1 Dec 1991, Sunday

Four rooms in the Malfoy Manor had potential. One room, which had been Draco's nursery, had simply been sealed shut when he was too old for the room. Narcissa had spent at least an hour in the old nursery. She sat in the antique rocker that she had rocked her baby Dragon to sleep in, touched his old toys, many of them stuffed animals such as dragons, gryphons, and such. When she left the room, she sealed it again. Someday, she thought, Draco might want the room for his children.

That left three rooms. One was right next to Draco's bedroom. Mentally Narcissa marked that room off as she deemed it too close to her son. She felt Hermione might not, initially, feel that comfortable being so near to Draco.

Two rooms were now left. One was at the beginning of the corridor and the other was at the end. It was this room at the end, that overlooked Narcissa's prize rose garden, that she chose for Hermione.

Stepping into the bedroom, it was an empty palette of white to serve Narcissa's love of decorating. She had long since mastered over a hundred decorating spells, and although she could match her husband in a duel, Lucius couldn't come close to Narcissa's skill in decorating.

Drapes, carpet, bedding, walls, windows, and the fireplace, would all experience the discerning witch's wand. She began with the bed and waved her wand as she chanted a spell in Latin that would affect the canopy and curtains and the bedding.

Using Autumn colours from the end of the season, soft browns mixed with warm amber, highlights of yellow, deep reds that were almost jewel-like. The canopy and curtains were gauzy layers of those colours that opened onto bedding of soft, rich amber. The coverlet was a patchwork velvet that evoked images of those fantastically old libraries that Hermione loved. This theme would be simplified by the gentle brown carpet framed by a gold scrollwork edge. The bare walls took on character with pale oak wainscoting and a pale striped wallpaper of satin that was in an eye-soothing cream. The drapes returned to the rich colours of amber, gold, and Autumn shades of brown from the bed and were in a classic pinch pleat tied back by thick tassels, and topped by a valance that mirrored the library theme. With a flourish of her wand the ornate trim became honey tinted with the warmth of Autumn.

French doors led out onto a narrow balcony of wrought iron. Over the French doors Narcissa changed the plain sheers to deep blue and gave the window trim a splash of warm honey stain. The last to be touched by Narcissa's magical treatment was the window seat that was a wonderful study nook under the corner framed window which had received the same window treatment as the French doors and the trim of the bedroom. The window seat itself repeated the light, pale striped pattern of the wallpaper in brushed silk and satin. The pillows that lined the window seat mirrored the blue of the drapes that fluttered in the breeze as the French doors were open..

Once that part of the décor was complete, Narcissa called for two house elves who brought in two nightstands, a desk, a wardrobe, and bookshelves. With more magic Narcissa sunk the bookshelves into the walls on either side of the wide fireplace, and on either side of the window seat. The desk, a ship captain's desk of heavily carved oak held many drawers for parchment, stationery, quills, ink pots. Other drawers were hidden for secret little treasures and keepsakes. The wardrobe of oak had been stained a muted sage that was neutral in its taste. Narcissa had positioned the wardrobe opposite the bed. It had shelves and hanging space for everything a young girl might need. The end tables were the most notable pieces of furniture. They resembled stacks of old books in muted colours of grey-brown parchment, sage, dusty blue, and old leather. The surfaces were of warm, real amber. Each nightstand had two drawers for what-nots.

Narcissa shooed the house elves away, then grinned, and clapped her hands together. It would be a week before Hermione arrived at the manor. She couldn't wait for Hermione to see the room!


6 Dec 1991, Friday

Remus Lupin sat in the Headmaster's chair at the staff table since the Headmaster was meeting with the Wizengamot. He had just finished looking over the students that morning, surreptitiously tuning his 'wolf' hearing to various conversations. Chatter was high, now that it was December and there were so many events to look forward to.

At the Slytherin table, most of the talk was about the Malfoys Winter Ball. Draco was holding court over this subject and was pleased at being the center of attention.

