15 Nov 1991 - Friday, The Burrow
Ron Weasley rested his chin upon his hand as he sat at his mother's long, kitchen table, hunched over his latest essay. For the last five minutes he had been idly tapping his quill's feather against the parchment and unwittingly causing tiny splashes of ink to add to the freckles on his nose and cheeks.
The eleven year old red-head was getting awfully tired of essays. Maybe if they had been on Charms, Transfiguration, or even stupid Potions, he might not have minded them so much, but all of his essays had been on things like manners, good behaviour, morals.
At the beginning of his suspension from Hogwarts, he'd begun with the worst bum-stinging spanking he'd ever had in his life. His mum, who usually spanked the kids (mainly because she didn't have a heavy hand) had turned the job over to Ron's father, Arthur Weasley.
Arthur Weasley had always considered himself a soft-hearted man when it came to raising his children, and never had he had to spank any of them. He'd be the one to give the lecture, and Molly would do the spanking, which was often quick, and only stung for a few minutes. This time Arthur and Molly both lectured their youngest son. To say they were disappointed in his behavior, how he had treated the young Granger girl, and how he had done nothing to prevent the final insult, would be an understatement. After the lecture from his parents, Ron was in near hysterical tears as he had been scared that his parents might ship him off to Iceland, or sell him to slavers. Oddly, as much as the spanking from his father had made him think his bum would burn with fire for days on end, it had assured Ron that despite everything, he was still wanted by his parents.
Thus began the essays. Endless writing that made the young boy dig deep into his own psyche where he had no choice but to discover how terrible what he had done to Hermione had been. He'd never admit it to anyone, not even any of his older brothers, but over the intervening weeks of essays, Ron had even wept a few times over what his words made him look into.
Ron now knew, not just in principle how bad it was what he'd done to Hermione, but he knew it deep down in his soul. He knew he just went along with the other boys because he so much wanted to be a part of those guys he thought were the popular ones. He had felt bad doing what he did, but Seamus and Dean were so good about talking him out of those feelings that he was soon squashing them down so he didn't have to listen to them. He had even initiated many of the taunts. He was disgustingly good at those.
Now, with the end of his suspension looming on the horizon, Ron's thoughts were still partly on Hermione Granger and whether or not she would forgive him (if she didn't, it would be all right with him) and whether or not he could face the other Gryffindors. To be honest, Ron was a bit afraid about going back to school. What if everyone hated him.
"Ronnie dear!" called his mother from upstairs. Molly was in her "fix-it" room which had once belonged to Bill when he was growing up. Molly did all her knitting and fixing and patching of clothing, blankets, and other such stuff that kept her family comfortable.
Ron looked up from his essay. "What is it, mum?" he shouted.
Cherry-cheeked Molly Weasley came down the stairs that coiled up to the topmost tower of the Burrow waving a letter in her hand. Ron stared at it glumly.
"Oh honey! Don't look that way," grinned Molly. "It isn't from Percy." Rule-Book Prefect Percy had written once a week spouting off his two knuts and Ron was sick of it. His parents were no help since they both thought Percy's scolding was spot on. Molly patted her youngest son. "This letter is from one of your dorm mates."
Ron didn't think it was Dean. Ron found out a few days after his suspension that Dean had been sent to live with an aunt and uncle in Wales where he would be taught the trade of a Muggle carpenter. Dean would not be allowed to use his magic again until he reached his majority, whereupon he would go to the Ministry who would determine whether or not he would ever get to use his magic again.
Then Ron wondered if it was Seamus, but he doubted it. Seamus was also gone from England. His parents had taken him back to Ireland and there were rumours that he would end up going to one of the small magical schools there instead of coming back to Hogwarts.
Molly handed the letter to her son. "It's from Augustus Longbottom's boy, Neville." She watched as Ron turned the envelope over in his hands. He gave it a puzzled look. Hands on her ample hips, Molly frowned at him. "You'd do well to make friends with Neville, Ronnie. He's a very nice boy."
"How come he's writing to me?" asked Ron.
"Why don't you read the letter and find out, dear. I'll get lunch made." Molly bustled away while her son broke the seal and opened the letter. He read it.
Hi Ron,
Fred and George thought I ought to write to you. They said you're pretty lonely and it doesn't help when your git of a brother, Percy, keeps writing to you.
Ron giggled at the name calling, and kept reading.
I bet you didn't know I've had our dorm all to myself. Well, almost. Fred and George visit a lot, and so do Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. They're always talking about fashion, or make-up, girl stuff you know, but they're pretty nice, too. Lavender has a really good sense of humour and she doesn't get too terribly grossed out by stuff. Especially in Potions. Parvati has gotten queasy, but when we were working with Abyssinian Snails, she fainted. Well, I guess that wasn't funny. It was really sort of scary cause she hit her head when she fainted and boy was there a lot of blood. Professor Snape was really good, though. Everyone sort of went a bit nuts and he calmed everyone down so he help could Parvati. We learned that scalp wounds really bleed a lot. We also learned that Abyssinian Snails are really long, slimy and they're so gross that it's not really smart to eat spaghetti after pulling them out of their shells.
(Below this paragraph Neville had provided a rather accurate sketch of someone's be-slimed hand pulling a very long snail from its shell. The sketch had been jerkily animated. Ron grimaced at the drawing, but chuckled.)
Lavender was hoping that maybe Parvati wouldn't have to take Potions anymore, but no such luck. I think she'll be all right, though. Professor Snape keeps an eye on her and if he thinks Parvati's getting kind of sick looking, then he makes her go stand in front of the open, Enchanted Window for a few minutes.
Professor Snape is still snarky, and he can be a right git, too, but he really just wants us to do our best and if we really try, he's a bit... well, I guess you could call it nice. Or less gitty? He still takes a lot of points from Gryffindor, and none from Slytherin, so there's still a lot of people who just plain don't like him.
Remember how terrible I used to be in Potions? Actually, all of my classes were pretty pants. Even Herbology and I like plants!
Well, it turns out my reading skill's not great. Professor McGonagall was teaching me for about twice but then she resigned from the Deputy position, and the Board wanted to put her on trial for that mess with Hermione. It was Hermione that resumed my reading lessons, and with the Wit-Sharpening Potion I brewed and Professor Snape let me keep, I really improved.
Professor Snape evaluated my reading and writing and he said my skills were 'acceptable'. He also told me that he was going to do a re-evaluation at the end of term but he expected me to keep up studying my reading lessons over holiday.
Lotsa work!
Since I don't have dorm mates, Professor McGonagall let me study with Hermione, Harry, Draco, Millicent, and your brothers, Fred and George. It's really kind of fun. Professor Snape gave us our own study room right in his office, and sometimes, if he doesn't have work to do, he's even let us into his private lab to practice brewing. That means I'm doing a lot better and I haven't blown up or melted any cauldrons in a long time! Professor Snape's got better patience, too, then.
Ron sneered, "Yeah, right. And you didn't say if Fred and George like him. I bet their just waiting for the right moment to prank that slimy, old, bat."
"What did you say, Ronald Bilius Weasley?" called Molly from the kitchen.
"Nothing, Mum." Ron went back to his letter.
Fred and George are really neat. They are sort of like our teachers in our study room. They're a lot of fun, but they're serious, too. They explain a lot of things that just roll around in my head not making any sense. I bet they'd be good teachers someday.
Oh yeah, they still play pranks, too.
Awhile back there were some terrible pranks that were being played on the Slytherins that started just after Halloween. The first one happened at breakfast and Draco bit into a piece of candy that blew out his front tooth. Madame Pomfrey put it back, so it's okay now. Other pranks were all the Slytherin practice brooms being turned into chocolate. Millicent Bulstrode actually managed to fly one, for a bit, but it wasn't really good cause the broom melted and she fell through the air a few feet and really broke her leg badly. Madame Pomfrey is afraid she's going to limp all her life now on her left leg. It's not too bad a limp and she can still run pretty good, too.
Well, anyway, Professor McGonagall had the twins ferret out who the prankster was and you'll never guess but it was Dean Thomas' cousin!
Bet you didn't even know he had a cousin, did you? I didn't either. But Algernon Torrance is Dean's cousin, his mother's brother's son. He's about three years older than Dean and he's a right piece of work. Seems he's gotten detentions over the last three years from every teacher for nasty pranks, but none like the really dangerous ones he's been doing. Algernon's mad that Dean was expelled and can't practice magic until he's seventeen, so he decided to hurt as many Slytherins as he could until he was caught.
We heard some rumours that Algernon was only going to get suspended, but Millicent's dad came to Hogwarts. He's a really big man. Ugly, too. And scary. I think he even scared Professor Dumbledore. Anyway, he said he wasn't going to put up with someone permanently laming his little girl and before Dumbledore could do anything Mr. Bulstrode called the Aurors and Algernon was taken away. Have you seen the Daily Prophet? On Wednesday there was a whole big article about the incident.
"Mum!" Ron's head snapped up from the long, and very interesting letter from Neville. "Do we have Wednesday's newspaper?"
"Yes, we do, dear." Molly levitated a big sandwich and a bowl of soup over to her son, and then Summoned the newspaper from a wooden bin next to Arthur's chair in the living room.
Ron bit into his sandwich as he spread out the three days old paper and looked for the story. It was on the second page and he quickly read. Most of what was reported repeated what Ron had read in Neville's letter. In addition he read that Goren Bulstrode along with Lucius Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Gwendolyn Zabini were all bringing criminal charges against Algernon Torrance for injuries his devilish pranks caused to their children. Ron further read that Theodore Nott the younger had lost all of his hair for two days, and Blaise Zabini's fingers had been turned backwards. That wasn't permanent, but to reverse the prank had caused the boy a lot of pain and he was still in the Infirmary recovering.
