In Loco Parentis 10/?

FEEDBACK: Oh yes. Concrit especially welcome.

DISCLAIMER: The characters are the property of J.K. Rowling, Scholastic Books, Warner Brothers, 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: Apologies first. My work on my '06 Nano Novel for Summer of Giles, a ficathon in the Buffy the Vampire Slayer fandom, delayed this, as I had warned it would. I wasn't expecting to be further delayed by falling in love while I was home in Texas right after that, nor that most of my waking energy would be taken up in parenting my Wee Hob and building something really beautiful with a very old friend. He is encouraging me to keep writing, and I do commit to finishing both these works in Progress, and beginning to post the sequel to Lost Boys by Christmas (as is fitting for a fic set at that time of year.)

Thanks to everyone for continuing to read, and for leaving such thoughtful and challenging reviews. Your comments are making this a much better story than it otherwise would be, and I am very grateful for that. They are especially important now because it is with much gratitude but a heavy heart that I bid farewell to betas sahiya and research-girl. Due to real life issues, both have had to bow out, so this segment has only been self beta'ed several times. If you'd like to volunteer your services, by all means let me know. Or if you're curious what beta work in general is like, shoot me a message. No obligation. We'll talk.

Update 10-14-08: thanks to Lady Whitehound for her review, which offered some Britpicks and challenges to do some things better. The version below reflects some things she pointed out, and I am indebted to her for them.

Some hours later, Snape roused himself as he heard a soft whimper, then a moan. He crossed the room and laid his cool hand on the child's brow. No fever, but Snape would not have been surprised to learn Potter was nursing a serious headache. Glancing down, he saw the boy's eyes were open, glittering a little in the dim light coming through the window. "All right, Potter?" he rasped.

The boy struggled to sit up. "A bit thirsty," he replied, glancing at the door uncertainly. Snape was puzzled for a moment, then, Of course. How often had this boy been unable to come and go as he wished to at night? He thrust down his anger and conjured a glass, halting the boy as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and made as if to stand up.

"Hold on, Potter." Snape murmured aguamenti and the glass filled with cool sweet water from the tip of his wand. The boy's eyes widened, and Snape remembered that this Potter did not yet have the memories of the older one, or if he did, they were too confused and fragmented for him to make much sense of them. But mixed in with the wonder was a kind of relief, as if the magic confirmed for the boy that he was not, in fact, going crazy. He reached out and grasped the water glass in his small hand and gulped the contents down, then offered the empty glass to Snape.

"Thank you."

Snape nodded gravely. "You should go back to sleep, boy. Doubtless you're still a bit weak, after last night."

The boy nodded blearily and lay back down. Snape covered him. As he turned away, the boy's high, quiet voice stopped him. "Who are you, sir?"

Your worst enemy. Nightmare in the flesh. Murderer of most of your family, real or, in the case of Dumbledore, emotional. Not to mention the instrument of death for the dozens of children the Dark Lord tested his curse on before you.

Aloud, he said simply, "Severus. Severus Snape." And for the moment, that was enough. He sat once again and watched the boy slip back down into sleep.

Morning found Snape dozing once again in his transfigured chair, the watery early morning light penetrating the thin curtains easily. The light, though dim, woke him, being so unlike the light that filtered in through the magical window in his dungeon bedchamber, or the heavily curtained windows of his room at Spinner's End.

He looked over at the still sleeping Potter and was reassured by the deep, even breathing. He cast his mind back over the events of the night, then realized that he really should let Minerva know her plan to "secure" these Muggles had failed utterly. He pulled the quill and charmed parchment from the trunk quietly, but Potter did not even stir as the lid closed rather more loudly than he'd intended. In the doorway he turned back for a moment, then swept from the room.

Once downstairs, Snape started the coffee brewing and transferred the wash into the dryer. The rest of the household was still asleep, and he was grateful for it. He was uncomfortably aware that the presence of three more people in the house would change the routine he and his two young charges had worked out. But nothing to be done about it, really. He took a deep breath and took stock of his own condition. Despite the previous night's ordeal and the lingering stiffness of his muscles from his having slept sitting up, he felt fairly well rested. If only his cobwebby mind could come up with what he should write to McGonagall. Perhaps coffee would help that somewhat.

