Some years he couldn't wait for summer, some he dreaded its coming. It wasn't that he didn't want to see Papa; he liked spending time with Papa, even though he didn't always like Papa. Mama liked to say that Papa never learned how to play, the way a boy should. That he was born severo—cross was the English word, he remembered. It might have been the origin of the name Severus, for all he knew. Last year he hadn't wanted to see Papa because Mama hadn't wanted to see Papa, but after a year he'd decided that Mama just hated Papa. Understandable, maybe. The vecchia said nasty things about how Mama and Papa weren't married anymore. He was too young to remember them being married.

He squeezed his eyes shut while the plane landed and tried not to be un piccino about it. They wouldn't die; the plane wouldn't fall apart. Mama thought he was maturo enough to go away to Papa's Hogwarts so surely he was maturo enough to make the flight from Roma to Londra. His torso floated forward before hitting back against the seat. He'd never be mean to Papa on one of his visits again knowing how awful flying was.

While they taxied, he pulled his zaino into his lap and opened the top flap. "Ciao, Teddy," he whispered as he ran his finger over his orsacchiotto. Teddy bear, he filled in silently. Teddy the Teddy bear—why did Papa think he was clever? "We seeing Papa's casa now."

The stewardess smiled down at him with her pearly white teeth and he couldn't help but blush. "Bella donna," he whispered once she was far enough ahead not to hear. Maybe if he were older he would tell her she was beautiful to her face. Like how sometimes Papa still told Mama she was beautiful, quietly and from a distance.

Fresh air filled his lungs and the butterflies in his tummy changed from ones of fear to ones of excitement. He was going to magic school and living with Papa! They entered the main airport and he ran ahead of the pretty lady. Even with all the people Papa was easy to pick out. He wore "French jeans," ones that were tight in the bum and high-waisted that always made Mama say "Mi fa cagare!" and a camica with the top buttons open. His hair was down and the woman at the desk looked like he'd been yelling. Typical Papa.

"Papa, Papa!" he yelled as he wrapped his arms around the man's waist.

"Ciao Nelo," Papa said as he ran a hand through Nelo's hair.

The kissed quickly on the cheeks and the lady rolled her eyes as if to say foreigners. Papa didn't thank the airplane ladies and Mama would have said it was bad manners, but Nelo didn't say anything. Instead he let Papa lead on, away from the big signs that clearly said exit. Every couple steps he'd look up to see if Papa was wearing the Star of David Mama always made him wear—they should be proud Jews, not hidden ones, she said.

Papa laid his hands on top of each other before slashing them outward: enough. "We're going to the appartion spot."

"Perche?"

"Apparation is a means of travel." Papa's voice always went boring when he was explaining something. "We'll be using it to reach our destination."

"La vostra casa?"

"No. I'll be very busy the next few weeks. We're staying at another location where there will be adults to keep an eye on you and other adolescenti."

Nelo tried not to look disappointed. He wanted to see Papa's house. But the other place sounded okay too. Mama had said the English weren't big on community, that neighbors did not gather in the streets or host each other. It sounded lonely.

Papa gripped his shoulder and said, "Respiri." Breathe.

The sensation started in his stomach and then spread throughout his body until he felt like he was being sucked into a tiny tube. Next moment, it felt like he was being sprayed out of a hose and he vomited likewise. He winced. Papa didn't like messes.

"Mi spiace, Papa!"

"I'm sorry." Papa muttered as he waved his hand over the mess. It disappeared before Nelo understood what Papa meant.

"I'm sorry," he repeated.

"These people are not necessarily civilized," Papa continued. "But I expect you to behave."

"Si, Papa."

The house smelt musty and lacked natural light—not someplace he wanted to spend much time. Why would people live in the dark like this when they could have open doors? He took Papa's hand for the first time in years. Through the door at the end of the hall, he could see a large table with people clamored around it. Would they like him? Why wouldn't they like him? The laughter stopped when they entered and Nelo saw no safe place to move other than behind Papa.

An old man with a long beard moved until he could see around Papa and smiled. "This is him then?"

"Albus," Papa said to the man, "this is Nelo. Lui Albus Dumbledore." He extended his cupped hand, come here. It would be wrong to disobey Papa, so Nelo moved to where everyone could see him. "Lui Signor Black e Signor Lupin. Signor e Signora Weasley e loro figli Fred e George, Ronald, e Ginevra. Lei Hermione Granger e lui Harry Potter."

"Ciao."