Ron had grimaced at that last prank and as much as he used to think all Slytherins were bad, not even they deserved something like that. He then learned that Algernon wasn't a Gryffindor, but a Ravenclaw boy.
Ron pushed aside the paper and ate his lunch in silence. It gnawed at him that what he and Dean, and Seamus had done to Hermione had led to something so awful as this. With a little less enthusiasm then before, Ron picked up Neville's letter, found where he had left off in his reading, and finished.
The rest of the week has been kind of quiet except there are a lot of people talking about the Winter Ball that the Malfoys hold before Christmas every year. My gran is going, so, since I'm old enough for most of it, I have to go, too. Gran was going to send me to Madame Malkin's for dress robes, but she must have talked to Mrs. Malfoy so now we're all going to Malfoy Manor to be measured for new dress robes by some witch who is coming from Paris. Gran wrote to me and told me I'd better be a perfect gentlemen, or else! I don't even know when we're going to do this!
Do you know if you're going? Draco says that just about everybody in the wizarding world is invited. It's supposed to be a big charity event, too, but I overheard some of the Gryff's saying that it's just an excuse for a bunch of Purebloods to get together and hatch plots to bring back You-Know-Who.
I don't know about that. I know there's still some bad witches and wizards out there, and maybe some not so nice people will show up at the ball, but I really do think the Malfoys are good people. I didn't know until this year until my Gran said I was old enough to know, but the Malfoys have been helping to pay for my parents care since the night they were tortured by that evil witch Bellatrix Lestrange. You just really don't know some people, do you?
Well, it's getting late and I want to send this off in the morning. Would you write me back, Ron? We didn't get to be much in the way of friends, but if you're anything like Fred and George then I don't think you're really a bad person.
Bye.
Your friend and fellow Gryffindor,
Neville
Ron had finished all of his lunch, and although he was eager to reply to Neville's letter, Molly bustled him about the Burrow doing chores until it was time for dinner. After dinner he had more of his essay to do plus read a chapter in his Transfiguration book. Ron's parents, although not skilled in all subjects taught at Hogwarts, were doing their best to make sure their son wouldn't be too far behind when he returned to school.
With his essay and reading complete, Ron practically fell into his bed. He was fast asleep in minutes and it would be at least a week before he could reply to Neville. After that, they kept up a warm correspondence in which Ron was better assured that he would have a not so bad welcome when he went back to school.
16 Nov 1991, Saturday - The Grangers
As Snape was stepping gracefully from the Floo into the parlor of the Malfoy Manor, Hermione was opening a memo from her Head of House that popped into view just as she finished breakfast. In the short note, Snape instructed the girl to report to Madame Pomfrey for her all day detention as he explained that he had a prior engagement. The girl departed from her friends and made her way to the Infirmary. Harry and Draco went to do a token amount of homework before setting off to do some castle exploring.
Snape Scourgified the soot away from his robes and then greeted Narcissa and Lucius who were prepared for their day in the Muggle world by already having donned Muggle style clothing.
Lucius wore a simple, but elegant Muggle suit of dark grey wool, a white linen shirt with a Muggle silk tie of deep emerald. Over the suit he wore a black silk-wool coat, and a matching cashmere scarf. Narcissa wore a fashionable Muggle suit that was burgundy linen. It consisted of a skirt that was just below the knees, a smart jacket over a peach silk blouse, and a simple strand of pearls. Over the suit she wore a flared coat that matched Lucius'. Narcissa, who had always worn long dresses, was not doing a very good job of hiding her discomfort in the Muggle outfit that she had been informed by Lucius' Muggle solicitor as being 'modest'. As for Lucius, he was doing a poor job of NOT looking at his beloved wife's legs.
Snape, who was in no mood to stand witness to the Malfoys flirtations, took the letter out of his inner pocket that his prefect, Tara Anglaise had given to him at the beginning of the week. He handed it to Lucius.
"This is a letter that was delivered to Miss Granger on Monday. Circumstances, fortunately, prevented the girl from reading it," said Snape.
Lucius frowned at the address, "The Grangers? Surely Hermione would want to hear from her parents, Severus."
"I think not," he sneered mildly. He nodded once to indicate that his friend ought to read the letter. He stopped, though, before handing it over, held it up, and scowled. "Lucius, you wrote to me that the Grangers were supposed to visit for Christmas."
Lucius shook his head. "I had invited them after Hermione expressed a desire to stay with us over Christmas. Narcissa sent them an invitation for which we have never received a reply to."
Snape nodded, "Ah. This makes, perhaps, a bit more sense." He handed the letter over to his friend. He frowned again. "Or, maybe it does not."
Lucius opened the letter and began to read it. With each sentence, each insult towards Hermione, his lips thinned tightly until they were almost bloodless. When he was finished, Narcissa took the letter from her husband and she began to read.
While Narcissa read the letter, Snape regarded the patrician wizard. He appeared calm, collected, but knowing body language as he did, Snape was able to see a tic in the jaw, the un-blooded lips, a harshness around the grey eyes. The Potions Master had no doubt that if the Grangers appeared right then there would be nothing left for the house elves to clean up.
Finally, Narcissa was finished with the letter. She walked over to the fireplace and held it over the flames, watching as its edges began to curl. Suddenly the letter zipped out of her hand and into Snape's.
"I'm sorry, Narcissa, but it is best to hold onto this as proof," explained Snape.
The patrician witch simply nodded, walked over to Lucius, and lightly grazed his shoulder with her fingertips. "As much as you are tempted, my dear, do remember that more may be done for Hermione if we stay out of Azkaban than if we are in it."
Lucius gave his wife's hand a gentle squeeze as he rose to his feet. He walked out of the parlor, and called out, "Shall we be going, then?"
Snape motioned Narcissa to go ahead of him, but she turned to face him. "And you, Severus. Don't forget your responsibilities to Harry and your Snakes."
He inclined his head in acknowledgment and then followed the witch from Malfoy Manor to the Apparition point.
Dr. George Granger should have been working in his dentistry office at that time of the day, but instead he was at home seated on the stripped bed that was still in the room of the child that had been his first daughter.
The pale pink and white striped wallpaper was still in place, but that would be replaced in a day or two with something Araminta liked. The room, once filled with plaques, certificates, and even a trophy or two that had reflected Hermione's accomplishments in ballet, modern dance, etiquette class, and others George couldn't think of, were gone. Jean hadn't allowed those to be packed. They had gone out in the trash bins. Hermione had once shown her father a small trophy she had gotten for winning a spelling bee, but Jean hadn't allowed it to sit with the others. He wondered if there had been other such scholarly awards. Hermione's grades in Primary had always been perfect, but Jean hadn't liked that. A girl shouldn't be so smart. What if she intimidated a boy that was important to her future?
George tried to see if he could recall the birth of his daughter, but the truth was, he had gone to a convention on new dental techniques that was more memorable. What he did remember was that it had been difficult for Jean and she had never really stopped blaming him for that. At least his wife had never said another word about that night. Hermione, though, could count on a terribly graphic lecture whenever the girl seemed ungrateful for what her parents provided her. It was one of many lectures George learned to tune out over the years.
George should have known that what he had expected for family life was not to be when Jean hired a wet nurse, and then a nanny. When Hermione was eight they had to let the nanny go because they couldn't afford her and the many classes that Jean wanted Hermione to take.
Of course, family life for the Grangers was off kilter the first time George picked up his little baby girl to hug her to him, as any father would, Jean hurt Hermione by wrenching her from him, giving the wailing baby to the wet nurse, and then yelling at him for being a potential pedophile!
He never thought of Hermione in 'that way'. God no! She was his little girl, was she not?
No. She never was. Jean made sure of that.
George had to be content to watch his only child growing up beneath her mother's direction. He had no part in it. Hermione learned very quickly that 'father' could not help her, in anything. It wasn't unusual for days, nay weeks to go before Hermione would think to look upon her father.
George didn't wonder if Hermione loved him, he wondered if she even had ever liked him.
The day that George thought he would overrule Jean's iron hand over their family and household unfortunately happened to be the day, at age six, when Hermione showed the first sign of not being what she should have been; human. George had come home early with the intention of talking to his child, to ask her, for once, about her day. He wanted to learn about her, to open the door to being a good father for her. Instead, he had walked into Hermione's room to find all of her stuffed toys dancing around her. She was in the middle, ecstatic, dancing, too.
George had closed the door before Hermione knew he was there, and he never tried again.
The dentist now sat in his old daughter's empty bedroom as he sought some emotion that might redeem him, but there was none. He did not feel regret over his actions because he had made his choices, for good or ill, and he was enough of a practical man to know he didn't deserve Hermione. Love? No. That wasn't to be found either for the simple fact that any paternal feelings he once may have harbored vanished when the bouts of accidental magic came. Hermione's oddity unnerved him. By the time she was eleven and the fateful letter from Hogwarts came, it only served to nail the coffin shut on anything but the fear he felt for his own child.
Yes. George Granger feared his own daughter. She was a witch.
In an odd way, it had been a relief, knowing the child would be in that wizarding world. He would not have to deal with the strangeness in Hermione, and he and Jean would return to simpler times.
Almost, but not quite. There had been that wretched trip to Diagon Alley. It had ripped at George's nerves, all the magic he had seen that day. Even Jean, usually a very vocal sort of woman, had been cowed at the magic and odd sights of that place. Once they were home, Jean had locked Hermione in her bedroom and had warned her she wouldn't be allowed to leave until she was to be gone from them to Hogwarts. George had retreated to his study and did not emerge for two days whereupon Jean sent him to a doctor for some pills to steady his nerves.
Sitting in the last place Hermione had occupied until September the first, it had never occurred to George that not once had he ever heard Hermione begging to be let out of her room.