"How many years has your family had the Winter Ball?" asked Pansy Parkinson, who had been doing her best to ignore the Silver Trio, but couldn't since her parents had been invited to the Ball.

"One hundred and twenty-two years," boasted Draco. "It was begun by Augustus Malfoy to celebrate the generosity of the season and the grand move from France to Britain."

Marcus Flint snorted derisively, "As if your family was ever generous!"

Flint let out a whooshing 'oomph' as Prefects Billock and Anglaise, on either side of the rude boy, elbowed him sharply.

Draco just ignored the lout who was always casting aspersions towards everybody. Millicent Bulstrode spoke up and said, "My da' says your grandfather stopped having the Winter Balls. Was that because of You-know-who?"

Draco scowled. He'd seen the Dark Mark upon his father's arm. He had even seen how the vile thing burned when the Dark Lord called his subjects. He also knew that his father hated it and had been looking for a way his entire young life to get rid of it. For his father's sake, Draco didn't like to be reminded of the Dark wizard who had so besmirched the Malfoy family name that Lucius, then Draco, and probably even Draco's own son would be devoting their lives to restoring the honor that had once belonged to the Malfoy name.

"Why did your grandfather stop the Ball?" asked Hermione softly. Draco glanced to his side at his soon-to-be sister. Hermione had been asking him an awful lot of questions lately about the Malfoy family, but she had been very conscious not to ask anything about Abraxas Malfoy, Lucius' father.

Draco replied to Hermione, "Abraxas didn't care for all the charities that his grandfather and his grandfather before him, and so on, had set up. There were a lot of charities to benefit Squibs, and Muggle-borns, and Half-Muggles. Orphanages, and primary schools... all that good stuff and Abraxas didn't want to be associated with them and papa told me that Abraxas called them all a 'poxy drain on our money'. Since the Winter Balls were a huge charity event to raise money, and to gift it, Abraxas stopped them as soon as he was Lord of the Manor. Papa brought back the Winter Ball as soon as he was Lord." Draco smiled in pride and Hermione did as well.

"So all your charities are for Muggles now, are they?" spat Flint.

Draco replied sharply before the prefects could bruise Flint's ribs again, "The Malfoys support WORTHY charities and it doesn't matter if they're Mugglish or not!"

Flint's laughter was cut off by another elbow from Billock, who added, "Our world could use more like the Malfoys, you idiot. Maybe that's why your dad's known as Thomas 'skin' Flint!"

Remus did not hear Flint's rejoinder at that insult as he heard something up here at the staff table.

"Do give me some sugar, professor," purred Tonks' voice to Snape. The Potions Master picked up the covered bowl of sugar and thumped it down, sharply, in warning to the witch. Tonks grabbed the sugar and turned abruptly away from her colleague.

Remus glared down at the young witch. He had, unfortunately, overheard Snape take the young witch to task in the Staffroom the other day. Obviously she ignored much of what Snape had said.

Tonks retained a relaxed, yet professional mien when teaching, for Remus had observed her class her first day, as part of his Deputy duties. All that went out the window at mealtimes and after the staff meetings. The young woman's teasing of the dour Potions Master had been humorous, at first. Now it strained acceptance. It also appeared not to have ended.

Was Nymphadora so contrary as a student to Professor Snape? Remus asked himself. He could not understand why she continued her bedevilment of the Potions Master. Remus had regrettably heard Snape speak rather harshly to the new teacher as concerned her general behaviour; except in class she acted rather like a teenager.

The Deputy Headmaster had hoped that Dumbledore might speak to his new instructor, but Remus had only noticed that the twinkle in Dumbledore's eyes had a rather lecherous bent to them when hearing the flirtatious teasing at the staff table.

Of course, Tonks seemed to be flirting with him, as well, noted Remus to himself. It was different, though. Shy looks, smiles when he entered the staff room, a polite 'good morning, Remus', at breakfast. That attention Remus found flattering. He didn't care, though, for the teasing Tonks directed at Snape. It reminded him a bit too much of the verbal taunting Sirius Black had once heaped upon a much younger wizard.

