Feeling like he’d just been run over by a hippogriff, Severus waited until Potter’s breath had lost the measured quality of meditation and gained the deeper sound of sleep before taking out the parchment to communicate with the Headmaster. He was seated on the side of his bed, using the lamp and nightstand next to it to write so that the privacy screen would block the light from interrupting Potter’s much needed rest. 

“Did you know?”

Albus, unsurprisingly, was still awake. Has something occurred, Aconite?

“Nothing is currently amiss. Did you know?”

Know what?

“That the Snitch grew up unloved and neglected?”

The space below his angry scratch remained empty for a long moment that, to Severus, said more than any words could. As if sensing this, the elegant script below finally spelled out a single word. Yes.

Severus stared at the word for as long as it had taken to appear. He slowly set down the fountain pen that he’d been using, knowing that there was nothing more he could write at the moment. The parchment was not intended for a long rant about the past, and as much as Severus wanted to confront the Headmaster about that tiny, damning word, this was not the way to do it.

He cradled his head in his hands after shoving the parchment away. He’d begun to suspect, of course, that all was not right. Had been convinced by the time they had that little conversation about cooking during the chess game and Potter had gotten the wild, trapped look of a caged animal whenever his relatives came up. The instant defensiveness. Several different things the teen had done flashed through his mind, a new light shining through the shredding veil Severus appeared to have placed over his own eyes in regards to the child. 

The lack of communication with adults whenever he was in danger, a bad habit that had led him into peril alone more than once. That was no wonder if he had never been given a reason to trust adults in his short life. The fierce loyalty to his friends, probably his first and only friends. The disregard for the value of his own life, and the lack of expectation for someone to treat his injuries. The small frame. 

The flinching. Oh, God, the flinching. Severus realized that his hands were trembling and tucked them under his thighs, head bent, hair falling in front of his face.

Maybe he was mistaken? Severus had drawn false conclusions about the teen before. Maybe this was another one. Even as he thought it, however, he knew it wasn’t a mistake. Those false conclusions had been assumptions based on what he expected. This new fear was based on evidence gathered from behaviors he himself had witnessed.

It had been a long day. He’d found that working in the fish shop wasn’t horrible. The smell was no worse than some of the ingredients he’d prepared over the years, and his Cokeworth heritage kept his pride from getting in the way. Before he was Professor Snape, resident Potions Master at Hogwarts, he had been Severus Snape, a scrappy halfblood from a rough muggle neighborhood without a penny to his name. He held no distaste towards the concept of working for a living. As he’d explained to Potter, working in the village also created a permanence for the two of them in the community. Still, he never regretted leaving the place at the end of the workday. Coming home to face several difficult conversations hadn’t been easy either, and he’d even felt it necessary to cut the Occlumency lesson short.

Realizing with a start that he’d thought of the cottage as home, Severus turned out the light and stretched out in an attempt to sleep. He scowled at himself. The last thing he needed was to get… attached. To this place. To this peace. Yes, there was no magic here, but at the same time, there were no expectations. The extent of his tasks regarding the war amounted to one thing: protect Potter. Even that was easier than he’d initially anticipated. The teen was largely independent. Severus merely needed to prompt him towards an assignment or task, and the child seemed to do it affably enough. 

If he were a better man, Severus would be guilty for enjoying this reprieve from the war and the demands of both his masters. As it was, he was able to fall asleep with little on his mind other than what he’d just learned about a teen who was beginning to surprise him on the regular.

“Every morning-!” Severus groaned, shoving a pillow over his face. It did little to block the noise, however, so he gave up on trying to fall back asleep. Unwilling to get out of the warm covers, however, he lay staring up at the ceiling. The room was slowly lightening from the early morning light creeping out behind the edges of the curtains.

“Who is that?” Potter mumbled from the couch, voice thick with sleep.

“I have not yet inquired,” Severus replied tiredly, wondering how badly the villagers might react if the morning piper mysteriously disappeared one day.

Several chickens outside began clucking and making a fuss as a woman outside screamed inarticulately, a sound of pure rage. Severus sympathized.

After another fifteen minutes, the music stopped, and Severus dredged up the willpower to get out of bed. Potter had his face buried in the cushions of the sofa, and Severus thought he had actually managed to fall asleep again until a muffled voice asked, “Is it over?”