George had convinced himself that since Hermione made no protest, and that she was allowed out to use the facilities several times a day and fed three meals, it hadn't been a cruel thing that Jean had done. It was a failing on his part, that even now with all sign of the child he had once fathered removed from the house, that he still agreed with what Jean had done.
When the day came that Hermione was to leave, Jean let the child out of her room for her bathroom ablutions and made sure that Hermione had packed everything. A taxi had been called and once she was out the door, it was up to her to make sure she found the train she was to ride.
Jean immediately tried to settle into a life without Hermione. She had been a bitter and angry woman, though, at having lost the daughter she thought she had. It had hurt, perhaps, even more when George's mother, Abbeline Truitt had written to invite mother and daughter to a very important tea that would finally have introduced Jean, and Hermione, to the society Jean had always felt was her due to be a part of.
Jean had written scores of letters to Abbeline about Hermione and what she was doing to make her mother proud, how her little girl was being brought up to be a proper lady.
George had no idea what Jean had finally written to Abbeline, but afterwards Jean had not spoken to him for nearly a week.
Lost in these ruminations, George never heard his wife come home from one of the many shopping trips she had been taking Araminta on so Jean's voice shouting at him from the first floor startled his now tender nerves. It took him a moment to gather himself, but when he did, he left the empty bedroom and went down the stairs to greet his wife. George hardly expected to see three strangers in his living room, two men and a woman, glaring at him.
Snape, Lucius, and Narcissa had Apparated to the backyard of a house that was empty, and for sale in the same neighborhood where the Grangers lived. Snape quickly Transfigured his clothing into a simple black wool suit, white cotton shirt, black boots, and a long Winter coat that was similar to the one Lucius wore.
It had begun to snow and swirls of cutting wind threw the snowflakes around them, lashing at exposed cheeks, and in Narcissa's case, at exposed legs. At her complaint, Lucius quickly cast a Warming Charm and then teased his wife.
"Perhaps you should have gone with the trousers, dear," he smiled wickedly. Narcissa had to try on several outfits and Lucius had quite liked the tailored trousers upon Narcissa. Daring though the clothing was, the trousers were fetching on his wife's slim frame.
Narcissa gave her husband a dark scowl. "Women... ladies do not wear trousers, Lucius," she clipped. "Men do." She then eyed Lucius shrewdly as he gently caught his wife as her heel slipped on the slick sidewalk. "You liked those, didn't you?"
Lucius answered carefully, "They're certainly not the fashion for today's witch, but I can see why Muggle men find them appealing on ladies, my dear." Narcissa, who intended to tell her husband just how tasteless the clothing was never said what was on her mind when she caught the smoldering fire of lust in his eyes. She slipped again, although it was on purpose since Snape had cast a silent spell to prevent them from falling, right into Lucius' arms.
Snape suddenly found his path on the narrow sidewalk blocked by the married couple embracing and looking into each other's eyes. He was very tempted to cast an Augamenti Charm upon the two, but there were a group of children playing nearby in front of one of the houses.
"Do you mind?" growled out Snape.
Narcissa broke away from Lucius with a quick laugh. Lucius just smirked and got their little procession moving again. Narcissa dropped away from her husband's side to walk beside Snape. She slipped her hand into the crook of his elbow.
"You really ought to find a mother for Harry, Severus," she teased lightly. "The Winter Ball will find many suitable young ladies whom I have no doubt would be eager to have a studious Potions Master for a husband."
Snape brushed off the slightly older woman's hand from his arm. He glared, "I am in no immediate need of a wife, Narcissa, and I will thank you to cease acting like my mother!" He strode ahead and pushed so firmly past Lucius that he knocked the older man into a snowdrift that had been made by someone having shoveled snow from the walk onto the yard earlier in the week.
Lucius was helped up by Narcissa whose expression showed a little worry, and a bit of hurt at Snape's reaction to her teasing. "I was only teasing, Lucius," she said softly.
Her husband lightly kissed her cheek, and drew her to his side as they continued after the irate wizard. "Never you mind, Cissy, my dear. Our friend will realise sooner or later that he is in need of a wife and we shall both be there to assist him in his choice."
"It will take a remarkable woman, with a fortitude of spirit, to love that man," declared Narcissa.
"Indeed, my dear. A remarkable woman indeed!"
All three magical folk stopped upon the sidewalk to eye the small, two-story house. A white, picket fence surrounded the yard and rose bushes protected against the chill of Winter slept beneath green bags as they nestled against the unimposing, brick house. Smoke curled up from a chimney.
"It looks cramped," murmured Narcissa softly.
"After Malfoy Manor and Hogwarts Castle, I would think most Muggle places would appear a bit cramped," remarked Snape. He didn't mention the small house of his Muggle father's that he had grown up in. It had been smaller than the Granger home.
Snape stepped onto the freshly shoveled walk to the front door and knocked firmly. The door was opened by the perfect little girl from the photograph. She smiled shyly at the three strangers, for a mere second. A shout from the kitchen, "Araminta Louise Granger! I told you not to answer that door!" had the small child darting away.
Jean Granger emerged from the kitchen. She was a remarkably tall woman, nearly as tall as Snape and Lucius were. Her hair was brown, like her daughter's, but more of a mousey colour with strands of greying brown in it that dulled the hair. It appeared to have been aggressively styled so if Jean Granger was the progenitor of Hermione's bushy locks, one did not see them on Jean.
Jean Granger was slim and wore a pale green, cashmere sweater over rather smart looking beige trousers. She was just in thick socks, and Snape glanced quickly down by the door to see three pairs of boots, one pair the right size for a small girl.
"May I help you?" Jean Granger asked as she looked over her visitors. She wondered if they had come from the local church. They appeared to be dressed that way. Or maybe they were officials of some sort. The dark haired one looked more like a government employee than the other two did.
"Might we come in, Mrs. Granger?" asked Snape politely, though he didn't feel like he wanted to be so polite to this woman. "Our business concerns your daughter."
Jean Granger frowned, and sharply glanced at the little girl. "Araminta, go to the study." When the child hesitated, Jean Granger snapped, "Now!" The child ran like a frightened doe out of the living room, and down a short hall. A door slammed shut.
"Is this about Hermione?" Jean Granger asked with a perturbed scowl.
"It is," nodded Snape. "I am one of her teachers from Hogwarts. May we come in?"
Jean Granger ushered the two wizards, and the witch into the living room, then stalked to the bottom of the stairs and shouted up them. "George! I know you're up there! Come down this instant!" Jean Granger then turned and crossed her arms over her chest as she glared at the three unnaturals that were unwelcome in her home.
A few minutes later, George Granger came down the stairs. He paused almost two thirds down to stare at their curious guests. While George Granger stared, Snape took measure of the man.
George Granger was a soft looking man who had been a more athletic sort in his youth. He was hardly fat, but he had put on some weight since his younger years. His hair, it seemed, was the culprit that gave Hermione such bushy hair. Her father's hair was corkscrew curls of dark brown that had been trimmed close to his head. Upon his round face were a pair of horn-rimmed spectacles that gave him a slightly owlish appearance. He wore an often worn beige cardigan of some artificial yarn over a simple white shirt, and trousers that were slightly wrinkled and in need of being ironed. On his feet were a pair of leather slippers.
"Who are they, dear?" asked George as he descended the last of the stairs. Everyone was then able to see that George Granger stood at least a foot shorter than his wife.
"They're from Hermione's school," she snapped. "They're her kind."
Although they had yet to be invited to sit down, Snape continued his polite manner. "I am Severus Snape, and these are the Malfoys, Lucius and his wife, Narcissa. They are the kind couple who chose to Sponsor your daughter."
Jean scowled at the Malfoys and snapped, "So you're the ones. I don't know why you did it. If you're expecting some sort of compensation, or thanks from us, you'll not be getting it."
Narcissa Malfoy's eyes sparked dangerously at the insult. Lucius Malfoy ignored it as he watched with some incredulity as the supposed man of the house walked into the living room, sat down in a recliner, put his feet up on an ottoman, and picked up a folded newspaper to read. That was too much for Lucius who went over to the 'little' man and jerked the paper from his hands.
"This is about your daughter!" he declared sharply. "Have you no curiosity about why we have come?"
George Granger did have enough sense to show a bit of the fear that was churning in his stomach to the wizard that stood indignantly over him. His voice quavered slightly as he replied, "Jean was supposed to send a letter to you. Didn't you get it?"
Lucius frowned, puzzled. He glanced at his wife. Narcissa spoke up, "We have received nothing from the Granger's since we introduced ourselves via correspondence." She turned to Jean. "What letter is your husband referring to, Mrs. Granger?"
Jean ignored Narcissa and looked at George. "I didn't write it. I felt the one we wrote to her would be sufficient and she could just go to them, George."
"Ah," he acknowledged. He then glanced up at Lucius. "There you have it, then, Mr. Malfoy. Might I have my paper back?"
Lucius despised this useless, lackadaisical Muggle. Taking out his wand, he pointed it in the man's face. "Get up, you miserable excuse for a man!" He smiled thinly as the fear within George was slowly released. "Now!"
George squeaked and keeping an eye on the tip of the wand, he scrambled from his recliner until he was standing on his feet.
Snape held up the letter that Hermione should have gotten. "This is the only letter that was sent," he sneered with distaste. "You are very fortunate that Hermione did not read these cruel words, or she surely would have died beneath their cruelty."
Lucius picked up Snape's anger and prodded George with his wand, "Have you no sense of the treasure you are so willing to toss out on the trash heap?" An acrid scent suddenly assaulted Lucius' nose and he took out a handkerchief to cover his nose and protect his olfactory senses from further insult. "You're a coward!" he spat as he glanced down in disgust at the tell-tale wet stain on the front of George's trousers.
