Half a year had passed since Harry Potter had come into Severus' care, and the shy, painfully thin waif of a boy in front of him was still barely eating.

Severus' stomach clenched in empathic pain as he watched Harry pick at his dinner with an apprehensive expression on his face – plucking at the turkey in front of him until it more resembled the potato mash next to it, swirling them into a sticky goop on his plate next to the half-eaten parsnips. The small spoon stirred aimlessly around a small bowl of otherwise untouched leek soup.

The boy never ate more than half of what Severus had prepared for him – half of the amount recommended for eight-year-olds. 

Severus should have anticipated that it was too soon for such a dense meal. 

Harry was still not prepared to deal with large meals after years of starvation and neglect. So, from the week the boy had arrived in his life, Severus set out small dishes throughout the day, trying to coax the child to eat through the constant availability of food – two half pieces of toast, a few slices of apple, a small bowl of light stew, a few spoons of cereal, and whatever other morsels Harry could tolerate.

(Severus, loath to let food go to waste, would be picking up whatever was still consumable of the leftovers – more than half of it – as a late dinner every night.

He had never even given a thought to healthy eating prior to taking Harry into his care, but here he was, preparing nutritious food for the both of them, watching both their eating habits every day.)

Severus had tried everything he could think of to increase Harry's food intake – fluid, salt and mineral balancers, as well as anti-nausea potions at the beginning stage, combined with careful monitoring that the child's body would not reject the nutrients offered; appetite-increasing potions, in combination with stomach soothers; supplementary potions to cover the remaining needs when it became clear, over the last two months, that the boy would not eat enough on his own. 

On the culinary side, he had tried all flavours he could imagine. He provided salt and pepper and vinegar and sugar with every meal. He tried bread, noodles, rice, meats, seafood, dairy, vegetables, fruits, even dessert and sweets that Severus himself only rarely allowed himself to indulge in. The foods were served cold or warm, cooked, stewed, steamed, raw if consumable, even low-fat fried: All were only touched very reluctantly, if at all, with a wariness that did not belong in a child's face. 

The only thing that Harry would take enough of was water, and Severus was grateful for that. 

Over this past half year spent at home, monitoring the boy, Severus' various strategies had brought the improvement from but a few bites, to, at least, half of the small portions he usually prepared; the cup of thick, sticky supplementary potion at noon ensured that the remaining requirements were at least somehow met. 

Harry would pull a face at its consistency, but he would drink it obediently every day – mostly for fear, Severus suspected, that the man who had taken him in might one day take away his food again, as punishment for his inability to eat. 

And Severus could not blame Harry for that. In fact, whenever Severus found himself impatient, he would only need to close his eyes and recall the boy he had seen in Petunia's memories, staring hungrily at the foods so close yet out of reach – and all anger would find itself funnelled into the fierce desire to see Harry Potter healthy again. 

He knew the boy was making slow improvements. Harry no longer looked starved, only thin now. His eyes no longer looked so sunken and dull, his face no longer hollowed, his limbs no longer disproportionately thin, although Severus could still count the ribs protruding his skin. Harry's strength and his bone mass, as monitored by Severus' frequent diagnostic charms, had also picked up steadily in the last three months. 

It was also in these last three months that Harry seemed to have lost some of the fear that had shaped his interactions with Severus at the beginning: Every day, Severus found himself almost smiling at the adorable grimace the child didn't bother to hide when faced with the supplementary potion – he made sure to praise the boy with a light touch when he finished his cup regardless. 

He considered it a decent victory that Harry no longer flinched when he slowly laid his hand on the boy's shoulder. In the last month, Severus found himself unexpectedly endeared when the child started to slightly lean into the touch, instead.

And yet, the nauseating feeling of failure crashed over Severus every time he looked at his still-malnourished ward anxiously picking at his food, like on this Christmas Eve. 

"I'm sorry, sir. I can't –" 

Harry, looking especially tense today, was pushing his plate of mashed turkey away. He seemed understandably uncomfortable at declining the remainder of his food, considering that he had barely taken a bite, but it would do no good to pressure him to finish.

"That's alright, Harry. Would you prefer something lighter, like – ?"

Harry shook his head; or rather, it looked as if he was shaking his whole torso at Severus.

"No, sir, I really can't today – "

Clank!

The fork clattered to the floor. 

The boy froze.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to –"

Severus' hand had sneaked out and caught Harry's small, slightly trembling one in a gentle grip before he was even aware he had moved. 

