Author's Note:

This is an AU – Voldemort is dead, but not by Harry's hand, who is a perfectly normal seven year old (at least when this story begins). I will not get into the details of how Voldemort was killed, either in-fic or through author's notes or comment replies, as it is not relevant to the story I want to tell here.

Likewise, there is a character in this fic whose actions and words are shrouded in mystery if you're unfamiliar with either of my fics Butterfly Wings or For the Price of a Soul. This is intentional – the characters are left in the dark about these things too – so if you don't like everything not being neatly wrapped up when a story ends, you may want to pass this up (or read one of my other fics :p ).

Final note to those who have read my other fics: this one is nowhere near as long. It's only five chapters and comes in at under 35,000 words, so don't go expecting another epic.

What We Do For Family

Part 1

The potion was simple enough; it didn't even need a flame, just a mix of ingredients. It was in a little book that came with a potions kit that Harry's godmother bought him for his last birthday. The kit came with ingredients, but he'd already used most of them so he had to take them from his father's potion cupboard. He wasn't technically supposed to go in there, but even Calla could get past the childproof locks so Harry figured it was more of an advisory than a strict rule.

He thought the same of the warning in his recipe book that said he should always have an adult present when brewing. By his logic, the idea to make this potion was Calla's, so she was the one that needed supervising, and being the older child he would fulfil that role.

As such, there was no need to disturb James, who had told them to stay out the way while he cleaned the house. A week into November, Godric's Hollow was bathed in cold rain, so playing outside was out of the question, leading them to their current, probably forbidden activity.

The potion was supposed to make them burp bubbles. It was also supposed to be green when it was finished.

"It's kind of green," Calla said, standing on a chair and peering into the little cauldron set on Harry's desk.

"I think that's turquoise," Harry said, prodding the potion with his glass stirring rod.

"It's blue-green, which is a type of green," Calla said stubbornly. "I want to try it."

Harry hesitated. They had a few lessons on potions at school and Mr Lupin – Remus, but Harry wasn't allowed to call him that at school – said they should never drink a potion if they weren't certain it was exactly right. But he'd followed the instructions exactly – he'd even measured the ingredients twice to make sure the amounts were correct. Turquoise was close to green so hopefully it would be alright.

Calla scooped a portion into a vial and gulped down a mouthful. "Tastes like cherries," she said, setting the vial down. Her brow furrowed and she touched her chest. Harry watched, waiting for the burp and the bubbles that would follow.

But it never came. Calla blinked a few times, rubbed at her chest, gasped weakly, and then her eyes rolled and she toppled off the chair, hitting the carpet with a light thud. Harry dropped to his knees beside her.

"Calla!"

Her lids were only half lowered, the whites of her eyes showing beneath them. He shook her, but got no response, and her lips were turning blue. His own breath hitched and he shook her harder.

"Calla!"

Still nothing.

The sound of footsteps had him scrambling to his feet and he turned to the door just as it opened and his dad looked in.

"It's quiet up here, what are you –" James broke off with a sharp inhale as his eyes fell on Calla. In an instant he was across the room and down beside Calla, jerking his wand out and waving it over her. "What the hell did you do?"

"We were just making a potion," Harry said.

James didn't respond, waving his wand frantically over Calla. He muttered her name in between spells, each time more distressed. Harry watched, wringing his hands and biting his lip, knowing that the blue tinge to Calla's skin was a bad sign.

Eventually James thrust his wand back in his pocket with a muttered, "Fuck," then scooped her up in both arms, turning and hurrying out the room without so much as a glance at Harry. Harry followed, rushing downstairs after James, then pushing forwards when they reached the living room so he could grab the pot of floo powder off the mantelpiece, desperate to help. He threw a handful into the fireplace and green flames flared, but when he reached for James' shirt to step through with him, James twisted away.

"You're not coming."

"But –"

"No!"

Harry drew back, staring up at his father wide-eyed. James often looked at him with disdain or anger; it wasn't often he had a genuine smile for him and on the rare occasion James expressed any kind of caring, it was usually swiftly followed by a scowl, as if James was angry for being nice to Harry.

But he'd never looked at Harry with genuine hatred like he did now.

"This is your fault and you'll bloody well stay here, d'you hear me? I don't want you anywhere near Calla."

