I had way too many ideas floating around in my head, so I'm starting a new oneshot collection for HP-related fics. As with all my oneshot collections, two rules apply:

1) These stories or story ideas will probably never be continued. You can always ask, but know the chances are slim.

2) These stories are 100% adoptable. Please PM me if you're interested in finishing one!

Six Again
A Harry Potter Fanfic by Cori

It started with a phone ringing in the Ministry of Magic.

Well, as there were only two working phones in the entire Ministry – and both were on the same desk – it would be better to say the phone was ringing on the desk of the wizard unlucky enough to be manning the only desk devoted to the Muggle Relations Department on a Tuesday. The wizard's name was Thereby Tindershins and he was fresh out of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

He picked up the phone with a pleasant enough greeting, but the person on the other end was – to say the least – irate. Thereby almost dropped the phone in surprise at the furious tones of the man. It took a few minutes of listening, but Thereby eventually determined that one: he was speaking to a muggle, two: this muggle was the guardian for a young wizard child, and three: the man was dropping nearly-personal insults like some people used swear words.

Thereby was almost impressed. He picked up a quill and started scratching out tally marks, unable to get a word in edgewise.

Finally, a break in the conversation. A quick count set the tally for insults at thirty-six. "You're going to have to explain what's wrong, Mr…?" Thereby said – going for pleasant, but there was only so pleasant one could be after being roundly insulted for that length of time.

Apparently a 'ruddy nephew – one of the freaks like you' had gotten into some kind of 'freakishness that needed to be fixed'.

Thereby nodded, smiled, and made every attempt to be polite – not realizing the muggle couldn't see his gestures as he marked down the fiftieth insult of the conversation. "I'll send someone to your house. Can I get your name?"

That went over like a lead balloon. The man refused to have any 'abnormal freaks' (fifty-one) coming within a mile of his precious home. He didn't want any 'contamination' (fifty-two) of his family.

"Then what is it you want?" Thereby asked with a slightly annoyed tone.

The man stuttered a moment before demanding the address of the nearest 'freak' that could fix the mess his nephew had gotten himself into. No matter what questions Thereby asked, he couldn't get anything more out of the irate muggle.

Nearly fifteen minutes into the conversation (seventy-eight insults) and unable to get even the name of the 'freakish' nephew out of the muggle's mouth, Thereby picked up the book of all the wizard addresses in the area and started to page through it. Not even knowing the general area the man lived in, Thereby shook his head with a sigh.

Then his eyes caught on a certain name. Thereby wasn't too far out of Hogwarts to find this a perfect sort of revenge. Fitting, even.

"Do you have something to write on? I have an address for you."

It continued some hours later when a dark car drove up to a rather decrepit house on the outskirts of the town of Shrewsbury. The man living in the house paused when he noted the two people coming up the front walk, arching a smooth eyebrow. One of the uninvited guests was a rather large man with a purplish face. The other was a gangly young boy, more being dragged up the walk than actually moving under his own power.

The sound of the doorbell was loud and echoing. For a few moments, the owner of the house debated answering the door. He turned back to his supper, taking up a spoonful of steaming potatoes.

At that point, the person on the stoop apparently decided to hang on the bell. It rang, continuously, as the dark-haired man at the table swallowed his mouthful, set his spoon down gracefully, and folded his napkin. Listening to the doorbell begin to screech its displeasure at the abuse, he stalked through the shadow-filled home.

Yanking open the door, he snapped a sharp, "Can I help you?" The man – Severus Snape – barely kept the snarl from his voice.

"It's one of your lot, he is." The purplish man pushed the scraggily boy forwards for Severus to study. Uncut, grubby black hair fell in a disastrous mess over bright green eyes that were staring down at the sidewalk with murderous intent. The child seemed to be about six. "I'll not be responsible for… this." The last word came out dripping with intent.

"I hardly see how this involves me," Severus murmured darkly. He took a step backwards, shutting the door, but the muggle got his meaty foot in the way.

"Now, listen, you-"

Severus had his wand out, black-polished wood pointed directly at the man's bulbous nose. He watched the beady eyes follow the end of the stick. "Remove the foot or I will remove it for you. You shall not get it back."

The man moved his foot. "I got your address from the Ministry-"

"I do not care. Leave." Severus slammed the door shut in the man's face. The doorbell started to squeal again, but Severus cast a silencing charm on the doorbell and rubbed at his temples. Let the man hang on the bell. After a second's thought, he cast a charm on the door as well, just in case the man decided to bang on the door like an animal. He wouldn't put it past the muggle.

