The usual disclaimers apply.

xx

Silence. Blissful silence. And all it had taken was one book. One small, tiny book and there was silence. He thought. Maybe too silent.

It wasn't good either. Seriously, who could expect him to do any kind of work while the boy was shouting and running in his room? And he could not even go to his office because the boy would wreck his rooms if he did But when there was silence, Severus found that just as disturbing. No, really, he had, to some extent, understood the boy's happiness. Quite. But now this silence? It was unnerving.

Couldn't do work when it was too quiet and the boy was planning Merlin- knew-what either. So, Severus stalked as quietly as he could towards the open door of the boy's new room (no chance in hell he would allow him to close that door. Heaven only knew what he could do in there) and stood, mesmerised, observing.

The boy actually sat on the ground, leaning against a shelf that also looked like a tree and with a furrowed brow, he read. He read A Guide to Potions. Slowly, sometimes using his finger, but he read. Concentrated.

That, he had not expected. He had expected him to have thrown the book away, maybe grabbed another one, or jumping on the bed under a silencing spell. Or maybe – anything but this.

Suddenly, the boy sighed softly and very, very slowly, looked up, his finger in the book and another pushing up the glasses on his nose. He smiled when he noticed Snape standing there and took a deep breath as his smile grew wider.

"I like that book, 'fesser Snape," he said quietly and Severus was, to be honest, quite taken back by this. He wasn't meant to like it. Potter had never liked potions. Lily yes, Potter no. And this was difficult. Meant for children a few years older, not 7 year old boys. He was about to return to the desk, albeit defeated slightly, when the boy jumped up, the book in his hand.

"But, sir, I don't understand this. It says that potions can only be done by wizards and that if Muggles do it, they won't get results. What are Muggles, 'fesser Snape?"

Severus's eyebrows raised to unknown heights. "Excuse me?"

"Well, what are Muggles and why don't they get the same results if they use the same ingredients and why is it necessary to harvest herbs and other ingredients at precisely the right time? So what are Muggles? And why is that necessary?"

Severus was shocked. He had not expected this. He knew he had lost his cool façade. He knew he looked utterly startled and the boy saw it. He had read parts of the book, the introduction, really, very thoroughly. Had paid attention. And Severus had not expected this. Not at all.

"'fesser Snape?" the boy asked with that infernal lisp, standing in front of him.

"What?" he asked, loudly, snapping out of his surprise.

"What is a Muggle?" asked the boy, gently and slowly, and he was looking up with those eyes again and Severus felt himself transported back. Years and years back when the same looking eyes had worn the same expression of unbridled curiosity. It was unnerving but also, somewhere in the back of his mind, it registered that it was – something beautiful. Quietly, his mind reminded him that here and now, he had a part of Lily. And that small portion of his brain burned like fire, burned a path to the front, to the back of his eyes so he could see her sitting on swings, talking, laughing, smiling, when he closed his eyes. And when he opened them, he saw the same eyes, there, asking, asking him. Trusting him. Wanting to stay with him.

He shook himself internally, trying to push back that rather shocking revelation that he had, here, with him, a piece, a part of Lily, and, clearing his throat, he put on his neutral mask. "A Muggle is what wizards call people who cannot do magic."

"Like Aunt Petunia? Or is she a witch? And Uncle Vernon? But he said magic is..."

"They are Muggles. Precisely so," answered Snape, trying to maintain his cool. The boy was quick. And interested. And made connections. Not that he had expected anything else – he was already 7 after all. He should understand that.

"But why can I do magic then and they can't?"

Severus swallowed around the lump in his throat, "Your mother and father were witch and wizard."

The child nodded solemnly, not overly sad, just accepting of the fact. "Did you know them? And why can't Muggles make potions? And what about that time to harvest them?"

Severus sighed. He had obviously hexed his own foot by giving him the book. Question after question after question. But if he was smart, and he usually prided himself on his own intelligence and smartness, he could, probably avoid being asked too much about Lily. And Potter.

"Muggles can't brew potions – not make potions – because they are Muggles and as such do not have the magic to create them."

"But..." the child hesitated, "the book said, I think, that you don't need wands for potions."