Remus threw his napkin down upon his plate. He let out a small huff, then rose, and moved the few steps down to where Tonks sat next to the Potions professor. His sudden presence interrupted another suggestive remark from Tonks as she turned slightly to better look up at the Deputy Headmaster behind her.

"Professor Tonks? I would like to speak with you before your first class, please." As Remus turned away, Tonks' smile faded and Snape, who had been studiously ignoring the young woman by drinking his coffee and reading the Daily Prophet, turned an inquiring look at the departing wizard.

Tonks, sensing that all was not well, pushed away from the staff table and trotted obediently after Remus.

Snape's eyebrow rose fractionally. "Remus did not appear entirely too happy," he murmured softly, yet with a slight smirk.


Draco was arguing, now. Something about his father doing this and that and Hermione was trying to support him. Harry wasn't really comprehending it all. Most likely he figured it was about the Winter Ball which seemed to be all of Slytherin House was nattering on about.

However, shopping for Christmas, the Winter Ball and what it was all about, sort of hung about on the periphery of Harry's senses that morning. Harry had taken more time than usual this morning to wake up, but after Draco had shook him awake, he forced a smile onto his face and went to take a shower.

The shower had revitalised Harry and he had happily traipsed on up to the Great Hall for breakfast. It was the arrival of the morning porridge, and fruit, and pumpkin juice, and toast, and eggs, that sent a swirl of fatigue through Harry. He had eaten a few spoonfuls of porridge, but then he just began to stare at it as he sort of listlessly slapped its gummy surface with his spoon.

During the argument Harry rested his head on his arms and removed his gaze from the porridge and stared at his small bowl of fruit with half-lidded eyes. It sort of seemed to be swimming... floating... becoming many, then one...

"Harry? Harry are you all right?" Harry didn't answer Tara Anglaise except for a long sigh. He felt her hand touch his back tentatively and though he flinched, he didn't pull away like he normally would. He just sighed again.

Prefect Anglaise had noticed a flushed looked to Harry's cheek when he sat down at the Slytherin table, but he was laughing at the time, so she didn't think too much about it. It wasn't until Draco was arguing with Pansy Parkinson about the ever present topic of discussion: the Winter Ball, that she noted Harry sort of half-slumped over his breakfast and was slapping at his porridge with his spoon. The first year soon gave up on that activity and laid his head down on his arms. That's when she got up from her place at the table to check on him. It was when she lightly touched his back that she knew there was a problem.

"Just stay put, Harry," she said softly. "I'll get Professor Snape."


Tonks had trotted after the Deputy Headmaster to his office, but his long legs left her behind rather quickly. When she got to the office the armor of King Henry the VIII stood in her way. She glowered at the armor.

"Look you, I don't have the bleedin' passwor..." Tonks' rant was cut off as the armor stepped smartly aside. She walked into the office and was just slightly startled as the door slipped shut behind her.

"Sit down, Professor Tonks," requested Remus as he moved to the other side of his desk and seated himself in his chair.

Tonks did so, rearranging her robes a tad nervously. "What's wrong, Professor Lupin?"

"I would like you to stop harassing Professor Snape," said the Deputy Headmaster flatly.

For a second, Tonks was completely taken off-guard by the wizard's bluntness. She gaped and her hair went from the dark blue to a rather sickly green. She then glared angrily.

"Did he whine that I was harassing him?" she asked incredulously.

Remus's eyes narrowed in warning. "Professor Snape did not need to. We've all been witness to your teasing and it grows tedious."

"It's just harmless flirting!" Tonks tried to defend herself.

"I beg to differ," Remus declared. "If you were just teasing Professor Snape now and then, I might believe you. However, you have continued this behavior non-stop for every meal and at this morning's staff meeting. That is harassment and will no longer be permitted."