"You leave George alone, you unnatural thing!" demanded Jean. She started to go over to her husband, but Narcissa had her quickly bound in place with a flick of her wand. She had also Silenced the woman.
"I have a question I would like answered," Narcissa said almost casually. However, she was twirling her wand lightly, and anyone who had ever dueled the Malfoy matriarch knew that the witch could snap out at least three spells before her opponent could blink. "How did you ever manage to adopt a child into your household without a proper explanation as to what happened to your first child?"
Lucius and Snape glanced quickly at each other. This was something neither of them had thought of, so they were very interested in the bound woman's answer.
A quick slash of her wand and Narcissa lifted the Silencing Spell. Jean blurted, "We don't have to tell you a damned thing!"
Another slash of her wand and the Silencing Spell was back. Narcissa turned to Snape. "Severus, you wouldn't happen to have any Veritaserum with you, would you?"
Snape smiled, and it was decidedly not a pleasant smile. "I do, Narcissa." He took out the small bottle of truth potion and went to administer it to Jean. She tried to bite him and he locked her jaws in place with a Lockjaw Charm giving him enough time to dose her with three drops of the potent brew.
Narcissa reversed the Binding Spell and removed the Silencing Spell once more and Jean dropped placidly into a nearby chair. Narcissa smiled pleasantly at Snape. "You really are a superb Potions Master, Severus. Just look how quickly the Veritaserum took effect."
Snape bowed graciously, but with a very slight, facetious smirk on his lips, at the compliment.
Jean Granger breathed slowly and evenly. Lucius, tired of George's stinking indiscretion Scourgified it and silently ordered the milquetoast back into his recliner.
"What are you doing to her?" George asked. His voice was full of curiosity and not one bit of concern. That further annoyed Lucius who simply gave the weak man a snarl to make him shut up.
Narcissa moved a little closer to Jean, touched her index fingertip to the woman's chin, and tipped the Muggle woman's gaze upward. "What is the story you have told everyone about your first daughter's disappearance from your home?"
Jean Granger spoke matter-of-factly, "Hermione tried to hurt herself this Summer. We decided to send her to a prestigious asylum in America where she has been indefinitely committed."
Narcissa's fingers twitched uneasily over her wand. Snape spoke quietly in a low, teaching voice to Narcissa, "Watch her body language, as I taught you. What do you see?"
"She believes her own lie." Stated Narcissa and Snape nodded in agreement. Narcissa carefully studied the woman whose Silent Language shone through despite her Veritaserum haze.
Lucius turned to George. "Do you believe Hermione insane?" he demanded.
George shrugged his shoulders, "I suppose it's better to believe than the truth."
"And what is the truth?" asked Lucius, his words deceptively kind, and wrapped in velvet.
"I fathered something unnatural," George made it sound like a pitiful confession.
Lucius slapped the poor excuse for a man and a father with the back of his own hand. If he wanted to welcome a cell at Azkaban, he would curse the Muggle with an Unforgivable, but he refrained from doing so; for Hermione's sake.
Narcissa continued her interrogation. "It is far too soon for you to have legally adopted a child, especially since your first daughter seems to have conveniently disappeared to America. Is Araminta adopted?"
Jean shook her head. "There would have been too many questions. My brother..."
George suddenly exploded from his recliner. "Your brother? Gus?" Lucius was so startled, he almost did hex the Muggle. It was Snape who swiftly stopped the older wizard from doing so. "What's that criminal delinquent got to do with Araminta? I thought he was still in prison!"
Jean, under the Veritaserum, could not help but tell the truth, and she did. "Gus got out almost a year ago, George. I just told him what I needed."
"Good God, Jean! Did Gus kidnap Araminta? Did he?" he demanded sharply.
"Gus didn't," asserted Jean primly.
Lucius grasped George Granger by the collar of his shirt. "Where is your Muggle telephone?"
George babbled, "This wasn't my fault! She showed me paperwork that all looked legal! If I'd known that her brother was involved...!"
The patrician wizard sneered, "Oh? Do tell? Would you have grown a backbone and done something about it? Called in your Aurors? Hm?" When the dentist could only stammer nonsensically, Lucius practically threw the Muggle into his recliner, then stabbed his wand into the man's face. "Muggle telephone, coward." George pointed towards the kitchen. "I'm calling Detective Stanley, Severus. This is too twisted for us to deal with."
Snape agreed with a nod. Narcissa left Jean Granger and went down the hall where the little girl vanished. She found Araminta sitting on a make-shift bed on an old leather couch in a study.
"Will you come with me, child?" she asked gently, holding out her arms.
The little girl didn't move. "Are you taking me back home?"
"I won't leave your side until you're back in the arms of your parents," promised Narcissa.
The little girl smiled nervously, but walked over to Narcissa and stood in front of her. "My name's Jenny," she murmured softly. Narcissa ran her hand gently over the golden hair of curls and discovered it was thick with Muggle hair product. Giving a moue of disgust, she waved her wand and chanted a Scourgify that removed the sticky, lacquer-like product. The little girl's perfect curls relaxed until her hair was a perfectly straight fall of pale gold.
Jenny touched her straight hair. "Thanks. I wish you could do the same to my teeth."
Narcissa worriedly examined the child's perfectly straight, pearly white smile. The older woman recalled how Hermione had explained the type of work her parents did – with teeth. Narcissa had shuddered at how terrible it all sounded. She decided she didn't want to know what the awful Grangers might have put little Jenny through to get such a perfect smile. Taking Jenny's hand, she drew the girl back out towards the living room.
While Narcissa had gone for the little girl, Snape had trussed up George Granger and he now sat, bound by strong rope, in his recliner. Jean Granger, still under the influence of Veritaserum, sat harmlessly on the ottoman.
Lucius had finished his phone call and turned to his wife and friend. "I have spoken to Det. Stanley and apprised him of the situation. He is sending the local constabulary to come and pick up the Grangers but an Auror, working on the Muggle side will be with them to Obliviate our presence and to cast Compulsion Spells that will keep them from being able to discuss where Hermione truly is."
Narcissa asked, "They'll want to know why Hermione is gone."
Stanley is already working with a few of his contacts to produce a paper trail in the Muggle news media about the Grangers daughter having disappeared under mysterious circumstances," explained Lucius.
"That appears rather complicated," mused Snape. "Wouldn't it be better to just Obliviate the existence of Hermione from her parents' minds?"
"Easier, maybe," agreed Lucius. "Unfortunately, quite a bit more than just the Grangers would need their memories altered. Stanley will find a way to satisfactorily conclude the mystery over Hermione's disappearance during the investigation that will emerge from this."
Snape frowned, "And just what will that conclusion lead to, Lucius?"
Lucius pursed his lips, not liking any of this, but they had no choice. "I expect that Hermione Granger will become dead in the Muggle world."
Snape folded his arms over his chest. He was quiet, as they all were, for a long moment. "This is going to be very hard on Miss... on my little Snake," he grimaced, sending a glare towards the two Grangers.
Lucius walked over to the tall, dark man and gripped his right forearm briefly, "We'll be there for her, Severus." He then walked over to his wife and the little girl. "You want to stay with her, don't you, love?" he asked softly.
"Jenny must know she'll be safe until she is back with her parents," Narcissa insisted in a whisper. Lucius merely nodded and directed his wife, with the little girl, over to the sofa. And so, they all waited.
16 Nov 1991, Saturday - The Seventh Floor
By mid-morning, Harry and Draco had finished the amount of homework they had decided to work on and then they went exploring. Hermione had told them about the room on the seventh floor with the Mirror of Erised, so that was where they decided to go. That was after some arguing between the two boys about whether or not it was really smart to go looking for that room. Draco convinced Harry that with the two of them, it wouldn't be dangerous like it was for Hermione who had been all alone.
The seventh floor was a fascinating place that had dozens of rooms to look into. Some were empty, and some were crammed full of the most intriguing junk to be found.
In one room they discovered armor and weapons scattered everywhere. As little boys are wont to do each boy put on pieces of the heavy armor, picked up swords, and battled each other until an assembled suit of armor got cheeky and batted at them with the flat of its sword. Dropping swords and armor pieces, Harry and Draco quickly abandoned that room, yelling, not because they were scared, but it felt exhilerating.
Another room had dozens of books that were just sitting on the floor. That room lost its appeal the moment Draco picked up a book, opened it, and found himself blown by a great wind into a stack of books that slid and tumbled to the floor the moment he struck.
One of the last rooms they peered into was a room that was empty but for dozens of framed paintings on its walls. None of them moved and they were all landscapes, or seascapes. All but one which was of a veiled lady in red who scared them both nearly out of their skin when she ordered them to leave in a shrill voice.
Both boys ran down the corridor, their yelps turning into giggles. Near the end of the corridor was one door partly opened. Draco was the first to peer in and he announced, "There's a mirror in here!"
Harry followed Draco into the Mirror Room and they both walked around the mirror until they stood in front of it. The reflective surface was dark and provided them with such faint reflections that they were almost ghostly outlines.
"I think it's dirty, Harry," mused Draco as he leaned in closer to the surface to peer back at his faint reflection.
Harry stepped a little closer to the mirror. "That looks more like the tarnish I used to have to clean off Aunt Petunia's silver tea set," remarked Harry.
"I don't see what's so special about it." Draco raised his hand and pressed his fingertips to the glass.
A loud crack echoed in the room and Draco jumped back. Harry watched as a crack appeared in the mirror and then traveled in a jagged path up the middle. It stopped a few inches from the gilded frame's edge.
"Curious."
Both boys, startled once again, let out a yelp until they saw the Headmaster gliding through the doorway.
"Sir, we didn't mean to break it!" Harry tried to convince Dumbledore.