“Yes, I think so,” Severus said in amusement. The teen allowed himself to roll over and off of the sofa, landing on his back on the floor. The despondent look on his face was truly melodrama at its finest.

“I’ll make breakfast,” the teen sighed, not moving.

Severus raised an eyebrow at that, surprised that Potter would bring up cooking when it had seemed such a sore subject yesterday. “If you wish. I, personally, have no desire to eat so early.”

“Me neither,” Potter said, closing his eyes.

Severus moved around the cottage, opening the curtains around the room and quickly changing into fresh clothes behind the privacy screen. He went outside briefly to use the facilities. By the time he returned, Potter had not moved from the floor.

Deciding to leave him be, Severus picked up a book he’d been reading and sat in an armchair. He tried to focus, but every so often he found himself glancing at the teen on the floor.

Part of the reason he found the teen’s gratitude for the offer of new clothes so disturbing was that Severus himself considered letting an entire week go by before addressing the issue as a serious oversight on his part. In fact, he hadn’t even noticed how vagabond Potter looked until he’d seen him walking side by side with that other boy, Callum, and noticed the comparison. An entire week of seeing the teen daily and not noticing that his clothes didn’t even fit was hardly a point in Severus’ favor, and yet the child seemed deeply touched that he’d noticed at all.

“You could read the next chapter in The Art of War,” Severus suggested.

Potter looked up, vaguely reached towards the book which was most definitely out of his reach, then gave up.

Severus rolled his eyes and easily picked up the book. He set aside his own, knowing he wouldn’t be able to focus, and flipped through the pages of Sun Tzu’s famous military treaty. “Where did you leave off?” He knew perfectly well where Potter had left off, but was curious if the teen remembered without looking.

“Chapter Four, Tactical Dispositions,” Potter recited.

Severus didn’t respond, only handed the notes that were tucked between the pages like always down to the boy. “Are you going to stay on the floor?”

“Yes,” Potter said, rising to his feet and sitting back down on the couch. Severus pursed his lips but didn’t say anything about it.

“Sun Tzu said, the good fighters of old first-”

“You’re reading it aloud?”

Severus raised an eyebrow. “Objection?”

“N-no,” came the stuttered reply, so Severus went back to the book. 

“Five annotations per chapter, Potter. -first put themselves beyond the possibility of defeat, and then waited for an opportunity of defeating the enemy. To secure ourselves against defeat lies in our own hands, but the opportunity of defeating the enemy is provided by the enemy himself.”

It had been a while since Severus had read the book, but he found the advice as practical and applicable as ever. It was truly a shame that more wizards weren’t willing to look past a prejudice against muggles and read it.

As he read, Potter bent his head over the paper and began writing. It was a short chapter, like all the others, and he set it aside when it was finished. Potter finished writing whatever note he was taking before glancing up at the clock. “I’ll start breakfast now.” He handed his notes to Severus, and they discussed them shortly while Potter made an uncomplicated meal. After eating, they waited until the general shop opened (8:30) and walked there with what little extra money Severus had left. He had stopped by to get groceries only two days before, so they didn’t need to worry about food during this trip.

The clothing section was not very large; Severus had heard that most people came here when they needed an item or two, not a full wardrobe. Still, Potter didn’t seem to mind.

In fact, the teen seemed a bit overwhelmed by the small selection. “Select a few shirts, trousers, and underclothes to start,” Severus said, seeing the lost look. Potter blushed, clearly embarrassed, but Severus’ professional tone seemed to spur him to action. He picked a few items, and while Severus noticed that he checked the price tags of all of them, he didn’t say anything. None of the items on stock were of cheap make, so if Potter was more comfortable asking for less expensive clothing, Severus wasn’t going to push it. They were on a bit of a budget.

“Here. Try this on.” Severus tossed a Slytherin-green sweatshirt at him. Potter had turned at the sound of his voice and the sweatshirt landed on his face. He pulled it off, glasses slightly skewed, and glanced at Severus. Amused by the even messier than usual hair and the surprised look on the teen’s face, Severus watched as Potter smiled at him uncertainly. 