"Indeed you do not," he explained, falling, subconsciously, into his teacher mode.

"But that means I can do magic without a wand, too?"

Severus's eyebrows arched again. Those were questions that were more clever than any first year, or most 5th year usually asked. "Potter, you did appear on a rooftop, did you not? You did grow your hair back and you did make your bag lighter, did you not?"

He nodded shyly.

"Do you have a wand?" he asked arrogantly.

Surprisingly, however the little fiend began to giggle. "No," he spluttered between those fits of giggles and it made Severus extremely uncomfortable. Why was he giggling? There was absolutely no reason for it. He had only stated facts. There was no need for giggling.

"Potter, stop that," he bellowed and the child was silent – immediately. "Explain?"

"Well, it's just that I thought earlier that I can't do real magic yet because I don't have a wand but I really want to because then I could maybe put a pig's snout or a pig's tail on Dudley but if I have the magic in me, if I am a wizard, I can brew a potion that will make him grow one and that was funny."

Maybe, Severus thought his eyebrows had vanished right into his hairline at that stage, he had underestimated that child. Or maybe...he didn't know. He was extremely surprised. More than that. Shocked, really. And to show such Slytherin traits. He had underestimated him. Clearly.

And he had no idea what to answer the boy. Absolutely none.

For the first time in his career, Snape had trouble answering something a child had said but of course he needn't have worried. The boy was, after all, the question-machine.

"So can I?"

"So can you what?" he asked, slightly unnerved.

"Make...erm, brew a potion. That will make..."

"No, Mr Potter, you cannot," he interrupted. Even though, well, the idea per se wasn't that bad. And the child, a mere seven years old, already held such grudges that he would consider...

He felt the strong urge to sit down. Sit down, down a glass of Odgen's Finest, or Odgen's Anything, when another little thought burned its way to the front of his head.

He would not have acted differently. Well, he would have probably bounced less because that was just undignified, but in Potter's position, when he had been seven, he would have asked the same, the very same questions. Would have, in all likelihood, wanted to brew a potion that would have similar effects on certain other people. He would not have hesitated either.

Severus slowly staggered back, out of the room and the boy was, of course, following him and if Severus had looked closely, he would have seen worry in the boy's eyes as well now. He sat down heavily on one of the plush armchairs and stared at the child. He knew it was wrong, and potentially dangerous to look into his mind again, so repeatedly and after Albus had done it during breakfast but there was nothing he could do about it.

The child was seeing him absolutely struck. Almost weak in that moment that he had to admit to himself that he and the boy were quite, quite alike. In their situations, not in their behaviour. He would have behaved, naturally – oh sod it – he wouldn't have bounced any less or would have run any smaller circles if someone had pulled him out of that dreadful home and into this world. If someone had given him a room like that. If someone had given him, at that age, that kind of book to read and if someone had willingly answered all his questions. And not in hushed tones but clear and concise and definite.

But in the child's mind was first and foremost worry. Worry for – him. No that couldn't be. Definitely not. And a bit deeper – questions, question after question after question. No wonder the boy was bubbling over. He was inquisitive. Wanted to know. And again, that worry. Why was he not feeling well and why was he so pale and...

He withdrew quickly from the child's mind and summoned a glass of water. The child could not stay with him. It was irresponsible and idiotic to leave a child like this, a child like he had been, in his care.

xx

The poor 'fesser was completely pale and looked utterly shocked. Harry didn't understand why and he tried to speak to him but the 'fesser only had a glass of water flying through the air and he said absolutely nothing. He only gulped down the water and drew a couple of deep breaths before he stood up shakily.

He had never seen him like that. And only because he had asked a few questions? That couldn't be. Suddenly, the 'fesser turned around, facing his desk and furiously scribbled down something that the then rolled up in a nice, tight roll.

"'fesser Snape?" he asked carefully.

"Come along, Mr Potter," he replied and his voice wasn't as steady and as silky and as nice as it had been before but was raw and weird.

"Where are we going?"

"Out," he replied coldly but Harry couldn't go like this. He shook his head to himself and before the 'fesser could turn away, he had grasped his hand.

