Harry sat on the softest carpet imaginable, his fingers absently stroking it, as his eyes slowly, as to not miss a spot, wandered around this room. It was about twice as big as Aunt Petunia's and Uncle Vernon's living room but he had never even imagined there could be a room like this.
There were pictures on the walls with people on them, but those people moved and one of them even gasped, another snored, a third seemed to stare at him and mutter something he couldn't hear. There were plenty more pictures and they all moved and looked at him with interest. Or so it seemed to Harry. The spaces on the walls unoccupied by those pictures were covered with books, leather-covered books and for a fleeting moment, the boy thought about how much work it would be to dust them all. Aunt Petunia disliked books standing in the open like that. She said they were nice to look at (outside, not inside) but awful dust-gatherers.
Across the room, across from where he sat, still trying to swallow the taste of the stuff 'fesser Snape had given him was a huge, dark desk. Big enough that three or four Harrys could have hidden underneath it and on the top, there were about a billion different things. A nice feather from some bird, an inkwell, a few rolled up bits of paper, something round and glassy and plenty of other things and papers, apparently, Harry could not see from where he was sitting, stroking the carpet. Behind the desk was a large shelf and on it stood an old, ratty hat, and it seemed to move just slightly, but that might be, Harry thought, only trick of the light falling in from the vast windows.
And there, just there, was a perch. A perch with a bird on it. An enormous bird about the size of the swans in the pond he had seen in the park but with red feathers and a golden tail and a golden beak. The bird sort of hummed a gentle melody which at first sounded odd to Harry's ears but a
moment later, he felt like letting himself falling on the soft carpet, resting a bit, because here, nothing could harm him and nobody would hunt him and he would not have to dust the books. He wasn't sure where that feeling was coming from, the 'fesser merely stood there and watched him impatiently and the people in the pictures were still looking, or some of them, staring at him, but he felt so much hope and joy in his heart that he wanted to just burst. He took several deep breaths, closing his eyes as well to the song the bird hummed and only heard that.
He smelled different things too, now more than when his eyes had been open. The faintest smell of lemons hit his nose, just a little bit stronger than the dust probably gathering on the books and something he couldn't recognise. But it all made a wonderful blend and Harry wished he could just stay there on the soft carpet with his eyes closed, or open, taking in this wonderful room. But the bird stopped singing and though he felt a bit better than he had before, the dizziness gone, the insecurity about the 'fesser gone. Here, he wanted to stay.
xx
The cheek of the boy. Almost sprawling on the floor, his eyes closed dreamily. Yes, Fawkes sang and it calmed him too but no reason to to sit there like an imbecile, swaying to the phoenix's song and sniffing the air.
If he had not seen the clarity of the child's mind during the Legilimency, he would have thought him mentally unstable. Off his rocker. Gone around the bend. Well, but he remembered, involuntarily, the first time he had heard Fawkes sing and even though he did not really want to admit it, he supposed he had looked, back then, quite similarly to how the boy looked like at the moment.
However, he had to find the Headmaster, who was clearly not in his office and he had not even received an answer when he had specifically called him. Fawkes looked at him with his searching, black eyes and a moment later, stopped his song. He wasn't sure why he had let the child listen to this, why he had stayed in the office for longer than necessary after it had
been clear that Albus Dumbledore was not there, but maybe Fawkes had compelled him to stay there and listen for a while as well.
"Mr Potter," said Snape sharply. "Come along."
The boy scrambled to his feet, a content, happy smile on his face, and for the first time, Severus could see that he was missing two teeth. Upper central teeth. Of course he would be teething. Severus groaned silently and rolled his eyes to himself. He had not yet quite realised how young he truly was. Teeth falling out, or kicked out, probably, by his idiotic cousin. He had not seen it in his mind. And the boy had always had his mouth closed so far.
"You can leave your bag here for the time being," he added gruffly when the boy stood by his side, looking expectantly up at him. "What is it?"
"What kind of bird is that, sir?" the boy asked and Snape had not noticed before either, how clear his speech was, once he opened his mouth properly.
"It's a phoenix," he replied.
"Are they real?" he asked back, his eyes wide and full of wonder. Oh Severus would strangle the bird for making the boy so confident and hopeful. It would have been easier to just scare him into going to the Infirmary or somewhere else. But now that he had heard Fawkes's song, he just was just – boyish. Curious. Full of questions, probably. And such a silly question.