He headed back towards his supper. The potatoes were cool. Severus sighed and moved them around with his spoon, contemplating a warming charm. Unfortunately, potatoes were simply never the same after being subjected to magic.

The strange man and the young boy were pushed from his mind. After all, it was nearly the beginning of term – he would have a whole new passel of first years to crush. And the spawn of James Potter would be starting this year.

Severus almost smiled as he started to plan the first day of class. Revenge was a dish best served cold. Unlike potatoes.

A curveball came several hours later as Severus was pulling himself out of the old armchair and headed up the stairs. He deactivated the silencing charm on the door as he went by, confident that the man had long gone. The silence of the bell was a blessing. He pulled his robes around him, taking the first step of the stairs, when he heard it.

Severus stopped, turning his head slightly to find the source of the strange noise. A few steps to the left had him standing directly in front of the door, having identified the sound as crying.

If nothing else, Severus had a mind for logic. He took only a moment to decide that it was unlikely that the inanimate door was actually crying, and then reached forwards and wrenched open the door. There, sitting on the stoop in a huddled, pathetic-looking mass of six-year-old boy, was the child from earlier.

The boy started and spun around to stare at Severus. He clamored to his feet, green eyes wide. "Uh…"

"Where is your father?" The words were cold, but Severus had no desire to deal with the boy over summer break.

The boy shifted weight from one foot to the other, swiping at the tears that were still staining his cheeks. "Um… Surrey?" The boy's voice was quiet and raspy.

Folding his arms over his chest, Severus leaned against the door frame and gazed down at the child. Surrey was some three hours away. Severus glanced down at his watch, sighing at the time.

"Sir…"

"Shush," Severus chided. His forehead furrowed, his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, and then he shook his head. "Fine," he muttered, pushing the door open and taking a step backwards. When the child just continued to stare at him like he was some sort of ghost, Severus's eyes narrowed. "Are you waiting for a golden carriage? Get in!"

The boy scrambled inside, eyes fixed on Severus the entire time. Letting the door slam shut behind them, Severus slunk back into his sitting room. He sent a glance at the boy, noting that the kid was slowly following. Severus lit a few candles in the room and pointed towards the couch. The child obeyed the silent order, slinking into the chair.

In the better light of the sitting room, Severus could see the pale skin and ruddy cheeks. The boy was shivering faintly in the ragged shirt and jeans. Moving silently, Severus grabbed an old blanket and tossed it at the boy.

"I'm going to call someone to get you a ride. What is your father's name?"

The boy, now wrapped up in the blanket, blinked up at him with wide eyes. "He's my uncle," he corrected with a nervous quaver to his voice. "Vernon Dursley."

Severus nodded faintly, digging out a pen and paper and handing it to the boy. "I'll need his phone number. Write it down." He headed to his desk, searching for the never-used phone book that some oblivious muggle dropped on his doorstep every year. There was the sound of paper rustling behind him. "What is your name, boy?"

"Harry," came the quiet reply.

"Harry Dursley?" Severus found the book, blowing off a layer of dust. It was a book from over a decade ago, but the police station surely didn't change their number. And hopefully he wouldn't need to use it – the muggle would answer his phone if he knew what was best for him. "From Surrey."

"Harry Potter."

Severus stopped. Turned. Set the phone book down. Black, messy hair. Green, very familiar-seeming eyes. He took a few steps over to the child and took the offered paper, phone number scribbled on it. Severus frowned down at the paper, then brushed his fingers against the boy's unruly fringe of hair. The boy jerked backwards, but Severus caught sight of the old scar on his forehead. "Harry. Potter."

The green eyes hardened slightly. The shoulders tensed. But the voice was still trembling. "Are you going to call my uncle?"

"Are you not supposed to be eleven?" Severus asked the question in a bland sort of way.

Harry blinked up at him, mouth falling open in startled surprise. "How did you know that?"

"Magic," Severus answered.

Oddly, the boy shifted uncomfortably at the word. "There's no such thing," he said uncertainly. "My uncle says-"

"Your uncle left you on my doorstep," Severus interrupted, folding the paper with the phone number in half and setting it onto his desk. "I hardly think his opinion matters at the moment." He stared hard at the boy. "Why are you not eleven?"

"I'm still…" Harry drifted off, glancing down at his hands. "Well, my birthday's not for another week, so I'm ten. I think."

Severus sighed and tapped the top of the boy's head with his finger. When Harry glanced up, Severus arched a serious eyebrow. "That does not answer the question. It is late; I would appreciate an answer before too long."