"I didn't mean to hurt her," Harry said, but James had already stepped into the flames and vanished.

Harry had never been home alone before. If James went out with Calla, he would usually call one of his friends or Mary Fawcett, Harry's godmother, to stay with Harry. At seven years old, Harry felt he was more than old enough to be left alone, but under the circumstances he wished he wasn't. James hadn't left him behind out of trust, he just didn't want Harry near him.

Near Calla.

Calla was fifteen months younger than Harry, born on Hallowe'en 1981. Like him, she inherited James' dark hair, though her's sat wilder than his, but she'd got James' brown eyes instead of Lily's green. Other than the hair and eyes, everyone said Calla looked like Lily and would grow up to be beautiful.

Lily would never see it; she'd died giving birth. Sometimes, when Harry was feeling mean, he blamed Calla for their mum's death and wished she'd died instead. But most of the time he loved his sister; he liked having a constant playmate at home, even if she was annoying sometimes, but liked that there weren't loads of them, like the Weasleys who had seven kids.

He sat on the sofa for a while, anxiously watching the fireplace until his nerves got too much and he wandered restlessly around the house instead, stopping by the living room regularly to look for any flare of green. He thought about floo calling Mary or Mr Lupin or even Peter or Sirius, but didn't want to have to explain what happened. Every time he remembered Calla's blue tinted skin he felt like throwing up.

What if she died? Had Harry killed his sister? The thought made tears spring to his eyes. He never wanted her dead. He didn't want to go to prison, either. He'd heard James and his friends talking about Azkaban, he knew it would be awful to end up there. Maybe he would deserve it if he had killed Calla, but he still didn't want to, so he just hoped and hoped that she was going to be okay.

Hours later – it felt like days – he finally heard the floo. He was in the bathroom and hurried out without washing his hands, rushing downstairs to the living room. James stood in front of the fireplace and when his gaze fell on Harry his expression became one like Harry had never seen before. If the look he gave Harry before was hatred, it was pure loathing now.

Harry stopped in the doorway, not daring to get any closer. He swallowed thickly and, dreading the answer, asked, "Is Calla okay?"

James didn't answer immediately, just stared at him as if Harry was a particularly nasty potion ingredient. He looked like he was trying to decide something, like he did when he caught Harry doing something he shouldn't and was choosing how to punish him.

When he finally spoke, he said nothing of Calla. "Put your shoes and coat on."

"What?"

James finally moved, grabbing Harry's shoulder, twisting him about and pushing him towards the coat cupboard in the hallway. "Shoes and coat. Now."

"Why? Are we going to see Calla?"

"No!" James' voice was harsh. "You're never seeing Calla again, just do as you're told!"

He left Harry by the cupboard and went upstairs. Harry took out his coat and shoes, sitting to pull them on and listening to James move about upstairs. His hands shook as he tied his laces. You're never seeing Calla again… she was dead, that had to be it. Now James was going to take Harry to the Aurors and they'd throw him in Azkaban for the rest of his life where the Dementors would eat his soul.

"I'm sorry," he blurted out when James came back down, blinking back tears and wringing his hands. "Please don't send me to Azkaban, I didn't mean to kill her, it was an accident."

James said nothing. He had a suitcase – Harry had no idea why – and he held it in one hand while his other grabbed Harry tightly by the arm.

"What –" Harry began, and then the world pressed in on him, darkness squeezing in from all sides, suffocating him for a second or two before it fell away.

He groaned and clutched his stomach, but it was only a passing nausea and as he got a hold of himself he realised they were no longer at home. Instead the sun was setting on a familiar, narrow, one-way street, a row of terraced houses on either side of the road. They were white-washed and looked nice, but only because some minor member of the Muggle royal family passed through last month. Before that, the houses showed their dirty, old facades, and the road had been full of potholes.

"What are we doing here?" Harry asked, but James just jerked him towards one of the houses, banging his fist against the door. The blue paint was already scratched; it looked as if someone had kicked the bottom of the door.

At James' knock, someone inside the house yelled. Another voice yelled back, and then stomping footsteps before the front door was yanked open. A tired, irritated woman looked out, her brown hair pulled up in a messy ponytail and her robes were splashed slightly with water. Mary Fawcett – Harry's godmother.

"Oh, James, Harry," she greeted wearily. "Look, this isn't a great time for a visit."