Then the teen glanced away, and Severus thought he saw a flash of some intense emotion before the child grinned at him again, slightly cheekily, and switched it with a red one of the same size. Severus huffed, not actually put out.

“I’m pretty sure these will all fit. I don’t need to try them on.”

“Alright,” Severus conceded. “You need a pair of boots, and maybe some trainers.”

Potter sighed but wandered to the shoes. These, too, were limited, but Potter found what he needed easily enough. The dress shoes he’d worn to the trial had been pretty thoroughly demolished by their journey across the countryside, and the spare shoes left behind by Amy’s son-in-law didn’t fit the teen as well as they fit Severus.

He might have been better about concealing it, but Severus shared Potter’s disconcertment at wearing a dead man’s clothes. When they had saved up more, he intended on getting new clothes for himself as well.

Potter needs a bed, also. He shouldn’t have to keep sleeping on the couch.

When they walked up to the counter, an elderly man emerged from a back room. “Ah, the Englishmen. I’d wondered when you would get around to more than groceries.” He nodded at the clothes Potter carried. “Put ‘em up.” Potter dumped them on the counter, flushing when he dropped a package of pants on the floor and hurriedly picked them up. Severus shared a smirk with the man over the boy’s head. “I’m Baird McAuliffe. I suppose this is your son, Henry?”

“That’s him,” Severus said, dropping a hand to Potter’s shoulder. He was pleased when the teen didn’t flinch.

“Is that-?” Potter suddenly asked, embarrassment apparently forgotten as he stared at an item behind the older man. Severus followed his gaze to see a set of bagpipes prominently displayed.

“Aye,” the man said, proudly rocking on his heels. “I suppose you’ve heard me, then?”

“Hard not to,” Severus commented dryly, but McAuliffe didn’t seem offended. He only smiled wider.

“Served in the war, I did. I was there on D-Day when Bill Millin marched back and forth across the beaches of Normandy playin’ Highland Laddie. We could hear him over the sounds of gunfire and dyin’, screamin’ men. I’ve never seen anything like it.” He scanned the last item, but Severus thought that the man’s eyes were far away. “I was a piper, too, but I never played on the front lines. Who would? The War Office had ordered us not to. The snipers liked to pick us off. Still, there was old Bill, playing non stop as he stepped over the bodies of comrades he couldn’t help. Ever since I came home, I’ve played my own pipes over the highlands to remember him. That there’s the same set I used in the war.”

“Did he get shot?” Potter asked, entranced by the story.

The older man laughed slightly. “No, lad. That’s the best part. That’s why he’s called the mad piper. None of the Germans shot him because they thought he’d gone crazy and felt sorry for ‘im. He’s still alive to this day, I believe.”

“Wow,” Potter said, and Severus knew that his reaction was genuine.

They finished the transaction, and McAuliffe announced the total. Severus brought out his muggle wallet, carefully keeping his face neutral when he saw that there would be practically nothing left. The old man must have had some sort of intuition, however, because he said lightly, “I’ll be givin’ ya a discount, though, since you’re new to the village.” He named a lower price, nothing drastic, but certainly a fair decrease. Severus immediately objected.

“There’s no need to give us charity, Mr. McAuliffe,” he said, but the man shook his head.

“It’s not charity. Just a newcomer’s discount. One-time offer. I want you comin’ back, don’t I?” The two men’s gazes met, and Severus saw a quiet determination in the other’s eyes. He wondered what the older man saw in return.

Severus commented on neither the fact that this was not his first transaction at the store, nor that there weren’t any other shops in the village that the man had to compete with for customers. Deciding to accept the man’s generosity, he silently handed over the lower amount. McAuliffe grinned in reply and waved a cheery goodbye.

They left the shop after that, and Severus could tell that Potter was still thinking about the mad piper.

“Sir, why do they have pipers in the army?” he asked.

“I believe it is a point of morale. The bagpipes can be quite inspiring if not used to wake one up before the sun has risen,” Severus replied.

The teen stewed on that for a minute before musing aloud, “That was a point in The Art of War. Morale, I mean. Sun Tzu said that an army united behind a common purpose will fight better together. Morale’s part of that, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is,” Severus replied, slightly impressed that Potter would make the connection outside of his study period.

“Huh,” Potter said, looking thoughtful.