Dumbledore, who had been examining the mirror, dropped his gaze to Harry's. Harry, recalling that his father warned him about letting the Headmaster catch his gaze, swept his eyes down to a fluttering canary on the green, velvet robes the Headmaster wore.
"No matter, my boy. It was an old mirror." His eyes glanced over the floor around the base of the mirror. Harry, noting the quick pursing of the man's thin lips, pushed Draco back a few steps and followed him.
"Can we go, sir?" asked Draco.
"Of course," the Headmaster spoke amicably. Both boys started to leave until Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, stopping him. "I would like the Stone, Harry."
"Stone? I don't have a stone, sir," protested Harry a bit shortly.
To Harry's surprise, the Headmaster gripped his chin and forced Harry to look into his bleak gaze. Caught by surprise, he had to scramble to put up his Occlumens shields. Dumbledore only scraped the surface of the boy's mind and saw that Harry was telling the truth. Harry let out a groan as a terrible headache struck him. He didn't realise right away that he was free of the Headmaster's touch.
"You leave Harry alone!" Draco shouted angrily at the Headmaster.
Dumbledore scowled at the boys, but made no move to calm Draco. He then smiled, shook his head sadly, drew out his wand and simply said, "Obliviate."
16 Nov 1991, Saturday - The Grangers, Aftermath
By the end of a very long day the Grangers had been taken in by the local authorities. Jean Granger was arrested in regards to aiding and abetting a kidnapping whereas George was being held in regards to the outcome of a pending investigation into the disappearance of his daughter, Hermione Jean Granger. Det. Henry Aloysius Stanley would carefully let slip certain details that would lead the police on a merry chase that would eventually end with the conclusion that Hermione had run away from her parents neglect and perished from the elements. It would keep George Granger out of prison, but it would not keep his reputation from being severely tarnished.
With the help of discrete touches of magic, Jenny's parents were found before the night was begun. It was discovered that she had been taken from a shopping mall at the tender age of two years old and sold, twice, to families that wanted a daughter. They became the victims of a fraud when the girl was kidnapped away from the families that bought her. Gus, Jean's brother, had apparently been in on a deal to defraud his own sister in the same manner, but he didn't get a chance to re-kidnap Jenny. Even though Jean had been set up to be defrauded, she would get prison time. Lucius had decreed it, so Det. Stanley would see to it that Jean Granger would spend at least ten years in prison for her crimes and for the neglect and cruelty perpetrated on Hermione. As for Gus, he would be back in prison, permanently, according to Stanley.
Once Jenny was in the arms of two very emotional, and thankful young people, and Narcissa was assured that they would keep a close eye upon their daughter, Lucius, Narcissa, and Snape finally left to return to their world.
16 Nov 1991, Saturday - Time to End this Day
It felt like it ought to be midnight, or later, to Snape, but dinner was just concluding as he was finally able to return to his quarters at Hogwarts. Lucius was still at the Ministry dealing with paperwork and more that would eventually dovetail in the Malfoys adopting Hermione. Narcissa was quite pleased at the outcome, but Lucius knew that once they spoke to Hermione she was not going to take well to the happenstance of her family, or her eventual "removal" from the Muggle world.
Today was difficult, but tomorrow would be even more so. Seating himself in his favourite chair by the fire, Snape thought of Harry and what he and Draco might have been up to today. The weekend was usually free of points loss so he hoped that the silence meant they had not gotten into trouble. Just as he was sinking deeper into the warm leather of the chair...
"Severus Snape!" The scolding voice of Poppy Pomfrey had Snape awake and on his feet in a shot. He glanced at the now green flames to see a very irate medi-witch's head in his Floo. "Where have you been all day?"
"I have been..." was all Snape managed to get out.
"Come to the Infirmary right now! Harry needs you!" Her head vanished from the Floo.
"Harry?" he wondered softly, all his muscles tightening in sudden fear and worry. He stepped through the green flames and into the Infirmary.
Saturday, Nov. 16, 1991 – two steps back, earlier in the day
Harry blinked a few times and frowned as he looked around himself. His eyes lit upon Draco who was also blinking, and yawning a bit.
"What happened?" asked Harry.
Draco shook his head. "Dunno. Do you know where we are, Harry?"
The room, though dark as the torches were not lit, was lit by faint daylight from an enchanted window. Jars and bottles and phials glittered in the faint light to fade into long shadows upon the floor. It was their Potions classroom and they were both on the floor.
"It's the Potions classroom," Harry said as he tried to stand. His head swum viciously and he felt his stomach tip dangerously. He lay down with his cheek against the cold floor and felt some relief.
"You okay, Harry?" Draco asked as he lifted himself from his position on the floor and moved over to his friend.
"Uh uh," he mumbled into the floor, which had thankfully been cleaned on Friday by two older Slytherins that had detention in the evening. "My head hurts."
"Let's go to the Infirmary, then. I don't think Professor Snape is back, yet, and Madame Pomfrey's got some Headache Relief Potion that should help."
Harry slowly rose, gritting his teeth at the pain. Draco slipped under Harry's arm, doing his best to support his friend. The dungeon Potions classroom wasn't far from the Infirmary, but Harry's growing headache was making the journey all the more difficult. They were literally stumbling over each other when they both reached the Infirmary.
An hour into the boys' visit, Poppy had exhausted her knowledge and had given Harry an adult strength migraine relieving potion, the same potion Snape used to relieve his migraines. Nothing worked and Harry, who was doing his best not to cry, since that made his head feel worse, lay down on his side with a cool mask the medi-witch had conjured over his eyes. Draco was watching his friend on one side of the bed, while Hermione, who had been serving detention with the medi-witch, sat on Harry's other side, but on the bed. Harry was facing Draco while Hermione rubbed her friend's back.
By now, Poppy had tried to reach Snape, but had been informed that he was gone from the castle and not expected back until late. It was late in the afternoon and Harry was still in pain. By the time the large, silent clock in the Infirmary ticked upon the fourth hour in the day, the medi-witch had no choice but to relieve Harry's suffering by putting him under a Sleep Spell. Unfortunately, she had to wake the poor boy up every hour to check his vitals and to make sure that there was no damage to report. It was fifteen minutes of hell for Harry, and it tore Poppy apart to see the child's face streaked with silent tears as he hurt so much.
Finally, a house elf that had been told to watch for Professor Snape, came to announce that the wizard was back. Poppy wasted no time in calling for the Potions Master who arrived through the same Floo connection just after dinner at seven in the evening.
Poppy quickly apprised Snape of the situation before waking Harry. "Harry came in this afternoon complaining of a headache. He said when it first showed up it was a dull ache, behind his eyes. It became worse on their way here. Harry is unable to tolerate any light and he has described the headache as though his brain is throbbing with an ache behind his eyes."
Snape reached down to run his fingers through his son's long, slightly messy, black hair. "And he has not responded to any of the pain medications for headaches or migraines?"
"The last one I tried was a dose of your migraine formula, Severus," Poppy shook her head. "Nothing." She paused watching as Snape's lips thinned and he briefly pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. "Severus, if this helps, Harry has been consistent in describing his pain by saying 'something inside his brain hurts'."
Snape glanced up. "Poppy, do your scans show that he actually has a headache or a migraine?"
"He does not. By all my scans, he should be perfectly healthy." Poppy noted that Snape's eyes widened perceptibly with dawning understanding. "What is it, Severus?" she asked.
Snape held up his hand. He had a few questions, first. He turned to Draco. "Mr. Malfoy, what were you and Harry doing today. Be truthful," he warned, "this is critical as to whether or not I can help your friend."
Draco swallowed and nodded his head. "Well, we finished our homework and decided to do some exploring. Hermione had told us all about the Mirror of Erised, so we thought that we'd go and find it." Draco gulped as his teacher's thunderous expression showed his disapproval of their target for exploration. "It was broken, though, sir! At least, I think it was... well, it sure was when I touched it."
"What do you mean, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Snape, his voice sounding terribly dangerous.
Draco shuddered, but continued, "Well, it was all dark, and... well, Harry said it looked tarnished. You know, like silver gets tarnished? Anyway, I just wanted to touch it, and when I did it cracked all up and down the middle, and..." he frowned sharply as he tried to figure something out. Snape watched the young boy carefully. "That's weird... I... uhm..."
"Continue, please, Mr. Malfoy. After the mirror cracked, what happened?" pushed Snape.
"I don't know," Draco almost wailed. "I mean, it cracked, but then Harry and I weren't in front of the mirror anymore! We were in Potions class." Draco frowned, trying to make sense of what had happened.
Snape tapped his chin thoughtfully. "You were on the seventh floor, and then in the dungeons. Did you just suddenly appear there, or did you wake up there?"
"We woke up, sir," Draco said firmly. "But, I know I didn't go to sleep in Potions, so I'm pretty sure Harry remembers that he didn't either."
"Are you aware, Mr. Malfoy, that the Potions classroom is sealed on the weekends?" Snape gave the boy a stern look.
Thinking he might be in trouble, Draco glanced worriedly at his teacher before slowly shaking his head side to side. "No, sir."
"You are not in trouble, Mr. Malfoy." Snape sighed and one of the visitor's chairs. "Do come here." He motioned the boy to stand in front of him, almost touching his knees. "I am going to Legilimens you, Draco, but I need you to let down your shields and let me in. I promise that I will not look for anything that didn't happen to you today. Will you trust me?"
Draco nodded, but asked very quietly, "It won't hurt?"
"As long as you allow me in, it will not hurt at all," Snape promised.
"Okay." Draco opened his eyes wide and looked into the deep, dark eyes of his Head of House. He never felt a thing. Within seconds, it seemed to be all over and he smiled shyly. "Did I help Harry, sir?"
Snape forced a smile to briefly touch his lips. "You did, Mr. Malfoy. Now, go sit with Miss Granger."