"Oh for Circe's sake!" she scoffed. "If it bothered him, he'd say so, Remus. You're blowing this all out of proportion. Snape and I all ready talked and I told him I wouldn't be so… excitable at mealtimes."

"Have you not noticed that Severus has been pointedly ignoring you?" Tonks frowned slightly. "You're an Auror, Professor Tonks, and you ought to be more aware of your surroundings, and most especially you should be aware of the feelings of those you interact with."

Tonks laughed. "Feelings! Old Snape?" She smirked to show she was only joking, but the Deputy only frowned. Tonks huffed softly, "Really, Remus. It's just teasing! It's funny and it's harmless." She smiled winningly at the Deputy. "Snape's never said he minded."

Remus scowled and his amber eyes flashed with his restrained anger. "I know that our Severus Snape can be a stone stoic, but he does have feelings, Professor Tonks and your simple 'teasing' is harassment, and bullying." He stood up, towering over the slight witch. "Your position here was offered by the Headmaster, but it is the Board of Governors who will remove you if a complaint is filed. I can assure you that you would not be asked to return as an instructor, and I'm quite certain that your advancement in the Auror Corps would be hindered."

Tonks was quiet for several, long minutes as she tried to digest what she had been told. Anger passed over her features, along with a morphing to bright red hair. When her anger faded, her hair faded to her natural, mousey brown colour. "I really meant no harm by it," she sighed heavily. "I thought he was ignoring me as part of the joke. Wasn't he?"

Remus walked around his desk and sat down in the chair beside the young woman. "Professor... Dora," he addressed Tonks the way she had asked him to at the beginning of the week. "Regardless of whether or not your taunts were meant for Severus or someone else, they got old. Quickly. They were not kind..." he held up his hand when she started to protest. "Your words were not said with friendship, nor affection, Dora. Hence, they were unkind." He smiled softly. "I believe you to be a kind person and I think that you should realise that not all people are going to respond to your... exuberance in the same manner." Remus sighed. "Especially Severus."

Tonks stared down at her high-heeled, black boots and tapped the tips of her toes together as she bit her lower lip. When she looked up, Remus was pleased to see the witch was truly contrite. "I'll stop my nonsense, Professor Remus. Do you think I ought to apologise to Sn... Professor Snape?"

Remus chuckled slightly as he stood. "I do think you should apologise, but don't be surprised if he may not acknowledge it."

Tonks stood as well and smiled. "He might not, but at least Professor Snape will hear it."

"Thank you, Dora." The young witch gave a quick curtsey and then left the Deputy Headmaster's office. Once she was gone, Remus turned to his desk where a letter from Molly Weasley waited him.


Dear Headmaster,

Ronnie is due back at Hogwarts on the 12th of December. I think with it being so close to the holidays that it might be best if he returns once the holidays are over with all the other students.

Ronnie is caught up in all of the work that his teachers have been sending and I expect him to keep up his grades once he is back in school. Please pass on my gratitude to all of his teachers for taking the time to send me his work.

Please expect a letter from Ronnie soon. He will be sending a similar letter of apology to Minerva McGonagall and there will be one for Hermione Granger, but I will leave it up to you whether or not she ought to be given it.

I believe that my son fully understands how awful he acted and he genuinely regrets his actions. I have spoken to Percy who will keep a sharp eye on him.

Sincerely,

Molly Weasley


Snape was just about to leave breakfast for the start of his class day when Prefect Anglaise rushed up to the staff table and stopped him from vanishing through the narrow door behind the staff table that Tonks and Remus had recently gone through.

"Sir, it's Harry," Tara blurted out. "He's very sick."

Snape moved away from the table and in his haste to reach his son, almost knocked into Tara who stepped swiftly out of the way and fell into step behind her Head of House.

Snape took in the tableau of Harry with his head on his arms, eyelids drooping heavily. The boy was clearly fighting to stay awake and was losing. Snape rested the back of his hand against Harry's forehead.