James dropped the suitcase down by her door. "Calla's in a coma," he said bluntly. "Harry poisoned her. I need you to take him."

Mary's hands rose to her mouth, eyes widening

"What?"

"I need to get back to the hospital. He's all yours."

He turned and started to walk away.

"James, wait!" Mary called, stepping out onto the pavement. "When are you picking him up again?"

James stopped and looked back, never once glancing down at Harry. "Never."

"What do you mean never?"

"The little bastard poisoned my daughter, Mary. I kept him all this time because Lily asked me to, but I'm not putting up with him anymore. You're his godmother, you can raise him."

Harry stared at James, not wanting to believe what he was hearing. He always knew James didn't love him, but he'd never thought he'd abandon him.

Mary looked as stunned as Harry felt. "James, you can't be serious."

James turned fully, face twisting with anger. "I'm perfectly serious. I want nothing to do with him anymore. You're his godmother, but if you don't want to deal with him then send him to Snape."

"You've got to be joking!"

James shrugged, turned away. "I really don't care what you do. He's not my responsibility anymore," he said, and Apparated away.

Mary and her husband David argued a lot. When they weren't arguing, they were ignoring each other. Harry heard other adults wondering why they didn't get divorced, but never heard a reason why.

They had a daughter, Sonya, who was a couple of years older than Harry. That evening, Harry lay on her floor in a sleeping bag, listening to Mary and David yell at each other. He always felt awkward hearing them fight, but it was much worse when they were fighting about him.

"Dad's gonna win," Sonya whispered from her bed. The Fawcetts only had two bedrooms. "We don't have enough space or money for you to live with us."

Harry said nothing, just pulled the sleeping bag over his head. He knew he couldn't stay there, but it was just one of many worries for him right then. He was still worried about Calla – Mary had explained what a coma was – he felt sick and miserable over James abandoning him, and he was still confused about the things James said on the street. Mary hadn't explained it yet, hadn't said who Snape was, but Harry didn't like the name and he didn't want to get left with whoever it was.

He slept poorly that night, tossing and turning, and when he finally nodded off his dreams were haunted by Calla. He kept going from place to place – school, Godric's Hollow, Diagon Alley, the Fawcetts' house – and every time Calla would be there, blue-lipped and staring accusingly at him.

He picked at his eggs and toast the next morning, and the first thing he asked Mary was, "Can I see Calla?"

Mary sighed. Her fingers, permanently ink-stained from her job as a clerk for the Ministry, picked up the milk bottle Sonya left on the table and returned it to the fridge. Mary was Muggleborn and didn't trust cooling cabinets to do a proper job of keeping things fresh.

"Not today. I've got to work and David's already gone. You'll have to spend the day with Sonya's grandma."

"Harry's not going to live with us now, is he?" Sonya said around a mouthful of Pixie Puffs.

Mary sighed again, much heavier this time. "I don't know, Sonya. Finish your breakfast, we need to get to Gran's or I'm going to be late."

"Can I see Calla after you finish work?" Harry asked.

"I don't know, sweetie. We'll see."

Grandma Fawcett lived in a cottage in Hogsmeade. It smelt like mould, and the sandwiches she made them for lunch were served on stale bread. Sonya had a few toys there, but even if they'd been of interest to Harry, he had no inclination to play with anything. It was hard to be interested in playing when he was worried about Calla, and about his own future.

He only had to stay with Grandma Fawcett that one Saturday. Mary didn't work Sundays, although David did, and the next week was spent at school. He never got to see Calla in that time; James had made an approved list of visitors at St Mungo's and neither Harry nor Mary were on it.

James had started the Lily Daycare and Primary School for Young Witches and Wizards, although he didn't teach there. That task went mostly to Remus Lupin, who taught the older kids while Molly Weasley looked after the younger ones. Her children made up a quarter of the school's student count.

Harry normally loved school, but he couldn't when Calla's absence was like a stab to the gut. He asked Mr Lupin for information about Calla every day, but nothing changed. She remained comatose, getting no worse but no better, either. They didn't know exactly why she'd reacted this way to the potion, so they couldn't figure out how to cure her.

On Friday, Mary picked up him and Sonya at five o'clock, as always, and said she'd take them to McDonald's for dinner. It was an unusual treat for them; the Fawcetts were too poor to eat out often and James never took Harry and Calla to Muggle restaurants.