"That's quite alright. I suggest we wash up, and if you want, I can read you a story or two before you go to bed."

Severus sincerely hoped that the boy, when more relaxed, would pick up some of the fruit he had planned for dessert today – forgoing the customary fatty Christmas puddings, since those were most likely too heavy for the boy to handle. 

Harry slowly raised his eyes, searchingly – the boy would do that whenever he felt insecure about Severus' reactions. Severus, in turn, had learned to relax his expression – it helped relieve the boy's anxiety, and provided some comfort, or so he hoped.

After a long moment, Harry nodded, hesitant anticipation glimmering in his eyes. 

They fell back into their routine, with Severus Vanishing the inedible remains of Harry's portion so that the child would not be tempted to eat scraps out of the bin as Severus had seen him forced to do in Petunia's memories. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, Severus watched that Harry would not cut himself on the sharp knives, injure himself on the saucepans and baking tray, or be scalded by the hot water as he did some drying-up by Severus' side. 

Harry would never have to suffer so again, if Severus had any say.

He had to take care that his anger would not start simmering at the mere mention of his child's time at those abusive relatives; the repetitive motions of dishwashing helped calm him.

With Harry's diligent help, the chore was soon finished; the plates, bowls, pans and trays were, once again, stacked neatly in the cupboard; and the knives, spoons and forks packed away in the drawer. Cups of peppermint tea were sitting on a tray to cool, together with a medium-sized white porcelain bowl Severus was planning to use for dessert.

He opened the cold-charmed cupboard next to the sink.

A golden fruit, about the size of a volleyball, shaped like a round pear, sat in the lowest compartment, its sweet, citrusy fragrance filling the air. It was heavy enough for Severus to have to hold in both hands so as to not drop it, and took quite some effort to lift to the tabletop. 

Severus had only seen Mr Evans prepare it once, for a Thai salad, and had not eaten it since. But he knew could expect something like the Nodding Nobap, its magical equivalent that is used in some more exotic relaxant potions. 

"What's that, sir?" asked a small, inquisitive voice from behind him. 

Harry's nose was scrunched up curiously to sniff the air around them, hand sneaking out to touch the thick skin of the fruit. 

"It's a pomelo, Harry, the largest of the non-magical citrus fruits." 

The child's brow furrowed. "Like lemons and oranges? And tangerines?"

Severus nodded. "Just that. Although I expect it to be less sour than those."

Harry looked relieved at that – the child tended to avoid sour foods, Severus found, although he had expressed a little less aversion to the sweeter tangerines. 

"Alright, then. Go pick out a story, and I shall join you in a few moments."

Harry padded off, familiar with their routine – Severus would prepare some food and allow the tea to cool while the boy scoured the living room library for what he wanted to read, or hear, that night.

As Severus prepared the cutting board and the knife, he found himself inhaling the fruity, tangy scent deeply.

A few flicks of the sharp knife scored the thick skin and the white pith beneath, on the top and bottom. He turned the fruit so that it was standing upright once more, then sliced into the peel from top to bottom, a little under a finger's breadth deep, turned the fruit an eighth circle clockwise, sliced again, turned, sliced. 

Once finished, with some effort, he pried away the thick skin, revealing the spongy, fibrous white pith beneath. He set the peel aside – laid out atop the fireplace, citrus skins were excellent natural scent refreshers – then also peeled away and disposed of the pith as far as he could on about a third of a fruit.

The cloud of fresh scent enveloped him as he pried out three of the segments, covered and separated by their fibrous membranes. With a careful twist of his knife, he sliced into the leathery, shell-like layers and pried them open. 

The array of pale yellow juice sacs looked fresh and full, intensifying their freshly sweet scent. 

He separated the pith-and-membrane-free segments into bite-sized pieces with his fingers, and put them into the bowl on the tray.

Sensing Harry stirring next door, he quickly took care of the knife and the cutting board, and stowed away the rest of the fruit in the cooling cabinet before he took the tray out to the living room. As per usual, he and Harry sat on the opposite ends of the long, dark green velvet sofa, the tray on the low coffee table between them. 

Harry was tracking the bowl with his eyes curiously. Severus was equally interested to find out what the child thought of this fruit.

"Go on, Harry. Try some."

Harry's hand hesitantly reached out toward the bowl, and took out a small piece of the yellow fruit which he nudged into his mouth.

