”

Severus stepped over to where Harry had finished setting up the game and was attempting to hide a yawn. Severus squatted in front of the table, eyeing Harry’s poor attempt to hide another yawn trying to break past his lips.

“You’re sure you don’t want to go to bed now?”

“I’m sure.”

Severus glanced down at the board, then back up at Harry, meeting Harry’s stubborn eyes.

“White first. Make your move then.”

Harry blinked as he realized he had set himself up as white, so he moved one of his pawns one space to f3. Severus studied the board briefly before moving a pawn himself to ef.

“Professor, what do you plan on doing for Christmas?”

“Same thing I do every year. Nothing.”

“Oh. Do you think I’ll get anything from my friends?”

“Perhaps. Our assigned elf can bring your gifts here. I’m sure she’ll be more than happy to do so.”

“Do you think I can ask her to deliver my gifts to my friends too? They’re all back at Hogwarts but I can tell her what’s for who.”

“Of course, now quit stalling. Make your next move, Potter.”

Harry looked at the board, rubbed his eyes, then shot a look at Severus.

“Wait, what about Hedwig? Is someone taking care of her?”

“Your friends have most likely taken on the duty of caring for your owl, Potter. And if not, I’m sure she is taking care of herself just fine. Now enough stalling or I end this game now and you’ll go straight to bed whether you like it or not.”

“Fine.” Harry grabbed another pawn and moved it two spaces to g4.

Severus studied the board, glanced at Harry, then glanced back at the board once more.

He picked up his queen and moved it to h4, where it was directly diagonal to Harry’s unprotected king.

“That would be checkmate, Potter.”

“What?” Harry studied the board. “But how? We just started.”

“Also known as fool’s mate.” Severus stood back up and motioned for Harry to do the same. “Come. You promised to go straight to bed after one game.”

“But . . .”

“No, Potter. Perhaps if you weren’t so tired, that game would have lasted longer, but as it stands, it is your own fault it ended so soon. And a promise is a promise. Let’s go.”

“Fine.” Harry pouted as he stood up and followed Severus to his temporary bedroom. “I can’t believe I lost in two moves.” Harry yawned, then said, “And I’m not tired.”

Severus watched Harry crawl up in his bed and plop down on the pillow miserably, but his eyes blinked blearily in attempts to stay open. Severus rolled his eyes and stepped into the bedroom. He grabbed the blanket and covered Harry up.

“Stop fighting it and sleep. You are most certainly tired.”

Harry yawned again and turned his head to look at Severus.

“When can I age up again?

“After Christmas. Your body still needs a little more time to recover from the traumatic experience of absorbing an aging potion through your skin and going through a very slow aging process.”

“I feel better though. A lot better.”

“I know. But a couple more days, then you can age up again. It will most likely only be another couple of years but as long as there are no unexpected surprises, you will be back to normal within the week.”

Harry smiled, then closed his eyes, his arm unconsciously curling around the snake plush, Fangs.

Severus turned out Harry’s light and closed the door slightly. He looked out at the chess set still on the table, and he couldn’t help the smirk. Harry was rather tolerable at this age, despite the whining and begging he liked to do. All the night terrors had ceased with the break of the fever, but they still weighed heavily on Severus’s mind. Harry didn’t appear to remember anything that happened during his fever and slow aging, and perhaps that was for the better. Severus walked out to the living room to put the chess set away, looking down at the fool’s mate that had occurred. Severus used his wand to pack the game away and set it back on the shelf where it had been.

He was no fool to think that the rest of the week would go without a hitch. This was Harry Potter after all. And as thus far has proven, he was capable of disaster even in the simplest of things.