"What's this for?" Sonya asked her mother as they waited at the till for their meals.

"No particular reason," Mary answered, but there was Harry found out when they returned to the Fawcetts' house. Mary sent Sonya into the garden and sat Harry down in the living room. She had a sad, apologetic look on her face as she looked at him, and her tone was just the same.

"Harry… sweetie…" She trailed off, tried again, trailed off once more, and finally sighed. Harry took pity on her.

"Am I leaving now?" he asked. He'd known it was coming, that he couldn't stay with his godmother forever.

Mary sighed again. "Yes. I'm sorry, you know I would love to let you stay with me forever, but we just don't have the space or money."

"I know," Harry said, trying not to sound resentful. "Where am I going? Did Dad say I can come back?"

He couldn't hide his hope that James had, nor his disappointment when Mary shook her head.

"I'm sorry, Harry. The thing is…" She stopped, seemed to struggle for a moment, then asked, "You know how babies are made, right?"

Baffled, Harry nodded. The mother of Hannah Abbot, one of his classmates, got pregnant last year so Mrs Weasley had explained the basics of sex to everyone. For weeks afterwards 'sex' had been the hot word among the students, whispered and giggled over and shouted in the middle of math lessons just to get a reaction.

"Okay. Good. Um… do you understand that sometimes a baby is made between two people who aren't married?"

Harry's brow furrowed. "Mrs Weasley said only a husband and wife make a baby."

"No, it can be any man and any woman."

"Oh. Why are you telling me this?"

Mary looked down at her hands, picking at her nails. "Sometimes, even when a woman is married, she makes a baby with someone else." She pulled off a bit of nail, dropped it to the floor, and looked at Harry again. "Your mum did that."

"She made a baby with someone else? Not Dad?"

"Yes," Mary said softly.

"Who?"

"A man called Severus Snape. He went to school with us."

"Where's the baby?" Harry asked, then: "Wait, they can't be a baby anymore, can they? They're a kid. Are they older than me? Do they go to my school or to Hogwarts?"

Mary was looking at him even more sadly now. "Harry, sweetie… you're the baby."

Harry stared at her. For a moment he could say nothing, his mind reeling at the very suggestion, and when he could finally speak he blurted out, "But Dad is my dad."

"I'm sorry, but he's not, Severus Snape is. I know this is difficult –"

"But I've never even heard of Severus Snape! How can he be my dad?"

"I told you, sometimes a woman makes a baby with someone who isn't her husband."

"But if that man's my dad, why did I grow up with Dad? Why didn't I grow up with Mr Snape? Why isn't my name Snape?"

Mary shook her head. "Your mum and da- and James loved each other. When your mum… ah… when she… with Snape…"

"When she had sex with him?" Harry said, and didn't even feel the usual urge to giggle guiltily at saying a naughty word.

"Yes. When she did that, it was a mis- I mean, it didn't stop her loving James. She didn't love Snape and she didn't want to leave James."

"But then why did she make a baby with Snape?"

"She didn't mean to. Sometimes adults have sex for other reasons, and making a baby is an accident."

Part of Harry wanted to know what the other reasons could possibly be – personally he thought putting his willy in a girl's privates was far too gross, whatever the reason – but he had a far more pressing question.

"That means I was an accident? My mum didn't want me?"

He heard his voice wobble with the threat of tears, but couldn't help it. He'd always known his dad didn't love him as much as Calla; it would break his heart to hear that his mum hadn't loved him either.

But Mary grabbed his hands, leaning forwards to look at him intently, her voice firm and sincere. "No. Your mother loved you with all her heart. You were an accident, but it doesn't mean she didn't want you. Don't ever think your mum didn't love you; she absolutely did."

Harry nodded, swallowing thickly. "So… so Dad… James… really isn't my real dad? Mr Snape is?"

"Yes," Mary said, squeezing his hands.

He nodded again. Now that the idea had time to penetrate, he actually didn't find it that hard to believe. It certainly explained why James never loved him as much as –

"What about Calla?" he asked suddenly. "Is James not her dad?"

"No, he is."

"But my mum is her mum, too, right? So she's still my sister?"

"Yes, she's your half-sister."