He brought a steaming mug to the table and sat down. He scratched out a neutral greeting, wishing his penmanship were better.

Good morning, Minerva.

Severus. Thank Merlin. I was beginning to worry.

Snape smiled thinly. No reason for that, Minerva. I have no lack of companions to entertain me.

She caught his meaning at once, of course; he reflected that after nearly two decades he did have her well trained at reading between the lines of his sarcasm. They're safe, then? We located them just as His servants did. Before either side could make contact, they had driven off in that mechanical contraption of theirs, and our side was fighting for our lives.

Snape frowned, hoping the 'we' and 'our' were not literal. Minerva McGonagall was a formidable witch, but she had no business dueling at her age, and with her weak heart. But he replied smoothly, I do not know about safe. But they are here.

Good. Arabella's house's wards are not nearly so strong as yours, but we can set up a base of operations there until we can arrange to get you all safely away.

That would not be for some time, Snape knew. In the meantime, Minerva, I will need skelegrow and phoenix tears rather sooner than we had anticipated.

There was a very long pause now, and Snape could almost see his colleague's face, pale and frightened, as she took in the implications of his request.

How old is he now, Severus?

Almost nine.

That's very sudden, isn't it?

I have never witnessed anything like it. But then, Potter always has been exceptional. In one way or another.

What does it mean?

I have no idea. He slept comfortably through the night. I suspect his natural magic has frequently had to ameliorate the effects of neglect or untreated childhood injuries and illnesses. It may be working to his benefit here, as well.

I hope so.

So do I, Minerva.

I will send you the potions Horace has been preparing for you. And I will see if Professor Dumbledore's portrait can help us direct Fawkes to you. No one has seen him since… that night.

Snape knew exactly what night she meant, and why the last two words had been written so shakily, and after a noticeable pause. He grimaced and pushed the events of "that night" from his mind.

I take it the Headmaster's portrait woke most conveniently after you told it what has transpired?

I told it a great many things, Severus. I suspect he is sorry he can no longer feign sleep with me.

Snape felt his lips quirk upward slightly at that. Though the man himself was beyond caring, portraits could feel discomfort and regret, and this one certainly had earned more than his share of both.

Very well, Minerva. Is there anything else?

No. I will send Dobby over later. Be well, Severus.

Thank you, Minerva. You, likewise. He laid the quill aside as Petunia Dursley entered the kitchen. She stopped dead as she caught sight of him at the table. For a second he considered simply ignoring her, but he could not resist baiting her a bit.

"Good morning, Petunia."

She sniffed disdainfully. "Severus." She busied herself pulling out a frying pan and a bowl, then the eggs from the refrigerator. Snape eyed her with faint amusement.

"We do have a less labor intensive way of preparing meals, if you would care to avail yourself of it."

She paused to glare at him. "I want nothing to do with your unnaturalness; is that clear?"

"Perfectly. However, you should know that when the raw ingredients are exhausted, you will be unable to procure more. Except by, as you say, 'unnatural' means."

Her lips tightened, but she did not reply. He watched her separate egg whites from yolks and scramble up the former. She must have caught his puzzled expression, because after a few moments she set the bowl back into the refrigerator and explained, "Duddikins' coach sent us a special diet, to build him up for wrestling. High protein, low fat and cholesterol."

He made no reply, but continued to watch as she scrambled the yolks and began to cook them. When they were ready, she transferred them to a serving dish and set it on the table, as far from him as possible. As she slid two slices of bread into the toaster, he offered, "There's coffee, if you would like some."

She turned to him, about to launch, no doubt, into another diatribe on his unnaturalness, before she saw him nod toward the perfectly non-magical coffeemaker. She relaxed slightly.

"Thank you." She set her toast on her plate, then went to pour some coffee into a garishly pink mug.