"Are you sending me away now? I want to stay with you, really. And I promise I won't ask too many questions and..." he had to swallow. The 'fesser had been shocked because of him and he didn't want that. He wanted the 'fesser to like him. Really like him because the 'fesser was the first person who had been truly nice to him and had been truly gentle and everything. And he was the one who had taken him away. And going 'out' was no reply. He looked at his black eyes and tried to explain, with his eyes only, that he did not want to leave. That he wanted to have his questions answered or at least read a little more in the book. Harry's only thought was that he wanted to stay with the 'fesser, that the 'fesser was a cool, awesome person and just the way Harry had always pictured his rescuer.

'fesser Snape stared back into his eyes and he suddenly looked a little pink around the cheeks and ears and stopped trying to push Harry's hand away which he had done since he had grasped it.

"You do want to stay with me?" Harry nodded quietly.

"Why?"

"Because you are nice and because you are kind and because you are strong and because you answer all my questions," he replied honestly and without hesitation.

'fesser Snape seemed to shake himself sort of and then looked briefly away. "We're going to dinner now," he said and his voice was almost back to the silky lovely tone. "I have things to discuss with the Headmaster."

Harry nodded and without letting go of 'fesser Snape's hand, he followed him out of their rooms, the book he had read safely on the 'fesser's desk. But – as soon as Harry and 'fesser Snape left the rooms, there was the tiny hovering man behind them again and Harry pulled together all his courage.

He hated being followed. You never knew when someone pounced on you when they walked behind you and it was always better, he had figured out a while back, when you just faced the people and talked to them. Well, either that, or ran. But he couldn't run. Not when he still held 'fesser Snape's hand and not in this place. He would get lost after a moment for sure. And so, he took a deep breath, disentangled his hand from the man's and swiftly turned around.

"Hello, I'm Harry," he told the hovering, little man, "what's your name?" Harry wasn't daft. He knew he was called Peeves – he had paid attention after all but he couldn't jolly well ask what he was doing following them.

"Mr Potter, do not talk to..."

"Can't you call me Harry?" Harry asked exasperatedly, his eyes still fixed on the little man hovering.

"Fine," the 'fesser huffed, "do not talk to..."

"My name's Peeves, Hairy Harry Wee Potter. Peeves hasn't expected you to come to Hoggy Warts so soon," the little man said in a rather oily voice.

"Why did you expect me at all?" Harry asked, ignoring 'fesser Snape who had a grip on his shoulder and tried to pull him away. No, actually, he did pull him away but Peeves was following them and Harry simply walked backwards.

"Because Hairy Harry Wee Potter is the chosen one, they say," he cackled, the oily voice gone.

"What chosen one? I'm really only Harry. You don't need to say Hairy Harry Wee Potter," he explained.

"Snarky Snakey Snapey hasn't told Pottigy Prodigy from the..."

"Peeves," 'fesser Snape bellowed, "Go away and stop following him."

"Yeah, why are you following me?" Harry asked, frowning. "And what is the chosen one? And what hasn't 'fesser Snape told me?"

"Snarky Snakey Snapey hasn't told him anything, I see," he said in a sort of sing-sang voice. "Should Peeves do it?"

"I'll get the Bloody Baron," 'fesser Snape threatened.

"Why would you get the Bloody Baron? Who is the Bloody Baron anyway?" Harry asked, then looked questioningly at Peeves again, waited and when he didn't get an answer from either of them, he rolled his eyes. "What are you, Peeves? Are you man that can fly? You will not throw anything at us today, will you? I liked the bubble that 'fesser Snape made but it sort of smelled what you threw at us."

Peeves, the little man, bowed his head a little, and frowned as well, all the while 'fesser Snape still dragged him along. "I'm a Poltergeist, Hairy Harry."

"I'm not hairy."

"Don't encourage him," 'fesser Snape hissed.

"What is a Poltergeist anyway?"

Peeves then looked even more startled and before he could answer, he had vanished into thin air and Harry turned around, walking on his own and forwards. "What is a Poltergeist? And how did he do that?"

"Ask Minerva all those questions," 'fesser Snape grumbled and pushed the door open that they had walked in that morning for breakfast.

xx