"Hi, Dad," Harry said almost against the surface of the table, his eyelids finally winning the fight.

The Potions Master grimaced tightly, "He's burning up," he muttered softly as he maneuvered himself so that he could ease his son away from the table and to stand. Harry did stand, barely, leaning heavily against his father. He was bleary-eyed and was babbling, "Don' tell Unc' Vernon, please Aun' 'Tunia?"

"Professor?" asked Hermione worriedly as she looked at her friend. "Will he be all right?"

"I have no doubt Madame Pomfrey can get this sorted out." Snape glanced quickly at his Snakes. "Off to class! I do not want to see any of you being late to your first class!"

The Slytherins quickly scattered. Hermione and Draco hesitated, but at a glare from Snape, they trotted on out of the Great Hall.

"I'll jus' go to bed, Dad," Harry murmured somewhat lucidly as his knees buckled. Snape caught the boy up into his arms and strode out of the Great Hall and to the Infirmary.


"It's simple Muggle Measles, Severus," Poppy pronounced after running her Diagnosis on the heavily, but naturally sleeping boy.

"Measles? I thought that was one of the diseases Muggles vaccinated..." he stopped and glowered. "His aunt never had him vaccinated, did she?" he asked tautly, already knowing the answer.

"Another sign of neglect, Severus, but this time it is to his advantage," she smiled and began writing down a potion recipe. She then handed it over to the Potions Master. "Muggle vaccinations in wizards and witches of Muggle birth tend to be a bit tricky to treat, though not impossible. Since Harry's aunt was so kind to not have him vaccinated we'll be able to treat the child our way and in about two days time he'll be back to his old self."

Snape perused the potion recipe. He nodded to himself as he confirmed, mentally, that he had all the ingredients. "I can brew this during class today so I'll bring it by at lunch time. Will Harry be all right?"

"I'm fairly certain he's just going to sleep until then. Measles doesn't always attack the body in all the same way, so Harry's just very tired. If he wakes up, I have a Cough Relief Potion ready. He's just running a fever, at the moment, and I'll spell a Fever Reducer Potion into his tummy. We've caught this before the worst of the symptoms have shown, so that's good."

Snape reached down and caressed his son's very warm cheek. Other than that, Harry didn't appear all that sick.

"Muggle Measles is, however, very contagious, Severus, so be on the lookout for any Muggle-borns in your House that might be susceptible. I'll send a notification to all the teachers to be aware of it."

Snape's head jerked up. "We are not going to have an epidemic, will we, Poppy?"

The medi-witch shook her head. "Most Muggles vaccinate their children. Even you were vaccinated as a child."

Snape snorted quietly. "Thank Merlin for small favours." He touched his son's cheek once more, leaned down, and whispered into the sleeping child's ear, "I shall be back before you know it, Little One. Sleep well." He then pocketed the recipe, which he had already memorised. "Take care of him, Poppy."

Poppy smiled gently, "Harry will be fine, Severus. Go on to class before you're much later."


First years Transfiguration was interrupted by the arrival of a white raven that flew in over the heads of the students and then dropped a scroll onto Hermione's desk. It then flew away without any need for a treat.

"Read that after class, Miss Granger," warned Minerva as she glanced over her spectacles at the girl.

Hermione stuffed the scroll into her bag. "Yes, ma'am."

Draco quickly leaned over to his friend and whispered, "That was Lumiere, mother's albino raven."

"He's pretty!" Hermione whispered back. "What do you think she sent?"

"Mr. Malfoy and Miss Granger!" Minerva snapped sharply.

Both children sat up straight quickly and sent quiet apologies to their teacher.


Instead of going to lunch, Draco and Hermione ran up to the Infirmary to check on their friend. As they arrived they found their Head of House seated behind Harry as Snape supported him and helped him to drink down a canary yellow potion. They both moved to chairs on the opposite side of the bed, and remained quiet.

Harry grimaced. "Ugh! I never thought I'd complain about a potion being sweet, but that's... blech!"