She turned and Snape saw her face go pale. He glanced over to see Potter there in the kitchen doorway, rubbing sleep from his eyes, his unruly dark hair standing up in all directions. The boy flinched as the mug slipped from his aunt's grasp and shattered on the floor. Then he sighed and padded across the kitchen, carefully avoiding the broken shards with his bare feet. He tugged open the cupboard beneath the sink and emerged with a dustpan and whisk broom, and a towel. As Snape looked on disbelievingly, he began to clean up the mess.

Snape cleared his throat. "Potter." The boy looked up, flinching a little at the sound. Snape drew out his wand and vanished the mess. "You are not a house elf. Come sit down and have some breakfast."

He saw how the boy hesitated there, and he surmised eating at the table with guests or company was not something the eight year old Potter was accustomed to doing. Summoning every ounce of patience he said, "Whatever memories you may have, Potter, from now on you are to eat at the table at all times like the young wizard you are. Do you understand?"

The boy nodded and crossed the room to sit next to Snape, pulling his chair as close to Snape's as possible and casting some anxious glances towards his aunt, who had not yet moved. Snape ignored her, instead taking the plate of eggs, bacon and toast from the enchanted tray and setting them before the boy. A bowl of porridge appeared in its place, and a large glass of milk. He removed them as well. The child's eyes had gone wide, though whether from the magic or the quantity of food Snape wasn't sure.

"I realize this may seem like a great deal of food, Potter, but you have had an— illness. You will need to keep up your strength. Go slowly, but eat as much as you can."

The boy nodded and began to nibble at a bit of toast. As he ate, he kept glancing at the man next to him. Finally, Snape said, "What do you wish to know, Potter?"

"Er, who are you? And what's a wizard?"

"You are a wizard, Boy, as am I. Severus Snape."

"You seem like someone I should know, but…." The boy trailed off, unable to process the confusing layers of memory.

"You and I have been well acquainted in the past. As I said, you have been ill, and it has affected your memory. Everything will come back to you in time. I was one of your professors at Hogwarts."

There was a strangled sound now from Petunia, standing stock still by the counter staring at them. Snape sighed. "Come have a seat, Petunia. You're frightening the boy."

"As if you care about that," she spat at him, but she crossed back to her own place and began to eat, seemingly not noticing how cold her meal had grown. Snape considered warming it for her, then decided to leave well enough alone. She also seemed to be struggling for the words to ask her question, much as her nephew had been. But she didn't need to ask aloud— her expression, and the way she kept staring at the boy gave it away.

"He is almost nine, Petunia. As we told you last night, the curse is characterized by growth spurts and rapid aging, although I have not before seen jumps quite as dramatic as this. He now has access to all the memories he possessed on this date when he was this age, as well as some no doubt confusing recollections of himself over the last week. Am I right?" He directed this last to the boy, who nodded and looked a little relieved.

"Yes, sir." He was now eating his eggs and bacon with a bit more appetite.

Petunia seemed to have lost her appetite entirely. In almost a whisper she said, "Last night sounded— horrible."

Snape inclined his head and sipped at his coffee. "It was."

"How soon will he—?" She stopped, unable to make herself say it.

"A few days, perhaps a week. They should spread out a bit more as he grows older, but we cannot be sure. He is already reacting differently than anyone else I have ever seen."

She eyed him shrewdly. "And how do you know so much about this, Severus Snape? Is this a common problem in your world?"

"No," he rasped. He took a deep breath and continued in a stronger voice, "I studied it, Petunia. For the Dark Lord. He never overcame certain side effects, so the curse was of little practical use to him. But he did have it at hand when the whim took him to try to recreate the events of Potter's early childhood."

Potter was looking at him, scrunching up his face in an effort to remember something, or to understand. "Don't try to remember now, Potter. It will come back to you soon enough. Just know that for now, you are safe here, and I will not allow anyone to harm you."

The boy nodded and turned his troubled eyes back to his plate. Soon he pushed it aside. "I'm full, sir."