"He is sitting there, is he not?" Snape snapped.
"Yes, but," the boy hesitated for a moment, "I'm wondering if I'm in a dream. I usually wake up when I ask myself that question," he added rapidly and scrunched up his eyes tightly, his eyebrows beetled together.
Severus waited a few seconds before he drew a deep breath and spoke. "I can assure you, this is no dream."
"That's what people say in my dreams," the boy muttered, his eyes still tightly close and Snape saw his right hand sneaking up to his left forearm and then pinching slightly. The child sighed happily then. "No dream?" he asked, looking up from under his fringe.
"No dream, Mr Potter. Now if you could be so kind as to get moving. I'd be very much obliged," said Snape, his voice dripping with sarcasm but the silly child only nodded happily and skipped to his side.
"What do phoenixes do, 'fesser Snape?" he asked as he began to walk beside him, to the door out of the office.
Oh that bloody chicken. Had made him all cheerful and happy and utterly unafraid. That's that phoenixes did. Amongst other things. But it was not his place to tell. He would not explain the boy about magic and Hogwarts and that his parents had not died in a car crash. It was not his job. He had only acted as a messenger or an owl, more like, fetching the boy. And that only because Petunia Evans knew him and hated him. That was the only reason and now it was someone else's turn to look after the child. He would, if pressed, try and help to find a family. But he was not the one to answer his questions.
"It's a bird, Mr Potter. He sits, he flies, he preens his feathers," he answered gruffly.
"And he sang," the boy said cheerily. "I liked what he hummed or sang or I don't know how he did it. Did you like it, sir?"
Snape rolled his eyes. The Infirmary wasn't far. It was Poppy Pomfrey's duty to take care of witches and wizards. And with a clean conscience, he could leave the boy there. Just up a staircase and through a corridor. Not far at all. And then he could bombard the mediwitch with his questions.
"Did you like it, sir?" he repeated, a slight lisp, he noticed now, audible when he said sir. Well, at least the boy had some manners. Even if he asked question after question.
"I do not mind it," he replied non-committally.
"Oh look, 'fesser Snape. I've never seen stairs like that," the child gushed with wide eyes and that infernal lisp even there at his name. And what was 'fesser? It was Professor. No, not his problem. Poppy or someone else would teach him. And maybe she could stop that lisp as well. Now that he had noticed it, it was all he heard in his speech. And all that only because he saw the spiral staircase leading to and from the Headmaster's office.
"Will I fall down?"
"If you don't hold on to the rail you will," he snapped but instead of looking scared, the child giggled and skipped – skipped! – down the stairs, his hand only on the rail. Not holding onto it. Someone else's to deal with. Not his job. Even though Poppy Pomfrey would have his hide if he delivered him with a broken neck. And that wasn't quite the sense of the entire exercise. The boy would never kill the Dark Lord if he was dead himself. Had to keep an eye on him.
Snape groaned. If he wanted to survive, the boy would have to survive. "What is it now?" he asked testily when the boy stood stockstill and stared.
xx
Those stairs had been fun. His trousers were a bit long and for a moment, he had almost thought he would fall down but 'fesser Snape had said that he would fall only in such a nice, kind, joking voice. Of course he wouldn't fall down a few stairs. He was no baby anymore. He had caught himself but that had made him even quicker and he felt pleasantly dizzy when he had arrived at the bottom and he had needed a moment to adjust to the relatively dim light. But when his eyes could see right again, he was astonished and surprised and shocked and absolutely, a hundred-thousand percent sure that he wasdreaming. No normalperson, as Aunt Petunia would say, could think of something like this, could build something like this.
They stood in a long, long corridor, the walls were made of stone and there were a few stones visible between more pictures on the walls. Pictures that moved as well and Harry heard one of the people in one of the pictures shriek. Possibly a girl, he thought. Girls always shrieked. There were a few windows, scattered around, and they were all sort of barred and those bars threw shadows in the corridor which looked immensely interesting and beautiful. Lovely patterns on the stony floor as well.
And there, when he looked straight ahead were more staircases, huge and long and – oh – one of them was moving. From left to right. And then the other, from right to left.