Draco did so, and Poppy leaned slightly down towards Snape. "Is it what I suspect, Severus?" she spoke softly so the children wouldn't hear.
Snape didn't answer, but he did nod. He moved his chair closer to his son just as Poppy lifted the Sleeping Spell. He touched Harry's cheek. "Harry? Little One, I need you to sit up and to let me into your thoughts."
"It hurts, Dad," he whimpered, shutting his eyes tightly.
"I know it does, son," he whispered. "Just turn onto your back and then look only into my eyes. I will take the pain away."
Harry shuffled, and wiggled until he was on his back. His hands were over his eyes and Snape gently drew the small hands away. He then very lightly touched the pads of his thumbs to Harry's tightly squeezed together eyes. Poppy lowered the lights until the torches burned very dimly casting the Infirmary into shadow.
"Open up, son," Snape ordered softly. Harry's eyes flew open and the Potions Master almost flinched away from the dark mossy green of pain that was reflected in his son's eyes. He didn't, though, and cast, "Legilimens!"
Snape was so startled by the brick wall that appeared in front of him that he took three, unsteady steps backwards. It only took a few seconds to settle himself in his son's mind and he realised this was simply a large wall that hid Harry's more complex Occlumens shield. It was only a short walk to a tall, wrought iron gate that opened invitingly at his presence; a clear signal that Harry was giving his father no resistance.
Stepping into the now, very expansive garden, Snape had to marvel at what his son had accomplished with the basic Occlumens skills he had taught his son. He was at a level that had taken Snape almost two years to master.
Harry wasn't in sight, but as Snape observed the garden he noticed that a thick, green and sinuous vine with lush, purple flowers that grew everywhere along the floor of the garden, began to slither out of his way, and cozied up to the roots of the trees. The vine was what Harry had once described as his guardian. Snape had to admit that the 'guardian' unnerved him as he felt as though he were being watched by the thing. He had tested them once, despite his son's misgivings, during one of their lessons. Deliberately provoking the guardian the vine had swiftly coiled around his ankles and knees, and proceeded to cause the Potions Master such a panic that he was swiftly pushed from his son's mind. It had been so unsettling an experience that he never wanted to deal with the guardian again. Unfortunately, Harry had almost been inconsolable at having 'hurt' his Dark Man.
Stepping further into the garden, he came upon the pond that was surrounded by boulders, and rocks, and the angelic statue of Lily. The pond had once separated the Fiend that was Voldemort in the bodies of dozens of ghastly fish from Harry's mind. For a time, even after gaining possession of Quirrell, the Fiend had still had a connection to Harry's psyche, his nightmares, and horrid visions of the present, through the fish in that pond. That was until the day they had visited the Ministry and Draco and Harry had been drawn into the depths of the Department of Mysteries. In a desperate need to save his best friend from death at the hands of the Fiend, Harry had cast a Patronus from a prison within his mind that expelled Voldemort and had given Quirrell such a backlash that he still lay within the Infirmary in a coma.
Snape touched the statue of Lily and was once again startled as the stone statue moved, lifted an arm, and pointed out a path to him. Nodding his thanks, Snape approached the path and continued his walk.
Many of the plants and flowers were nothing like anything one would ever see in either the Muggle world, or the magical one. Harry had shown his childish delight in creating the flora. Flowers were colourful, almost with faces that giggled and smiled. Some flowers had a grand majesty to them and an intricacy that was not seen until you stopped and looked closely at the flower. The flowers were decoys that hid some of Harry's memories, but these were benign, and some were new, happy ones that had been created by his friendships with Draco and Hermione, and a growing trust of his father.
Snape had seen these flowers in better times, though. All of them had their blossoms closed and their stems drooped the heavy blooms until many lay upon the grass almost like drunkards. Smaller tendrils of the guardian vine were everywhere and they wiggled and moved so much like a snake that Snape was not tempted to investigate the flowers.
Adding to the oddity of the flowers, were the trees. They usually appeared as solid sentinels, being nothing more than trees, but Harry had once shown his father just how he had managed to hide some of his unhappier memories in the bark. Deeper down, within the extensive roots, were the worst of Harry's memories. Everything he tried to forget. Snape knew that this was where the Dursleys were, where the nightmares came from, and where the flashbacks grew from. The leaves of the trees were falling, almost like snowflakes around him.
Snape's walk became more strident as he made his way through the garden looking for Harry. After what seemed like a timeless walk that wove along natural paths through the garden, he finally spotted his son.
Near a corner of the garden, Harry was curled up atop lush moss. The moss was the only thing untouched; around the moss was ground that had been burned, flash burned, as though lightning had come down to strike it. Snape knelt down on one knee and called to his son.
"Little One?"
Harry remained on his side and Snape watched as the body he was familiar with shimmered and changed to that of a much younger child; probably three or four years old.
"I don't wanna play no more," Harry whined. "Go 'way." He flipped over so his back was to his father.
"Oh I know, child," Snape sympathised. "Someone truly does not know how to play fair, do they?" Child-Harry shook his head, but kept turned away. "We can fix this." He stretched a hand out to touch the ground. "Will you help me?"
Child-Harry turned to face Snape and smiled beatifically as he recognised who Snape was. "Dark Man!" he breathed out. Snape smiled at the very young child. Child-Harry scrambled to his feet, jumped off the lump of moss and threw himself at Snape. The Dark Man enfolded the little boy in his voluminous robes. Little legs wrapped around his waist as small arms circled his neck. The small head with a shock of unruly black hair rested against his neck and he leaned his cheek against the soft hair.
"There's my Little One," Snape breathed in relief.
Harry pulled back slightly to look up into Snape's eyes. "Do you know what we gotta do, Dark Man?" he asked seriously.
Snape glanced down at the burnt ground. "We need to heal this poor earth and plant new flowers, I think."
Harry grinned. His Dark Man was so smart! Slipping out of the embrace he held out a trowel and a garden fork which the Dark Man took. Child-Harry then delved a hand into the pocket of his shorts, which, like the sweatshirt he wore, were too big for his small body. Child-Harry had to lean slightly to the side to reach the bottom of the pocket. Triumphantly he pulled out some seeds.
Child-Harry jumped off the green moss and knelt on both knees beside the tall, dark-clothed wizard. "Okay, you have to do this right, Dark Man. The earth is hard so we take the fork..." he paused, watching as his Dark Man took the fork and scraped it across the burnt earth, turning the scorching away to be replaced by the rich soil beneath. Child-Harry clapped his hands. "That's it!"
Child-Harry, as he took the trowel from Snape, grew just a bit older. Snape estimated that Child-Harry was now about six. Very studiously, and carefully, Harry dug a trench with a trowel, measuring the length of the trench by spreading his small hand over it. When he came to a burned area, Snape raked the soil, and Harry would dig another trench. Man and child kept at this until there were neat, open trenches a Harry hands-breadth in length all around the mossy patch where Harry had lain. Child-Harry, now about nine years old, took the trowel and rake, put them aside, then took Snape's hand, palm up, and poured some of the seeds into the older man's hand.
"You take that side, I'll take this side," directed Child-Harry. Very solemnly he ordered softly, "That's all the seed I got so don't put it all in one trench. Okay?"
Snape nodded that he understood. Parting, yet still on their knees, Snape and Child-Harry began to drop a measure of seeds into a trench, then covered it over by hand until all were done. When Snape looked up from his task, his son was almost returned. Child-Harry had aged another year and a half, perhaps, but Snape was certain he was not yet eleven.
Child-Harry rose to his feet and handed Snape a watering can. "Would you, Dark Man?" Harry asked politely.
Snape rose to his feet, brushed the dirt from his knees, and took the watering can from Harry. He liberally sprinkled the area they had planted with seeds. As he did so, grass sprouted, then thickened, and flowers, snapdragons and freesias popped through the soil and bloomed. When all the water was gone, the sprinkler vanished from Snape's hand. He felt small fingers, familiarly sized fingers, grasp onto his. Looking down, Child-Harry was gone and in his place was Just-Harry – Harry James Snape.
Harry smiled up at his father. "Let's go home, Dad."
Harry, now free of the pain in his head, sat at a table in the corner of the Infirmary with Hermione and Draco, eating the dinner they had missed. Poppy and Snape sat upon the edge of the bed where Harry had been all afternoon.
"He was Legilimised," Snape spoke quietly, tightly. "Then, to cover that crime, both boys were Obliviated and then moved to my Potions classroom."
"You know who did it," Poppy spat, but she kept her voice controlled, and quiet.
"I suspect who did it, Poppy, but with that," he pointed towards the still comatose Quirrell, "still abed there, I cannot be certain."
"Would the Fiend be capable of such physical work, Severus?" she asked the dark man in puzzlement.
"Normally I would not think so, but this is Voldemort that is the Fiend, Poppy. I cannot be certain that he is at all trapped within that body." He grimaced as he felt useless not knowing what to do about the evil that lay, possibly dormant, so close to them.
"I do not understand why Draco and Harry were in your classroom, Severus. Why not leave them where they were?" asked Poppy. "That makes no sense."
"But it does," he smiled, a grim, unpleasant and knowing smile, "If it were the Headmaster, he does not care for the relationship I have with Harry. He knew I had threatened dire punishment if my son was found there again, and I've no doubt that the Headmaster hoped that my punishment for Harry would be a physical one that would plant seeds of resentment within the child."
Poppy glanced, appalled, at Harry and the other two children. "But he knows you've never hit a child! You've always been an advocate for those we discovered were being hurt. Why would he think that?"
"Because I spanked Miss Granger in front of everyone in the Great Hall," he replied. Poppy had not known of that incident, and so he explained the girl's hysterical shouting over the loss of her books, right there at breakfast. "She wouldn't stop shouting, and so I grabbed her and smacked her bottom. Once. I only wanted..."