Severus also allowed himself a small piece, letting the flavour wash over his tongue. It was juicy; and sweet, but not cloyingly so, balanced by just the right amount of light tartness and fresh tanginess.

Next to him, the boy chewed – and his eyes lit up. 

"Oh!"

Severus smirked lightly, unable to entirely contain the elation that was threatening to burst out of him. 

This was the first time that Harry had reacted so enthusiastically to any type of food.

"Oh, indeed."

Harry looked up at him, face sparkling with joy. "Thank you! This – this po-me-lo, right? This is brilliant!" 

"Yes, pomelo. It is also called Citrus maxima – literally 'the biggest citrus fruit'. They are native to Southeast Asia, and very popular there, from what I heard. They symbolise prosperity and abundance, especially when consumed in the traditional large family gatherings around Lunar New Year celebrations. Some say, probably for this reason, that they can also represent family unity."

Harry looked expectantly at the bowl.

Severus encouraged him to take more with a nod.

"They are usually available here in the nearby speciality store in winter," Severus continued.

The store was mostly frequented by the small Chinese community in Cokeworth a few streets away, and by Severus, who appreciated the local availability of exotic potions ingredients even though the Muggles knew little about that. Speaking of – the pomelos had made him curious mainly because he had actually found the one or other Nodding Nobap lumped in among them. 

"Its magical relative, the Nodding Nobap, is the only citrus fruit considered inherently magical – you remember what I explained the other day, about the differences between inherently magical ingredients and those that can acquire magical properties if exposed to ambient magic for a sufficient amount of time?"

Harry nodded eagerly. 

"Yes, sir! Some – like… like the Rowing Rowan, or like dragons or thestrals – actively create their magical properties, while others can soak up the magic if they grow up around it and amplify the properties that are there anyway. And," the boy continued after a breath,"the two types of ingredients have to be treated differently when attempting to extract their properties in potions."

"Roundabout, yes," Severus confirmed. 

His heart was thumping in pride of his child's intelligence. 

Harry beamed, and took some more pomelo. 

As Severus spoke on about the potions using the Nodding Nobap, the book set out on the sofa between them ("The Tales of the Grimm Brothers, Vol. 2") was entirely forgotten to his intently-listening child. The boy's attention was focused on Severus, but his hand near-unceasingly darted out to take pieces of fruit from the bowl in front of him.

Soon enough, for the first time, the bowl was empty.

Were Severus a less controlled man, he would probably have grinned like a fool; but as it was, he let a small smile curve his lips at the timid look Harry sent him. 

In fact, Harry's hand had snaked out multiple times to gather the last morsels of the fruit sticking to the bowl's insides before the child had realised it was empty, and turned pleading eyes on Severus.

In response, Severus wanted to shout for joy – Harry finally felt comfortable enough to express his desire for more – Severus was just moving to get up – 

When, regrettably, his caution reared its head.

He had to fear the child's stomach might not be able to take any more.

"No more today, or you won't be able to sleep tonight."

Severus' resolve was almost crumbled by the way Harry's eyes, behind their round frames, turned large and sad, like the mystical puppy dog eyes Severus had vaguely heard of before in other parents' stories. 

"You can have more after lunch tomorrow, if you want."

He would not have considered himself a weak man, but here he sat, torn between his rationality and the full force of his child's pleading eyes.

"Promise?" Harry whispered eventually.

"Promise."

Silence followed.

Overcome with the strange urge to console the boy, to show affection in the face of disappointment, Severus moved the book lying forgotten between them to the coffee table, carefully scooted closer, and held out his arm. 

Harry looked at him for a moment, then leaned sideways into him, yawning.

After a while, Severus gently plucked the glasses from the boy's face and turned the child towards him, his hand lightly stroking a slim back. 

Soon, Harry had nodded off.

The boy's head lay heavily on his numbing arm, and the thin shoulder dug into Severus' ribs even through the thick woollen jumpers they were both wearing – but Severus had never felt more comfortable and content than in this very moment, cuddling with his child.

He sighed.

Tomorrow would bring tomorrow's problems, he mused; starting with that he had to get the boy to bed, or they would both wake up cranky; and that he still had to set out the presents he had prepared for the child. 

But for now, as he watched Harry Potter sleep at his side, the flame of hope in Severus' chest burned brighter than ever, elated at the promise of watching his child grow and prosper.