No Malicious Haunting 4/?

Summary: Sequel to Lost Boys. When Snape and David visit the Potters for the holidays, they find that the past is neither forgiven nor forgotten. FRT, genfic.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, and whoever else may have a hold on them. I own nothing in the Potterverse, or anywhere else, for that matter. Strictly for entertainment, and no profit is being made. Please sue somebody else.

A/N: Beta thanks again to Betina and Whitehound. All mistakes are, of course, my own. Also, "Boys ardent for some desperate glory" is a line from Wilfred Owens' well-known anti-war poem, "Dulce et Decorum Est." The title comes from a famous Latin saying, which translates, "It is sweet and fitting to die for one's country." I think it's appropriate to use it, as the young soldiers caught up in the Wizarding war were probably not unlike their counterparts in World War I in both their innocence and their feelings of betrayal when they found out what war was really like.

Snape spent the next few days dividing his time between resting in David's room and observing his young friend's daily life- watching him meeting Muggle friends, playing a game of scratch football on an unseasonably warm day, or playing something called a "computer game" with his dad. When things became overwhelming, he retreated again to David's room to read, or to drift. He was pleased that David woke only once with nightmares, and that a short talk soothed him back to sleep. And he was astonished by the easy acceptance David's mum and sister gave him. Eventually.

"Are you the one who made Davey sick, then?" his sister demanded protectively when he first revealed himself.

"No," David said, as Snape gave her a frosty look which did not seem to daunt the girl in the least. "He's the one who helped me get well."

David's mother smiled at Snape, and he felt oddly embarrassed. "Harry told us what you did, and we're grateful to you. You're welcome here anytime, Professor."

"Thank you."

Christmas Day dawned bright and clear and very cold. Snape was staring out the window, oddly finding himself missing the snow which always fell this time of year at Hogwarts. He heard a stirring behind him and David said, with an audible yawn, "Hey."

Snape turned. "Good morning, Boy. Happy Christmas."

There was a package at the foot of the bed, and David reached for it eagerly. Snape suppressed a smile at the impetuosity of youth. "Slytherin green," the boy noted, looking at the wrapping paper, with its silver ribbon. "Might this be from you, Sir?"

Snape shrugged noncommittally. But David was already tearing open the wrapping, then grinning as he caught sight of the title. "Wow, where'd you lay your hands on this, Sir?" It was a Quidditch tactics book, one of the few focused on the Keeper position, well worn.

"I asked your Uncle to retrieve it from wherever my possessions were dispersed to, after my untimely death," the ghost replied.

"That'd be from his library then, wouldn't it?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "I never thought, when I made out that will, that I'd have to ask Potter for one of my own books back."

"Then thanks doubly," David replied. He didn't say more, but Snape knew the boy's gift allowed him to pick up on the ghost's still terribly conflicted feelings about one Harry James Potter. Instead the boy said, "I have something for you as well."

Snape was a little nonplussed at that. Though he had given his gift to David no small amount of thought, it had honestly never occurred to him that the boy would wish to reciprocate in any way. But he was up and pulling on his dressing gown, then rummaging through his trunk, and before Snape could formulate a suitable reply, he found a gold foil-wrapped package, somewhat worse for wear, thrust into his ghostly hands.

Snape pulled on one end of the frayed red ribbon, then slit the wrapping open somewhat awkwardly with his thumbnail. Inside was a small album. When he opened it, he found -

"Where did you get these?" the ghost rasped, as he flipped through the collection of wizarding and still photographs. Some were of Lily, achingly lovely as a child and later as the young woman he remembered. Others were of his godson Draco, his old friends and colleagues, and David. There were even a few of himself as a student, with friends. Oh yes. Severus Snape had had friends at school. Not very good friends for the most part, as he himself would have been the first to admit. Friends like him, so blinded by ambition or need that they bought into the Darkness body and soul. Friends who had so disgusted Lily that, in the end, very little had been needed to drive that final wedge between them.

He paused to look at a picture of himself with Lucius. Both in student robes, Lucius with his prefect's badge gleaming on his chest, so graciously posing with the ungainly awkward second year who had brought honor to Slytherin house by orchestrating an elaborate and somewhat cruel prank on the Golden Boys of Gryffindor. That was what the smiles were for, anyway, though the ostensible reason for the photograph, according to its caption, was for their chess team's victory in the House Tournament that year. The prank had involved chess, so it was appropriate, Snape thought. He looked at those boys. So young. Even Lucius had been mostly innocent, back then. Already destined to take the Dark Mark, already preaching the gospel of Racial Purity to "boys ardent for some desperate glory." But Malfoy had really believed in the cause at the time. And even then, he didn't go in for cruelty for its own sake.

"Too wasteful," Lucius had explained to him once. "Never let your emotions blind you to your true goals."

Snape turned the page and saw another wizarding photograph, of himself as a first year teacher, already dour and angry, barely tolerating the friendly arm around his shoulder. Albus Dumbledore, of course. Smiling as if almost in spite of the reluctant young man at his side who was trying to pull away and out of the frame. The older man's image seemed to look out from the page directly into his own startled eyes. A sad expression came to his face then, and he seemed to age more than the decade and a half between when that picture had been taken and when... Snape had killed him. It did not speak- it could not, of course, but it seemed to be reaching out to him somehow. Imploring him. "Severus, please..."

Snape closed the book and glanced up at the boy, who was gazing at him in honest concern. "Er... are you all right, Professor?"

Snape forced himself to relax, then to smile at his young friend. "Of course. I am quite touched, David. This has brought back... more memories I had thought lost. Things I had put out of my mind long before I died. I am just a bit... overwhelmed to have them back all at once. But thank you, Boy."