Poppy interrupted with a nod, and finished, "You needed to get her attention, and you certainly couldn't slap her in the face." Snape's jaw almost dropped in surprise, thinking his friend might be intimating that he would blithely hit someone in the face. "Anyone, adult or child, is subject to hysterics, Severus," she explained, patting his arm. "It is not acceptable to slap a child to bring them out of such a state, but experts, both magical and Muggle, agree that a sharp sound, such as a clapping of the hands near their face, or, for a child, a smack to the bottom, will break the cycle of the hysteria. What you did is quite understandable."
"I know that," his tone almost a growl. "I believe, though, that as Dumbledore was a witness to that, he might have misinterpreted it and expected I would be even more forceful with my son."
Poppy smirked at him, "And will you be? Beyond the detention?"
Snape glowered. "They will have Potions ingredients to prepare for having gone after that stupid mirror, Poppy. Green shrivelfigs are particularly difficult to pickle." Poppy chuckled. Snape looked up, just as Harry was smiling shyly at him from the make-shift dinner table. "There is nothing that would make me hit my child."
Snape threw up a Silencing Spell as he startled Poppy with a sudden burst of passionate anger. "How am I to keep my child safe when a Fiend threatens his sanity at the same time that an old man keeps pushing him into situations where he gets hurt?" He pushed up from the bed they had been sitting down together on and paced slightly. "Merlin's rotted feet, Poppy! Do you know how much I would just like to have to deal with my son's own mischief? I do not even know if he has it in him to be just a normal, disobedient child! He is always so polite around me, like a... like an obedient, little duck!"
Poppy chuckled as she imagined Harry as a little duck in black robes following behind in the wake of his father's billowing robes. She smiled, "Doesn't any parent want their child to be polite, to follow the rules, Severus?"
Snape scowled at the witch's deliberate misunderstanding. "I just want my son to have a normal childhood, Poppy. Boys want to explore this old stone carcass, and they should be allowed to do so. Do you realise how much I wish that I could punish my child for simply doing what is normal for inquisitive, little boys to do? But, no! My son gets mind-raped, and then Obliviated by some doddering, lemon-pushing, old twit who believes Harry has some sort of awesome power to defeat a mad creature!" He tried to calm himself, but when he saw Harry laughing with his friends, oblivious to the drama behind the Silencing Spell, he turned back to Poppy. "Dumbledore is going to get my son killed for his beliefs, and then what am I to do?"
Poppy pulled Snape back down beside her. She pushed his hair off his face, and then took his face between her hands as she looked intently into his eyes, "You will do what needs to be done, my dear. Keep your son, and your Snakes, as safe as you can, but allow us to help." Snape frowned lightly. Poppy smiled. "Lucius, Narcissa, Remus, myself, and Minerva."
"Minerva?" Snape asked as Poppy allowed her hands to drop to her lap. He recalled the looks the older woman had given the old Headmaster at the Welcoming Feast. Those looks that had made him wonder if the old friendship was becoming strained.
"Of course, Minerva," the witch huffed as though he should have known better. "Look, Severus, Minerva has made mistakes, and she is paying for them. As all of us must, when the Balance is due. Dumbledore will pay for his, too, only I hope that his is not a terrible price. Minerva has seen that the Headmaster's thoughts are only on this perceived notion of Harry that he has in his mind, and she is a Lioness who will do everything to protect the child of Lily." Poppy waggled a finger at him. "Don't forget, that as much as you grieved for Lily's loss, Minerva loved Lily as her own daughter and has never gotten over that loss."
Snape stared at Poppy. He knew Minerva was as attached to her Cubs as he was to his Snakes, but he really had not known how deeply the older witch had felt towards Lily. "Does she still...?"
"Grieve?" asked Poppy softly, and then she nodded. "She has yet to say anything to you, because of the problems she had with Hermione, but Minerva wishes to have some of the closeness she once had with Lily from Harry. Trust me, Severus, just as you would, Minerva would protect that boy with all of her Gryffindor ferocity."
Poppy rose to her feet, brushed her hands over her apron, and then, with a wave of her wand, she removed the Silencing Spell, and went to join the children just as pudding arrived.
Snape looked at Hermione, Draco, and then at his son. Despite what had happened to him today, Harry laughed, free of the pain. Any pain. He meant to keep it that way. With, perhaps, a new resolve, he went to join his son, and his two favourite Snakes, and Poppy, for pudding.
Once the late dinner in the Infirmary was concluded, Snape sent his Snakes back to their common room. Poppy returned to her office, and the Potions Master found himself alone, in the great, sterile room, with the figure of Quirrell. Raising his hand in a swooping gesture, all around the room a shimmering of blue ghosted for a moment before fading again.
It was a ward that Snape had put up around the Infirmary in the hopes of keeping the Fiend that occupied the DADA professor from moving beyond the large room. It was an old spell that Snape had learned out of necessity, since the Hogwarts ghosts seemed to think nothing of drifting into his private quarters at all hours, sometimes startling him from the depths of his nightmares. The ward had originally been devised to keep ghostly spirits from crossing a protected threshold into a sanctuary. Snape had refashioned the spell, as he cast the ward, to create a prison for the Fiend. The ward was still solidly in place, but whether it worked or not, he could not know. If Voldemort was not anchored to Quirrell's mind, free to roam, then when Snape cast the spell, the monster could have already been gone.
The Potions Master glared down at the silent Quirrell. "You will not get my son," Snape threatened with a dangerous sneer.
He watched with interest as Quirrell's lips began to move, hissing issuing forth between them. Carefully he bent over, keeping one hand on his wand as it slipped forward from his sleeve, and one eye on the prone man.
Sibilant laughter brushed across his ear and he heard the word, "Traitor." It was not spoken in Quirrell's trembling tenor.
Snape straightened sharply. He smirked, "Only to you." With a sharp, decisive turn, he swept from the Infirmary. He never saw the tear that fell from Quirrell's closed eye.
The Potions Master wasn't entirely sure where he was going as he strolled through the castle, but he soon discovered his feet were taking him up the long way to the seventh floor he and Lupin had found Hermione several nights before.
At his approach, the door to the Mirror Room creaked open to allow him in. Snape was a bit surprised to find the Headmaster standing in front of the mirror as his hand stroked thoughtfully through his beard. Snape scowled, thinking of his son. He knew that it had been Dumbledore who had hurt Harry. As far as he knew there wasn't another person in the castle who could have cast the Legilimens and Obliviate spells. Legilimens is really not an accepted spell to teach, and as for Obliviate, unless one is an Auror, it is a violation of Ministry law to use it. Albus Dumbledore, as head of the Wizengamot probably had permission to use the spell. Snape wondered if he was as skilled as the Aurors had to be, or was his technique with that Mind Manipulating Spell as inept as his Legilimens skills were.
For a moment Snape's fingers touched his wand as his anger rose within him at the harm and the damage caused to his child. Just when he thought he might hex the old meddler, he was stopped cold.
Dumbledore spun gracefully to meet Snape's hard glare. He smiled, gently, and his eyes twinkled, with delight (?) at seeing his Potions professor? Snape wasn't certain, so he did not move from his spot.
"Is there a problem, Severus?" asked the Headmaster.
It annoyed Snape that the old fool appeared to be so clueless... no, unconcerned about what he had done to Harry.
"You Legilimised my son," he spoke through a clenched jaw.
"The boys were playing and I felt it important for me to keep an eye upon them," Dumbledore replied vaguely, then waved the younger wizard over to him, closer to the mirror. Snape moved a bit closer, his wand sliding, slowly into his hand. "I believed that Harry broke the Mirror of Erised," he declared, pointing a long finger at the single, crazed crack in the aged looking, reflective glass. "When I asked him to give me the Stone, he denied any knowledge of it. It was necessary."
The younger wizard seethed and his wand was now firmly in his hand. He had no doubt that the Headmaster could see it and he made no move to conceal it. "Distrust, again, Albus? Is that why you hurt my son with your brutal Legilimens?" Snape's wand arm was, in a blink, straight and taut as he pointed his wand in menace at the older wizard.
Dumbledore made no sign that he even realised he was being threatened. "It was a poor decision..." his voice was regretful, apologetic.
"You Obliviated Harry and Draco after violating my son's mind! Do not try to excuse this with contrition you do not feel, Albus. For once in your damnable life be truthful with me! What you did was wrong!" Snape watched as Dumbledore did manage to flinch at his Potions professor's anger. Yet, he wondered, would the old man continue to try and twist this to his advantage?
Snape watched cannily as the Headmaster stepped so close to the end of his wand, that his chest was almost touching the tip. The Potions Master did not ease his wand away and Dumbledore knew, without a doubt, that the young wizard would curse him with his worst. The old man drew his fingers through his beard and began to speak, his soft, blue eyes twinkling calmly.
"I hid the Philosopher's Stone within the Mirror of Erised. Harry admitted that they broke it," Dumbledore tapped his chin, for a moment he puzzled over how the mirror could have gotten broken. He then sighed, and shrugged, "As I have not found the Stone anywhere in this room, the boy must have it. Harry is in great danger from that Stone, Severus." The Headmaster's eyes twinkled brightly, a small flash of delight, as Snape's wand hand faltered, lowering just a bit.
"How could that Stone hurt him?" demanded Snape. He blinked suddenly as he felt a heavy, invisible mist drifting around his mind. Questions, demands, emotions were all being gently dampened, calmed, and scattered. Snape tried his best to keep it all coherent as he wanted answers from Dumbledore.