"'fesser Snape, they're moving," he gasped. "Yes," he drawled.
"Is it real?" he asked again, his mouth hanging open.
"Obviously," he drawled again. "Now if you have stared enough, can we get a move on?"
"But...but it's a dream. It must be. The pictures are moving and the stairs are moving. There are no moving stairs and no moving pictures. I mean there are films. And those are sort of pictures that move but they look different. I'm dreaming, 'fesser Snape," his voice faded in a whisper. It was too good to be true anyhow. There he was, hiding in the bushes, thinking how lovely lovely lovely it would be to have a tall, strong man taking him away from Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudders and a moment later, as if by magic, there was 'fesser Snape. A good dream though. And he would maybe be able to draw a picture if he remembered all of this so vividly once he woke up.
"I assure you again, it is no dream. Now come along, Madam Pomfrey is probably already waiting for you," the man said slowly as if Harry was stupid and couldn't understand. But he wasn't stupid at all. He just thought that something as good as this could never happen to him. And moving staircases? Talking, moving pictures? That could only be magic and Uncle
Vernon had been very sure to tell him time and time again that magic was not real and that it was only a way to get money from the honest, hard- working people. But hadn't 'fesser Snape not mentioned magic before? Just before he had asked how his parents had died?
Harry frowned a little. He didn't understand but why would the 'fesser lie to him about this being a dream? He seemed so real and when he reached out as he walked, he could even touched his sleeve (not his hand, he was not a baby) and could even feel the cloth his Batman-cape was made of. And that never happened in a dream. No. So this was real. It had to be.
But the moving stairs and the entire strange atmosphere of this place confused him still and at the same time, he felt a deep sort of contentment. Something inside that made him want to sigh happily all the time.
But – who was Madam Pomfrey?
"Who is Madam Pomfrey?" he asked curiously. "The mediwitch," he growled.
"What's a mediwitch? Is it a real witch? But Uncle Vernon said there are no witches and wizards and that they all pretend to be something they're not and that some of those are poor souls who pray to the earth or something," Harry explained.
He looked angry. 'fesser Snape in his lovely Batman-cape that nicely flowed over the ground, looked truly angry and Harry couldn't figure out what he had said, or what had happened that had made him angry now.
"Mr Potter, the explanations will come later, but yes, Madam Pomfrey is a real witch. You should ask her the same question," 'fesser Snape explained in a weird tone of voice. Almost like he was mocking him, or as if he was making fun of something else, he didn't know.
"Why?" he asked.
"Ask her that," he said and sounded a tiny bit annoyed. Well, Harry was used to people being annoyed by him and at least the 'fesser had not get shouted at him to shut up. But he could be quiet. There were so many things to see anyhow. It seemed truly magical.
xx
Severus knew there was a trick stair just ahead of them. And he truly did not want to let the boy sink into it. After all, he would have to pull him out afterwards. So it was maybe better to warn him. But he was so small that he could possibly not jump over it. Maybe, he thought, he should just levitate him over it. But that would make him ask even more questions.
And if he lifted him over the stairs, it would be just as bad. But at least that would not be as complicated as explaining a levitating charm.
"Careful," he said gruffly and the boy stopped stepping down the stairs immediately and before he could even react, before the boy understood, he lifted him up under the arms and swept him over the trick-stair and set him on his feet again. The child only looked at him in surprise and astonishment, his mouth hanging open. "Trick stair," he said gruffly and continued his way down the stairs, despite the fact that the boy needed a moment to compose himself. It made Snape smirk that it was so simple, at least for the time being, to shock him into silence.
He walked briskly, continuing his way to the Infirmary and heard the boy following him quickly, almost running behind him. His trousers were too long and too large and Severus only waited for the thump. The thump that would come for sure when the boy stumbled over them and fell. But none came and he had caught up with him and walked smilingly beside him.
"What would it have done? The tricky stair, I mean," he asked, his breathing only a little quicker than it had been before.
"You would have stuck in it," he replied gruffly. So the silence had not lasted long.
"Wicked cool!" the boy exclaimed joyfully.
"Wicked cool?" he mumbled to himself. Oh he had to get him to Madam Pomfrey. Couldn't understand that at all and Pomfrey was obviously good with children. She had to be. And she could take him until someone else could take him in. And she would answer all his questions, he thought to himself as he pushed the door to the Infirmary open.