"Okay." He was glad for that. He didn't want to lose Calla as a sister, even if he wasn't allowed to see her ever again. Hopefully he could when she woke up from her coma.

Mary squeezed his hands again. "Harry, I'm telling you this now because…" she took a deep breath "… because you're going to have to live with him. With your real dad."

Harry nodded – that wasn't a surprise to hear given how the conversation began – but he frowned. "Why didn't I live with him before? Did he not want me?"

Mary shook her head. "He didn't know about you. Your mum didn't tell him she was pregnant, and she and your – and James decided to raise you themselves, and James kept you after your mum died."

"Until now."

She said nothing to that, just gave him a sad look.

Harry took a deep breath, trying to be brave. "When am I leaving?"

"I'm going to take you to see him tomorrow."

"What if he doesn't like me?"

Mary smiled at that. "Of course he'll like you. You've very likable."

Harry couldn't bring himself to point out that James didn't like him. He might be coming to terms with the idea James wasn't his dad, but it still hurt to know he didn't love him.

"What if I don't like him?"

Mary's mouth tightened at that. "If things really don't work out, then we'll find you somewhere else to live. But, Harry, it might take a little while to figure out. Like how you don't always get on with the new students at school straight away."

Harry wrinkled his nose. Mary smiled thinly.

"I'm just saying to give him a chance. He doesn't have any other children so he'll be learning how to be a dad while you get to know each other."

Harry nodded a touch reluctantly. He understood what she was saying, and part of him looked forward to it – a real dad would love him, he hoped – but he also just wanted things to go back to the way they'd been before. He wanted his sister healthy and happy, back at Godric's Hollow, the two of them squabbling over who got to play on the swing.

"Will I still get to see you when I live with Mr… with my dad?"

Mary let go of his hands to cup his face. "Of course you will. I'm still your godmother, I always will be. You can still visit and I'll come check on you, to see how you're doing. I love you, Harry. You can always count on me."

Harry lunged forward, wrapping his arms around her neck in a hug. She made an 'oof' at the impact, but laughed and returned it.

For the first time since the accident, Harry didn't dream of Calla. He stayed up late imagining what Severus Snape looked like, what kind of person he was, what kind of dad he would be. Would he be the sort who let Harry have biscuits before dinner, or the kind to make him eat all his vegetables, even the ones he didn't like? Would he take Harry to the zoo and play catch with him and teach him to fly, or would he be one of those boring dads that never took him anywhere and left him to entertain himself?

Did he look like Harry?

His hopeful fantasies turned to worries later in the night – what if Snape didn't like him? What if he was a bully? – and by breakfast he was too nervous to eat more than a few mouthfuls of cereal.

He took only an overnight bag with him when Mary Apparated him to Snape's. Mary said they would see how they got along, and she'd bring more of his stuff later if things went okay; most of his stuff was still at Godric's Hollow anyway. Harry hoped they got along well; the only other family he knew of was his mum's Muggle sister. James never spoke well of her and Harry didn't fancy living with Muggles.

His first impressions weren't good. Snape lived in a place called Cokeworth; the river they appeared next to was dirty, the skyline was miserable, and the street they eventually walked to was in even worse condition than the Fawcetts' had been before it was refurbished. The road was half-made of potholes, the row of houses on each side of the street were soot-blackened, and all of them appeared to be empty. Even the street sign was worn, reading SP N RS E D.

Harry, clinging to Mary's hand, had no idea how she knew which house to go to, as none of them had numbers on, but she led him straight to a door four from the end, knocking heavily. Several long seconds passed, then the door opened and Harry got his first look at Severus Snape – at his real father.

He didn't look like Harry, except for having the same coloured hair. Snape's hung to the shoulders, greasy-looking; he had a large hooked nose that Harry was glad not to have got; he wasn't as tall as James, but he wasn't short either. His eyes were dark as tunnels, and they flicked briefly over Mary before dropping to stare at Harry.

"Morning, Snape," Mary greeted in the same tight tone she used with her husband when they were between fights. "This is Harry. Harry, this is Severus Snape – your dad."

Snape's dark eyes snapped up from Harry to Mary. "Supposedly," he said sharply. Harry didn't like to imagine getting scolded by that voice. "I've already told you I won't agree to even discuss anything until I've done a paternity test."

Harry looked up at Mary. "What kind of test?"