"Hello," Papa corrected. "Please try to speak in English."

"Yes Papa," he clasped his hands behind his back and swiveled. "Hello. Piacere di conoscerla."

"Nice to meet you."

"Oh, si. It is nice to meet you." A lot of them nodded but none of them seemed actually happy to be meeting him. "I am not welcome?"

The old man, Albus, studied him for a moment longer before smiling. "You are very welcome here, young Nelo. Sit please."

Sit? He looked up at Papa. Didn't they want to shake his hand and pat his back? He'd even let them pinch his cheeks. He pressed his index finger into his temple, I don't know, and Papa motioned to the empty chairs.

"British culture is different," Papa reminded him. "Less personal and more reserved."

"Like you?"

Papa growled softly in a way Nelo knew was playful and not dangerous. He raised a single eyebrow. "Ah, divertente."

"Si." It was funny, Nelo thought. Mama always said Papa was a credit to his country. "In English, Papa."

"What language is that?" the brown-haired boy from down the table asked. Harry Potter, if he remembered correctly. He looked less pleased than everyone but Signor Black.

"Italian, Potter. Now shut up."

"Sevro," Nelo warned the same way Mama would when Papa was going too far. Papa always listened to Mama, even when they argued. If she said that word, he stopped.

Potter set his jaw and leaned toward them. "It's just a question, Snape."

Something in the way he said it felt like an attack on Papa. "Professore," Nelo said. "Papa is Professor Snape." Most of them sighed and rolled their eyes and muttered things. How rude! Didn't they have respect for academics? "Dispiaccio, Papa."

Papa put on his gentle face and tucked a strand on Nelo's bouncy brown hair behind his ear. "Fare anticamera. You must wait to be received."

"That is a middling translation. I am being waiting a long time for being received—" he paused, always uncertain about his English. In school they mostly learned vocabulary, not conversation. "And I must have…cold heels."

Papa tutted. "I must wait a long time before being received."

Nelo pouted and tapped his finger on the table. It is not polite to correct. "It is what I said, no?"

"Not quite. Cool your heels."

"Cool your heels," he repeated. "Stupido."

Albus frowned like he was thinking hard about something. "Do you speak English at home Nelo?"

"Obviously not," Signore Black barked. "It's a joke. He won't make it through his classes."

The adults seemed to have a silent conversation—their looks and gestures forming sentences. He could practically hear it. He is not smart enough to make it in an English school. He should go back to where he's from. It wasn't his fault his English was bad. People at home non parlano inglese.

"I am being learning English." Based on the sneer Signore Black flashed him, he hadn't said it correctly. How had Papa learned so good? "Sto imparando l'inglese. Papa?"

Papa didn't seem to be paying attention. Instead he was looking at Signore Black like he might kill him. "The verb to be," he used his boring voice, "is not typically used in English. I am. You are. He is. I am learning English."

Albus cleared his throat, but Nelo didn't want to look at him. "We know very little about you Nelo. Perhaps you'd like to share."

Share about his life? What did they need to know? "Mama e Papa met in 1983. Papa was on residency. Mama became pregnant. They got married. I was born."

"About you child," Papa groaned, "not about me."

"Oh!" He sat forward. "I am," he left of the 'being' and nodded toward Papa, "eleven. Undici. I uh piaccio futbol. Papa?"

"I like football."

Mi piaccio, I like. He filed it away for later. "Mi spiace, non parlo bene." He paused, certain he knew this one. "I am sorry. I no speak good."

"I do not speak well."

He glared at Papa, annoyed at being corrected again. "I am happy to be learning at Hogwarts."

Albus smiled again. "I'm sure you're a very smart boy, Nelo. Your English will come with time. Everyone is happy to help you. Your Papa has made you a room."

His own room? He pulled at Papa's sleeve. And clothes? Mama said he would wear special clothes. "Where will you sleep?"

Signor Black cleared his throat. "Yes Snape, where will you be sleeping?"

Nelo wrapped his arm around Papa's and scowled. In Mama's home there was always room for others and lots of food. Always. Did they not like Papa? Or where they just rude? He thought it would be rude to ask. He buried his face in Papa's arm and yawned. °Sono stanco."

Instead of correcting him, Papa picked him up like he was little and carried him upstairs. He felt like un piccino but it was nice to be held again. Papa helped him out of his trousers and shirt before tucking him in. "Buona notte amore mio." Nelo smiled at Papa's words but fell asleep before responding.