"Allow me to explain, Severus," Dumbledore moved slowly forward, then touched Snape's arm, the one with the wand, and pushed it down. The younger wizard's arm dropped heavily to his side. "The Philosopher's Stone is a Dark Artefact, my boy. Nicholas and Perenelle Flamel have been under its spell for almost 600 years. It was not a simple thing for my dear friend Nicholas when he asked me to take it." He smiled softly, the twinkling of his eyes a soft dazzle that locked Snape's gaze onto his. "They both have lived a long time and both yearn for the rest that Death offers, but the addiction to the Stone was too much. I took it and I had meant to destroy it, as Nicholas requested, but I felt that there might be a need for it and so I placed it in one of my vaults at Gringotts until that time."
The Headmaster waved his hand, conjuring a red velvet sofa that he led Snape over to. The young man dropped heavily and leaned back against it. Not once did Snape's eyes leave those of the Headmaster.
Dumbledore sat beside Snape and began to uncurl the wizard's rigid fingers from around his wand. He kept talking, "When I discovered that Voldemort was a part of Quirinus..."
Snape managed to sit up sharply as he heard this. For a moment, his dizzy brain sharpened and the mental fog was thrust aside. "You knew?" He shook his head and for a moment he did not see those blasted twinkling eyes and he felt his head begin to clear. His fingers re-tightened reflexively upon his wand and Dumbledore held up his hands away from it. "You knew what Quirrell was and you still brought him into this school? There are children here!"
Dumbledore's eyes locked upon the angered glint of Snape's obsidian orbs and the younger man stilled. He was still angry, but he did not voice anything. He was also unable to stop the older man from gently, but firmly prying his wand from his fingers. The Headmaster laid one, consoling hand on Snape's arm; the left forearm, "Yes, Severus, I knew. I also knew that if we were to have any chance at vanquishing Voldemort before he found a permanent body, he had to be drawn into the walls of Hogwarts. And, with Harry arriving the same year, I knew that it was providential."
Snape glowered, as his thoughts cried, you let him in? Why can I not speak? What have you done to me this time... Snape's further thoughts became a dozen or so creative curses woven with descriptive words. The Potions Master found he was mesmerised by the Headmaster's dancing, twinkling, maddeningly amused eyes.
Albus nodded gently, but not enough that he let slip his gaze from Snape. "Yes, yes, my boy, I know you do not agree with me. The Prophecy is nothing but the words of a..." he paused, briefly, smiling with amusement. "How did you describe Sybil? Oh yes! A raspberry-brandy babbling fraud!"
Snape scowled and tried again to speak, but he felt like his tongue had been twisted by a Tongue-Tie Hex. Dumbledore noticed the struggle, and something else. He conjured a handkerchief and dabbed it gently at the corners of the Potions Master's mouth where he had spotted a bit of drool. Snape's dark eyes burned with indignation.
"Allow me to finish about the Stone, Severus. So, calm yourself and it will be better for you." Getting a small nod from the angry man, Dumbledore spoke once again. "As I said, the Stone is dangerous. It will be nothing more than simple, inert stone, unremarkable in appearance, to anyone who has no wish to use the Stone for their own needs. However, to someone who does need it they will hear it call to them. A song, I believe Nicholas once described it, that no one else can hear. I knew that the Stone would call to Voldemort even though he was unaware of it. I hoped to trap him in front of the Mirror of Erised. As long as the Stone was within the Mirror, he could only hear it, he could not get it. Unfortunately..." Dumbledore shook his head.
Again Snape tried to talk, but he was unable to do so. To his disgust, the Headmaster dabbed at his lips once more with the handkerchief.
"As you've pointed out, and rightfully so, my skill with Legilimens is terrible and I really should not have tried what I did with Harry," the Headmaster sighed with what appeared to be true regret. "but I admit, my boy, I panicked. I wanted to make certain that he did not have the Stone. My only thought was to protect him." Snape could only scowl in disbelief. "To my disgrace, I did not find the answer to my question and only hurt him."
The Potions Master's mouth jerked open as Snape finally overcame the spell that held him tongue-tied. He wanted to shout and rail, but he didn't and forced himself to speak as calmly as he could manage. "I... may understand your reasoning for the Legilimens, Albus, but I do not like it. You injured my son. It was fortunate I was able to repair the damage, but do you expect me to trust you after doing such a thing to Harry?"
The Headmaster gave Snape a very pointed, critical glance, "You do not trust me now, my boy."
Snape gave Dumbledore a curt nod, conceding that the old man spoke the truth. He glanced at his wand still in the Headmaster's hand, and even though he knew some wandless magic that would work, for a moment, against the older man, with what had happened to him as Dumbledore spoke to him about the Stone, he chose not to. Snape had the sinking, sickening feeling that he had grossly underestimated the man. This doddering, old fool, might not be the twit he sometimes thought of him, and that worried Snape. Terribly.
The younger wizard needed a moment to pull away from this new information, this new power he had not suspected Dumbledore to have. Pushing aside whatever the enchantment had been, Snape did not risk a glance at the older man, but turned his gaze to the mirror. "Voldemort is a Fiend, Albus. Dead. You could have killed Quirrell, but what were your plans for the spirit?"
Dumbledore rose from the velvet sofa, glided over to the mirror, and placed his hand against its damaged surface. "I would have trapped Voldemort's spirit, and his soul, within the mirror, and then I would have broken it, thus, destroying him utterly." The old man's hand dropped slowly to his beard as he shrugged, almost with indifference. "Alas, now I know of no way to trap that evil."
"If he is trapped at all," remarked Snape, worrying once more about his wards around the Infirmary.
"I believe your wards were unnecessary," asserted Dumbledore as the young man glanced up quickly, and then lowered his lashes, half closing his eyes against the mesmeric gaze of the Headmaster's. He did not catch the quick, resigned sigh from the older man who turned away from the seated, younger wizard. Snape was too clever, by far, and would not trust those eyes again. "What I mean to say, my boy, is that I believe that Voldemort is irrevocably tied to Quirrell. At least, until he dies."
"Then it is in our best interest to keep him alive." Snape rose to his feet and caught himself before his hands brushed down his robes. It was a nervous habit from his childhood that he had thought quite gone. It hadn't. Once again the Headmaster had found another way to unsettle him, and he had an urgent need to leave the older man's presence. He moved to the door which creaked slowly open for him. "I need to be about my rounds, Headmaster."
"Of course, Severus. Good evening." The older wizard turned back to the Mirror of Erised, contemplating, perhaps, its broken surface.
"Headmaster?" Snape stood in the doorway as Dumbledore turned away towards his Potions professor. "I will find out if Harry has the Stone."
Dumbledore only nodded, and turned away. Snape strode from the Mirror Room, quelling a very childish desire to run down the corridor and down to the comforting depths of his dungeons.
That night Snape tossed and turned in his large bed as he regretted, for once, that he did not have the comfort of a companion to hold onto. Sneering at himself, at that point, he threw off the covers, almost viciously, and slipped from his bed. He put on his dressing gown and slippers against the chill and padded, very softly, out to his sitting room. With a quick wave of his wand, the fire rose up in the fireplace, its crackling flames beginning to take the chill out of the air. He settled into his favourite chair, his shoulders slumping as he stretched his long legs out until his feet were being warmed by the fire.
"Twinkling eyes," he muttered to himself, his brow frowning with disgust. Voice Magic, and now that blasted twinkle! Snape had always thought it a simple, rather annoying, affectation that was another mark of how dreadfully cheerful the old man could get, sometimes. Now, Snape mumbled to the flames as he leaned the left side of his jaw into the palm of his left hand, "it is something more insidious."
Really, should I be so surprised? Snape asked himself bitterly. The persuasive power of Voice Magic should have at least warned him when he finally figured that one out. The Headmaster was always manipulating everyone and Snape realised now that it was more than just gentle words the old coot could use.
Snape would no longer let his guard down around the Headmaster. There was every possibility that Dumbledore had other forms of Persuasive Magic at his beck and call if he had both that stupid twinkle, and the Voice Magic.
"Blasted twinkle!" he groused, grinding his teeth darkly. "I never suspected it. Never."
Snape stiffened as he caught movement from his door as it swung quietly open, paused, and then closed. Lowering his eyesight, he relaxed as he saw who wandered softly into his quarters. A tousel-haired little boy was rubbing one fist against his eyes, and then let out a yawn as he padded over to his father in bare feet. Harry was also missing his robe.
Snape let out a sigh, grasped his son under the arms before he could lean against the chair, and drew the boy up into his lap.
"Hey!" protested Harry, but not very much. "I'm too old for being held, Dad!"
"You might be, but tonight, I am not," harrumphed Snape into the flame lit darkness of the small sitting room. With a wave of his hand, Harry's father Summoned the afghan draped over the back of the sofa, and then draped it over his son, making sure that it covered his bare feet, too.
With his son's legs draped across his lap and the boy's side leaning into his stomach and chest, Snape lightly pushed Harry's head against his shoulder, taking a moment to run his fingers through the soft hair. Harry let out a sigh, and another yawn.
"What are you doing here, Harry?" Snape asked in a whisper that rumbled comfortingly in his chest. Harry shrugged and snuggled a bit closer to his father. "It was not due to a nightmare, was it?"
Snape could feel Harry's head shake, just a small bit. "Mum sent me," Harry finally whispered back. "I woke up an' just kind of had a thought that Mum was telling me to come see you." Harry lifted his head just as his father looked down at him. Harry's tired expression was filled with concern. "You okay, Dad?"
Snape smiled, just that tiny bit that Harry was comfortable with and knew hid a much bigger smile inside his father's heart. Harry smiled back and Snape cupped the little boy's cheek. "I am feeling better now, Harry."
Harry relaxed, then, and closed his eyes. When Snape heard the long, relaxed breaths of sleep, the older wizard put aside the last of his worries and concerns over Dumbledore and closed his own eyes.
Update 5/2015