David gave a small smile, seeming relieved, but a little embarrassed at the praise. To cover it, he said, "We'd better start getting ready. Today's the big day, you know. We'll be spending Christmas at Uncle Harry's."

Snape sighed. "Yes. How could I forget?"

David let Snape stay up in his room until the last possible moment, knowing the chaos of the rest of the household on Christmas morning would be more than the ghost's frayed nerves could take. But at last all gifts had been packed into the special trunk Uncle Harry had provided, both as a means of transporting presents and the dishes Lisa Dursley had been delegated to prepare, and as a means of conveying the Muggle family to the remote village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The trunk was a timed Portkey, and they were coming up on 5 minutes to 1:00, when it would take itself, and whoever was touching it at the time, to the Potter residence.

David peeked his head around the door. "Professor? Ready to go?"

Snape wrinkled his lip. "I don't suppose I could plead illness? Indisposition?"

"Not a chance."

Snape was already preceding the boy out of his room and down the stairs. "But how do we know this portkey will take me along as well? And..." He added with a dangerous glare back at his young friend as they arrived in the living room, "... if you suggest I have to put myself inside that monstrosity, I will hex you six ways from Sunday. You have my word on that, Mister Dusley."

David grinned. Snape always reverted to his most formal when he was most rattled. David had long since learned to pay the tone no mind at all. "Just as long as you lay off the ears," he shot back good-naturedly. Then, taking pity on his friend, he revealed, a trifle mischievously, "Uncle Harry said he would be by with a special Portkey for you. Didn't I mention that?"

Snape's glare turned truly murderous then, but before he could reply, a sudden crack reverberated in the room, and Uncle Harry was smiling at them.

"Professor Snape, Davey. I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

Snape glared at the man, on general principle, David supposed. "Not at all," Snape replied, carefully schooling his features into that bland impassivity David knew he had perfected years before.

David's father stepped into the living room, calling back over his shoulder, "Ellie, Lisa! Come along! You'll be late!"

"Hello Dudley," Uncle Harry said. "And don't worry. I can reset the Portkey easily enough."

"Yes, but you know women. Takes them forever..."

At this point, Ellie burst through the door and nearly knocked her dad into a heap. Only Uncle Harry's quick intervention prevented disaster. The girl's mother followed, more sedately.

"I swear, Ellie, when will you learn to comport yourself with a little dignity?" David's mum sighed, but there was an amused twinkle in her eye. David smiled a little at that too - it was an old joke. Then he noticed how the ghost was edging away from them, his expression unsettled, a little dazed.

He moved to stand by the ghost and whispered, "It's all right, Professor. They do this every year."

Snape nodded and made a visible effort to relax. David knew little of Snape's upbringing, but he had gathered, from what little his friend had said, and from his own flashes of insight and dreams, that in Snape's experience loud and boisterous did not equal safety or harmonious family life. David wished he knew what to do to help, but really, other than be there if his friend needed his reassurance or presence, there was little he could do. But boy, he thought, if he was having trouble now, wait until he got to the Potter household.

Before he could reflect more on it, Uncle Harry was speaking. "Davey, after we get everyone settled at my house, would you like to come with me to fetch your Grandpa Vernon and Grandma Petunia?"

David nodded, though he was not terribly keen on it, not just because his Grandpa was barely civil to any of them and Grandma was so very nervous, but also because it meant Professor Snape would have to fend for himself alone for a bit.

As if in answer to the look, Uncle Harry said, "Rose is already there- I'm sure she can keep the professor company for a few minutes until we return."

David grinned and gave his friend a sidelong glance. "More likely, she'll put you to work and boss you to death - well, er, maybe not. I mean…."

Snape smiled sourly, but his equilibrium seemed restored. "No doubt, Mister Dursley," he replied. "Shall we be on our way, then?"

By the time David got back to the Potters with his grandparents in tow, he saw that Professor Snape was indeed engaged in a rather animated discussion with Lily and Rose - engaged meaning, he was listening intently and only getting a word in edgewise every few minutes. Even then, David was fairly sure no one watching would have suspected the ghost's presence. He took his grandparents into the sitting room they preferred for its quiet and its relative lack of wizarding accessories, got them settled with soothing cups of tea and made his way back to Snape.

Snape looked up at his approach and asked, "Why on earth do they travel by Floo? It seems a bit athletic, for people of their age and ... temperament."

David shrugged and said, "Uncle Harry has them travel by Floo mostly because they hate it so much. He says it really is the safest way for Muggles to travel with a wizard and all, but I'm sure if he tried he could come up with something a little less dramatic." As he said it, David was aware that Uncle Harry's childhood in his grandparents' home had been unhappy, and he could see Snape knew it too, as the ghost allowed a brief, satisfied smirk to flit across his features.

Just then, James, Hugo, Al and Scorpius bounded in. "Come on, Davey, you have to come out, we need a Keeper..."

"No," Madam Weasley's voice rang out, silencing the din. "What part of No Quidditch until after the holidays did you boys not understand? David cannot play Quidditch. Find another game."

David said quickly, before the chorus of protests could begin, "What about Muggle football? Then Ellie could play, too. I hear you're getting pretty good," he added, smiling at his little sister.

David glanced over at Snape. "Want to come watch?" he asked quietly, as Ellie launched into a loud and somewhat hard to follow explanation of the rules of football for the wizarding children who had never played.

Snape shook his head. "Thank you, David. I am sure I shall be quite all right in here. Go be with your cousins." As David trooped out, he glanced back and saw Snape sink into the shadows at the edge of the living room, watching as the other guests began to arrive. Ah well. He had once been a spy. David was fairly sure he would be content to lurk, and that Uncle Harry could direct him to a quieter space if he were not. He pulled his heavy coat from the trunk Portkey still in the back hallway and shrugged into it, then raced to catch up with his friends.