Snape nodded approvingly. "Stand up, Potter." The boy did so, and Snape transfigured his nightshirt into shorts and a t-shirt. "Come with me, Potter. We'll need to stretch those muscles a bit. Do you remember doing that yesterday?"

The boy nodded slowly. "Yes, sir." He glanced down at his bare feet and Snape grimaced. "Accio shoes. Accio glasses." Both sailed through the door a moment later, and he caught the glasses neatly, redirecting the shoes to the floor. He held the glasses out to the boy, who put them on. Potter grinned in wonder as they shrank to fit his face, then adjusted to bring the world around him into focus.

"Thank you, sir," he breathed. "Is this magic?"

"Yes, boy." He transfigured the small shoes into larger ones, and Harry sat down to pull them on. Then the boy jumped up, grinning eagerly.

"I'm ready, sir."

Hermione came downstairs to find Petunia sitting at the table picking at the remains of what looked like scrambled eggs and toast and casting furtive glances out the back door. Looking out herself, Hermione saw Harry running back and forth, and Snape standing looking on with his arms folded across his chest. She was struck by how such a forbidding stance still made Snape look more relaxed than she'd ever seen him.

She came back to the table and nodded at Petunia, then sat down and took a plate of eggs and fruit from the tray. "Would you like some?" she asked politely, noticing the longing look in the older woman's eyes.

Petunia sniffed and looked relieved when her husband and son trudged into the kitchen. "Dudley! Vernon! Here let me…."

But Dudley and Veron were already siting down and pulling the platters of eggs and bacon and toast from the tray, not having noticed, apparently, their sudden appearance. "Looks great, Mum," Dudley said around a mouthful of eggs.

Vernon grunted his agreement around a mouthful of his own, and Hermione suppressed a grin at Petunia's expression, spluttering and speechless. Then she glanced out the open door and noticed Harry standing very still and staring at the back fence. Snape was striding up behind him, drawing his wand as he went. She immediately pushed back from the table and ran to them, drawing her own wand as well.

What she saw as she drew near made her steps falter. She froze up just as she came even with Snape, who had his free hand on Harry's trembling shoulder. She felt the wrist of his wand hand on her upper arm, pulling her closer, then his voice in her ear. "None of this is real Miss Granger."

What she saw through a haze of smoke and fire, were ruined houses, dark marks floating over each one and casting an eerie greenish glow over the whole street. The front yards were littered with the dead; not only Muggle men, women and children, but people she had known for years in the Magical World: Minerva McGonagall, her dark green robes soaked with blood, her eyes wide and staring. Fred and George Weasley fallen together, only identifiable by the Weasley jumpers she'd seen them wearing back at school after Christmas break the previous year. And Ron— no. She closed her eyes and turned her head away, but the vision did not fade. Once again she heard Snape's low, even voice say, "This is not real, children. Back away slowly. Take hold of my arm, Miss Granger. Do not let go."

Hermione let herself be pulled slowly back, holding on to Snape's sinewy arm as to a life line. After what seemed an eternity, she suddenly found herself standing in the middle of a well-tended, if small, back garden, with the early morning sun beginning to melt the dew from the grass, wondering why the innocuous looking back fence filled her with such dread.

Snape gently disengaged his arm from her probably painful grasp and knelt down, turning Harry toward him. "All right, Potter?" he asked.

Tears were streaming down Harry's face. "I saw her," he whispered. "My mum. And a flash of green light, and she screamed—" He broke off, and Hermione saw Snape turn his face away for a moment, as if the sight were equally unbearable to him. Then he turned back and took the boy's chin in his long, surprisingly gentle fingers. Snape tipped the boy's face upwards, until they were looking directly into each other's eyes.

"Potter. I saw something… similar." He paused, and for a moment, Hermione thought he would say nothing else. But then he went on, "The Dark Lord knows we are here. The wards will protect us to some extent. But, should anything, or anyone get through them, I will not allow you to come to harm." His eyes flicked up to include Hermione in this last pronouncement. "Either of you."