Harry shook his head. The unruly hair flew, settling into something a bit more normal. "I don't know, really. There was this dog, and then my head hurt, and when I woke up I was six. And my uncle was mad at me when I made it home."

"Your head hurt," Severus repeated. He felt a pain in his own head starting. It was far too late in the summer for these antics. Were it not almost eleven at night, Severus would have already owled the headmaster to sort things out. "Does it still hurt?"

A shrug was the answer. "Maybe-" The kid broke off when Severus leaned forwards and poked at a spot on the boy's head where the hair seemed especially matted. "Ow!"

Straightening himself, Severus noted the flecks of dried blood on his hand – remnants of what was undoubtedly matted in the boy's hair. He brushed his hands on his robes, staring blankly down at the child. It would be a Potter, near the end of July, little more than a month before the return of the brats. And it would have to be in the middle of the night, too.

Finally making a decision, Severus muttered a dark, "Come along," as he headed towards the bathroom. Not even checking to see if the boy had followed, he dug out a washcloth and a dark-colored potion. "Up." He patted the counter.

When Harry worked his way onto the countertop, he was peering around the tiny bathroom. Severus noted that the boy had lost some of the nerves he'd had before. "What are you going to do?"

"Your head is bleeding," Severus said, taking the cloth and wetting it in the sink. "Hold still." He quietly started to work at the dried blood, trying to get to the actual cut.

The boy squirmed uncomfortably. "My uncle said you were going to fix me," he muttered.

Severus arched an eyebrow. "Before he left you on my doorstep?"

Harry made an aborted attempt to nod. "He said if I tried to come back like this, he'd change the locks on the door."

Finally able to move the hair out of the way, Severus found the nasty-looking gash on the boy's head. It was nearly two inches long, still bleeding sluggishly – although Severus wasn't sure if he'd caused the newest bleeding. "What in the world did you hit your head on?" he murmured.

"I don't remember hitting it." There was the sound of heels banging softly against the cabinet doors, so Severus set one hand on the boy's knee. The movement stopped.

"This may burn a bit." Quietly uncorking the dark colored potion, he poured a generous amount into the boy's hair. The cut sizzled slightly as the potion worked its way in. Within moments, the cut was mostly sealed. Severus stood back, knowing the cut would heal the rest of the way on its own.

The boy reached up and carefully prodded his hair. "Cool," he whispered.

"Yes," Severus drawled.

"So are you?" the boy asked, letting his hand fall back into his lap.

"Am I what?"

"Going to fix me? Make me almost eleven again?" There was a hopeful tinge to the boy's voice. "I don't really want to live most of my life over again."

Severus stared at the child, thinking through the answer. There were few options and, as the boy didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, narrowed the options down to one. He felt his lips thin as the knowledge of what he needed to do settled into his mind. "Not tonight. We will call around and get some assistance in the morning."

"Oh."

With a sigh, Severus put the washcloth in the hamper and the vial back in the medicine cabinet. "Come." Severus turned and headed out into the hallway, creaking open the door to an unused room. It took only a moment to shake out the quilt, cascading a cloud of dust into the air.

The boy was hanging into the doorway, eyes wide as he took in the old room. The curtains were decorated with little flowers, the quilt a mess of muted colors. Severus waited a moment, but narrowed his eyes into a glare when the child didn't head for the bed. "Would you prefer other accommodations?"

Harry jerked, startled, and rapidly shook his head. "No, it's…" he trailed off, eyes wide, an expression Severus didn't understand on his face. "Thanks."

Severus made a noise in the back of his throat. He dug around through the cabinets for an old nightshirt, tossing it onto the bed. "Breakfast is at seven o'clock. There are towels under the sink in the bathroom. I expect you clean and present at breakfast."

"Yes." The boy was still standing in the doorway, staring at him at the room with that odd expression.

"Good." Severus turned to stalk out of the room. "This is just for one night, but I expect you to be the most quiet house guest I have ever had." Making it to the safety of the hallway, Severus started towards his own bedroom. But first a pit stop for a potion for his head.

"Wait…" The child's tiny voice made Severus pause, glance back. The boy's wide green eyes were full of an impossible number of emotions as he stared down the hallway at the tall, dark man. "I don't know your name…"

Severus blinked. "Severus Snape."

The boy took that in, mouthing the name, then smiled in an eerily not-James-Potter smile. "Thank you, Severus Snape."

Then the door closed and Severus was left in the hallway, shaking his head.

Uploaded June 25, 2014
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