She squeezed his hand. "It's alright, it's just to prove that you're really his son. You need to put a bit of blood in a potion, but only a little bit, it won't hurt more than a prick."

Wary, Harry nonetheless nodded. He'd like proof that this man was his father; he still had his own doubts, or maybe it was wishful thinking. He still hadn't fully accepted being abandoned by James.

They entered the house. Harry expected it to be small and cramped like the Fawcetts', but while the living room wasn't large, it was sparsely decorated to keep it spacious. There was a leather sofa and armchair, a metal and glass coffee table, a closed wooden cabinet, a writing desk, and a single bookcase. Two doors led out the room, other than the front door, both currently closed.

A potion vial rested on the coffee table, half full of a clear liquid, along with a scalpel. Snape picked up the scalpel and jabbed his thumb with it, then picked up the vial and opened it, squeezing his thumb over the top and letting three droplets of blood fall into it.

"Give me your hand, child," he said to Harry. Harry looked to Mary first and only held out his hand when she nodded. Snape jabbed him with the scalpel, Harry hissed painfully, but didn't pull away, letting Snape hold his hand over the vial.

Once three drops of his own blood spilled out, Snape let go and Harry stuck his finger in his mouth, watching as Snape gently swirled the vial and the blood mingled with the potion, turning the whole thing the colour and consistency of blood.

"Shit," Snape breathed, putting the vial down and sitting heavily in the armchair.

"Language!" Mary scolded, just like she always did when an adult swore around kids. Snape shot her a dark looked and Harry removed his finger from his mouth with a pop.

"Does that mean it's true? You're really my dad?"

Snape glanced between him and the vial, nodding. He looked Harry over again, more intently now, and his gaze lingered on Harry's face for a while. He strict expression softened slightly as he did so.

"You have Lily's eyes."

"I know." It was what new people always commented on and Harry found it a bit annoying, but he supposed this man – his father – had the right to. Once, anyway.

"There's something of my mother in you," Snape murmured, "but you seem to have got lucky otherwise. Avoided inheriting my nose."

"Thankfully," Harry said, eying Snape's large nose. Snape raised his eyebrow and Harry said defensively, "You said it first."

Snape looked like the kind of man who'd get angry at backtalk like that, but all he said was, "Definitely Lily's boy."

Mary, Harry noticed, relaxed slightly at that. She cleared her throat. "So you'll take him?"

Snape dragged his gaze away from Harry. "I'm certainly not giving him back to Potter."

"Dad – I mean, James doesn't want me anymore anyway," Harry said. "He hates me."

He'd never said that before, never even let himself think something that severe, and he wasn't sure exactly why he said it.

"Of course he does," Snape sneered, and Harry's breath hitched. Snape thought he was unlikeable?

But then he went on, "He could never like my son."

He looked a bit startled after saying it, like he never expected to hear those words from his own mouth.

"It wasn't like that," Mary said. Snape scoffed. "James cared for him," Mary insisted. "He never mistreated Harry. It's only after the accident –"

"Tell me more about this accident," Snape interrupted. "You mentioned something about a girl being comatose?"

"Calla," Harry said. "My sister. We made a potion, but we did it wrong and now she's in a coma and she might never wake up."

"What potion were you brewing?"

"One to make us burp bubbles."

Snape frowned, tapped a finger thoughtfully against him mouth, then shook his head. "Nothing in that would cause a coma, not even in incorrect amounts."

Harry looked at Mary, who said, "They probably used a wrong ingredient."

"I followed the instructions," Harry said a little sulkily. "And I checked all the labels on the jars."

"It's not your fault," Mary assured him. "Accidents happen. That's why you don't brew potions without an adult."

"I know," Harry muttered miserably.

Mary gave him a reassuring smile, then looked to Snape. "Do you have a room ready for him?"

Snape turned his searching gaze away from Harry. "I have a guest room."

Mary's eyebrows rose. "A guest room?"

"You were the one who wanted to know how we got on before you agreed to leave him here permanently. I've no intention of redecorating for what might be a temporary stay."

"But there's nowhere else for me to go," Harry pointed out.

"There won't be any need for you to go anywhere," Snape said. "You're my son. You're staying with me."

He looked less awkward about saying 'my son' this time. Harry wasn't sure how he felt about him yet, but he appreciated that at least Snape wanted him.