The boy glanced almost involuntarily toward the house, where the other members of his family sat watching them uneasily. Snape sighed.

"Yes, Potter. I shall protect your worthless relations, as well. But you must all do as I say, without question. Spells that can project memories or imaginings worse than those drawn forth by boggarts or dementors are Darkest Magic. Neither of you are a match for it. Do you understand, Potter?"

The little boy looked back into Snape's black eyes and his face took on a determined expression. He said quietly, "I've fought him. The Dark Lord. Haven't I?"

Snape studied Harry as if for some sign of that Gryffindor arrogance he was always berating the boy for. But his expression softened as he seemed to find none of it. "And you will again, Potter," he replied in a low voice. "But not until you are older. When you are ready—" Snape stopped, but the boy nodded.

Snape nodded too and clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Let's get inside. All right, Miss Granger?"

She nodded slowly, trying to process all she had seen. "The visions— they were different for each of us. Memories for Harry, more like nightmares for me. What did you—"

Snape cut her off curtly, "I do not wish to discuss it, Miss Granger." He would not look her directly in the eye. "Come along," he said to them both.

Once inside, Hermione watched in a kind of daze as Snape swept past the curious stares of the family seated around the table. He ushered Harry through the room with a guiding hand on the boy's shoulder, saying, "Potter, go upstairs and shower. I'll be along in a few minutes with a change of clothing for you."

Harry looked shaken and uncertain, but he nodded. "Yes, sir," he said quietly. Hermione heard his hesitant tread on the stairs, not at all the boisterous thumping run it had been the previous day when Snape had sent him up after their morning exercise. Snape appeared to take no notice as he turned to Dudley Dursley.

"You, young man. I shall need some clothing from your overstuffed wardrobe for Potter. Go get it, at once."

Dudley looked startled, but he stood up as ordered. "It'll be a bit big on him, but, sure. Whatever you say."

Snape sneered. "I shall of course be using magic to adjust the size," he informed the room with a smirk as his eyes fell briefly on Petunia Dursley. Then he and Dudley were gone and Hermione was left there with Petunia and Vernon Dursley, the latter with the forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth. He glanced at it, then placed it back on his plate, uneaten.

Everything seemed very distant and unreal to her. She heard a man's voice, but the words didn't register. It wasn't until she felt a thin, bony hand gripping her upper arm, pulling her forward, that she wrenched her mind back from the horrors she had just seen. She jerked away, then saw Petunia Dursley looking at her. There was fear in the older woman's eyes, but also an odd expression— concern? Something about that seemed off, but Hermione couldn't quite remember why.

"I said, are you all right? Sit down, girl." Hermione allowed herself to be guided to a seat at the table. She realized she was shaking. "What—what was that? Out there?" Petunia cast a furtive glance out the back door.

Hermione looked too, but all she saw now was the perfectly ordinary looking wooden fence. She shook her head and slowly pulled herself together. "Everything's fine," she lied finally, her eyes on the polished table top.

"They most assuredly are not," Snape said from the doorway. She glanced up startled, to find him eyeing her with an expression she could not read. He continued, "It is imperative that everyone stay within the magical wards protecting this house. I am arranging a place for you three to go, as soon as you can do so in safety." His eyes briefly left Hermione's face to include the three Dursleys in this statement. Then he continued, "Until those plans are in place, none of us will be safe outside these walls."

Vernon Dursley was looking at Snape measuringly. "How safe are we inside?" he asked quietly.

Snape looked reluctantly impressed. "You have magical wards forged by Lily's love and death for her son, and strengthened by one of the most powerful wizards of our age. I have my wand, and Miss Granger is an— adequate Defense student." Hermione caught him looking at her again, and now there was a flicker of concern, perhaps at how she could not bring herself to react to the obvious aspersion. Turning back to Vernon Dursley, he added, "And we have the entire Order of the Phoenix mobilizing to come to our aid. We have only to hold out until they can get to us."