"Poppy?" he called. "Madam Pomfrey?" there was no answer and only a little note fluttered through the air towards him. A note. Fluttering.
Towards him. And the little fiend by his side gasped. Loudly. Snape caught the note, growling.
"Well, Potter, Madam Pomfrey, the mediwitch, is not here. Just wonderful," he said sarcastically and turned on his heel.
Iamgonefortheday.TheflootoStMungo'sisopenifthereisanemergency.
Just his lucky day. But they had all known that he would get the boy. And now they were gone? Oh he would find them. And if he had to drag the boy behind him.
xx
The 'fesser walked incredibly fast and Harry had to fight to keep up with him. But he did not want to be left behind, even if he was horribly tired by now. He had, after all, spent the morning hiding from Dudley and running from him. And now all that running around made his legs ache.
'fesser Snape opened so many doors, called for people but nobody was there. Nobody, except, well, Harry was tired and he wasn't sure it was real.
Because, just as he opened another door, Harry looked around and there was a little man, hovering in the air cross-legged. That little man wore a orange bow tie and a pinstripe suit – but it was red and pink. And a purple hat sat on his head. And that little man had a wicked grin on his face. But no, people, not even little ones hovered. He must be overly tired, he
thought and shrugged to himself before he turned back to the 'fesser who called for someone like Fit-Wick.
"Who do we have here?" he heard suddenly behind him though, "Batty gitty slimy Snapey. Out to look for trouble? Naughty, naughty. And who's that? Ickle boy. Slimy Snapey did not steal a child. Naughty."
"Peeves," the 'fesser bellowed. So the little man was real and that confused Harry even further and he had to lean against the 'fesser's leg for a moment because his own legs hurt so much from running.
"Scar on ickle boy. Can't be that it's wee potty Potter? Wee Potty at Hogwarts already. Pottigy Prodigy?"
"Peeves," the 'fesser shouted now, "I will get the Bloody Baron. And where is everyone?"
The little man who was apparently called Peeves giggled wildly and did a somersault in the air before he pulled something out of his pocket and looked at it closely, then with one scrunched up eye, he pushed whatever it was slightly away as if he was aiming to throw it at the 'fesser and him and Harry pushed himself even closer to his legs. He didn't seem evil, the little man, but 'fesser Snape wasn't scary at all and he had lifted him over the trick stair and had not let him sink into it. 'fesser Snape was good to him.
Even if he made him run around but for now, he didn't know what that little man called Peeves was aiming at them and so the 'fesser's legs seemed the safest place.
"Hogwartsy staffy people all gone out. Wheeee," he whizzed around them, and suddenly, the 'fesser raised his wooden stick and there was a glimmery, shimmery bubble surrounded him and the 'fesser and something like a water bomb filled with slimy stuff bounced of the bubble and Harry smiled tiredly and happily.
Oh, the 'fesser was already protecting him.
xx
The little fiend leaned against his legs and yawned. Actually yawned. Peeves had zoomed away and he could cancel the shield that had protected them. The entire staff gone? Why?
Oh he would just hex Albus into next week once he could get his fingers on him.
"'fesser Snape?" the boy asked and he sounded quite, quite pitiful. Maybe he had walked too fast. He had had to run to keep up with him.
"What?" he snapped.
"I'm a bit tired and my legs hurt," he sounded almost as if he was about to cry but when Snape looked down, he only yawned and had his head against his hip, too. Oh Poppy would kill him and Arabella Figg would kill him and Albus would probably kill him. But then again it was their own fault if they weren't there.
The boy yawned again and his eyes fell shut and Snape grumbled a little before he picked him up bodily and carried the boy, protesting internally, to his quarters. There was nobody else around and he couldn't let the boy sleep somewhere in a corridor.
It was strange, though, that the boy immediately tried to strangle him with his arms around his neck and his tiny head pressed against his shoulder. It was truly, truly strange.
And it felt even stranger when he dumped the boy on his couch and covered him with a blanket and the boy blinked tiredly, with a smile though, up at him.
"Thank you for taking me away, 'fesser Snape," he whispered before he closed his eyes again and Severus had no idea why the child had said that.
xx