Snape wasn't so bad. They spent the morning at a local Muggle playpark, where Snape looked terribly uncomfortable around the handful of other parents but still pushed Harry on the swing. They spoke, getting to know each other a little. Snape worked from home brewing potions for apothecaries and individuals; he didn't have a spouse, or girlfriend or boyfriend, and the only other child he dealt with was a boy called Draco Malfoy, the son of friends. Harry was a little disheartened to hear he only had one neighbour, a wizard named Nemo, and that to the best of Snape's knowledge everyone else in Cokeworth town was a Muggle.

"You should avoid Nemo at all costs," he also warned Harry, seemingly as an afterthought.

"Why? Is he dangerous?"

"Possibly. He's certainly not a good person to be around," Snape told him, but wouldn't explain why.

They returned to Snape's house for lunch, and then he showed Harry around. The house was actually four knocked together; from the street, it was impossible to tell, and the extra front doors didn't actually work. Looking out from the windows, however, one could see the difference, and the gardens were all combined together.

"You'll fence off that section," Mary said when Snape showed them it, frowning at the greenhouse at one end of the garden, and patches of plantbeds around it.

"Why?"

"Children like to play in gardens, Severus," she said, and Harry could hear the silent 'duh' on the end. "Half of those plants are poisonous."

"Hmm," Snape said, which Harry couldn't interpret. Silently he promised himself he wouldn't go anywhere near the greenhouse, fenced off or not. He had no desire to get poisoned.

Inside, the living room was at the centre of the house; on one side was the kitchen and a dining room, and above them were two bedrooms and a bathroom. The guest room where Harry would be staying was currently undecorated, the bedding plain and boring on a large adult-sized bed, but when they looked in Snape said, "I suppose we can redecorate it for you."

He didn't sound very keen on the idea, but Harry certainly wanted a bedroom much cooler than this.

The house on the other side of the living room, accessed through a door behind the bookshelf in the living room, had been completely emptied of its interior and turned into a single room. All four walls were covered with bookcases from floor to roof, each one packed to bursting, and Harry gaped at them, wondering who on earth needed that many books. A desk sat in the centre of the room, more books piled on it amidst rolls of parchment, inkwells, and quills.

"You will not come in here without permission," Snape told him, folding his arms over his chest and looking sternly at Harry. "You absolutely will not touch any of these books."

Harry nodded. All the books looked boring anyway.

"What about your lab?" Harry asked as Snape shooed him and Mary back into the living room. "Where's that?"

"The other side of the library," Snape said. "You will never go in there. It is not for children."

Mary nodded approvingly, and Harry refrained from pointing out that James let him go in his potions shed. Given how that turned out, it wasn't much of an argument in his favour.

He'd brought his colouring book and pencils with him for the night, and he settled down with that for the next hour while Mary and Snape spoke – or rather, Snape asked Mary various questions regarding childcare.

Eventually, Mary came over to crouch by Harry and he looked up from colouring in a hippogriff.

"I'm off now, Harry, but I'll be around tomorrow to check on you, alright?"

He nodded, biting his lip against the urge to ask her to stay. Snape seemed okay, but he was still essentially a stranger and Harry was wary to stay with him. But he knew he had to get used to it; there was nowhere else for him to go, and this man was his dad.

"Okay," Mary said, and kissed his forehead. "Be good then. I'll see you tomorrow."

He watched her leave, and the house felt significantly quieter and eerier with her gone. When the door shut behind her, Snape turned and looked at Harry, who looked back. Neither spoke for a moment; Harry didn't know what he was supposed to say, if anything.

Snape cleared his throat. "I need to write a letter."

"Okay."

There was a pause. Snape frowned, then stalked to the bookshelf without another word, tapping it with his wand to make it swing open to the library. He looked once more at Harry, went through, and shut it behind him.

Harry looked around him, felt the silence pressing in around him. The house, despite being built into several buildings, wasn't actually that big, but it felt like it gaped above him now, an empty, lonely building. He recalled those times at home when Calla was bugging him and he wished she didn't exist, and the times at the Fawcetts' when he despaired at the noisy, cramped house.

Now, keenly aware of how alone he was in this house that wasn't a home, with a dad who wasn't a dad, he wished more than ever that his sister was with him.