"There is rather a high percentage of sweet herbs in the potion, Harry," Snape elucidated. "One more swallow, and then you are finished."

Harry glared down at the obnoxious yellow potion. "Must I, Dad?" Snape held the potion phial closer to his son's mouth in answer. Harry gulped, then closed his eyes and opened his mouth like a little bird. Snape poured the last bit of the potion into Harry's mouth, and Harry let out an exaggerated sound of disgust. Snape then helped him back down into bed.

"Hi, Harry," said Hermione.

"What have you got?" asked Draco a bit luridly. "Is it Dragon Pox?"

Harry was already falling asleep, despite being pleased at seeing his friends, so Snape answered for him, "Muggle Measles." He glanced over at Hermione. "Have you been vaccinated against measles, Miss Granger?"

"My father was in charge of that, so I had all my shots," she nodded.

Snape inclined his head once in acknowledgment. At least someone had been looking out for the child's health.

"Shots?" Draco paled slightly. "Somebody shot you, 'Mione?"

She giggled and shook her head. "A shot is medicine given by a needle under the skin."

Draco was now looking rather green at that information. He gasped, "And Muggles did this to you?"

"Honestly, Draco!" she shook her head. "It's no big deal. Hardly hurts at all."

"Barbaric," murmured Draco.

Hermione shook her head and then leaned down towards her bookbag. She pulled out the pale cream, heavy stationary that Snape had seen Narcissa use to announce events for various functions she was in charge of.

"Sir, Aunt Cissy..."

Draco interrupted with a tired whisper, "Mother."

Hermione glowered at him. "Only after the adoption paperwork is processed, Draco."

The blonde boy shrugged. "Who needs paper? Papa and mother already view you as their daughter, 'Mione." He regarded his friend with a lazy, squinty gaze that she chose to ignore.

Hermione focused her attention on Snape. "Aunt Cissy sent this to tell me that there is going to be a Naming Ceremony for me and I wanted to invite you and Harry. Sir."

Snape nodded solemnly, his honor at the invitation clear. "Do you know what a Naming Ceremony is all about, Miss Granger?"

"I haven't really had time to research it, but I was thinking to do so this... evening?" As she watched her Head of House, Hermione had the impression that she wouldn't be allowed the research she wanted to do and she was puzzled as to why not.

"You would learn the history of the Naming Ceremony, but you would not learn of the ritual itself," explained Snape quietly. He glanced down at his son who was deeply asleep and buried snugly under his covers. "Each family has its own ritual handed down from parent to child. Pureblood families tend to regard the Naming Ceremony as something private and only to be shared with... cherished friends."

Hermione glanced from her letter to Snape at his emphasis on the last two words. "You and Harry are very important to me, sir." Her cheeks coloured. "Cherished, even."

"When did mother say the Naming Ceremony would be, Hermione?" asked Draco as he tried to glance at his mother's elegant handwriting.

"A few hours before the Winter Ball," Hermione lifted her hand to wrap a curl of her hair around her finger. "Uncle Lucius and Aunt Cissy want to present me at the ball."

"Wicked!" exclaimed Draco. "This is going to be the best Christmas ever!"


Before dinner that evening, Tonks waited in a shadowed alcove by the wide doors to the Great Hall. Her quarry was a singular minded Potions professor who wanted to finish his dinner and get back to his son in the Infirmary. Consequently, he was taken aback by the pink-haired DADA professor stepping towards him from the shadows.

"Professor Tonks, if you do not mind I would like to get my obligations at dinner over and done with," he began with a slight sneer.

"In a minute Sna... uhm, Professor Snape," said Tonks making sure she blocked his path to the Great Hall. "If I can just have a moment or two, I need to speak to you."

Snape nodded curtly and indicated that they ought to move towards the dungeon entrance for a bit more privacy. Tonks led the way and once they reached the quieter spot, she began her apology. Snape crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the young witch.

"Uhm... I've not been real fair to you lately, sir, and I realise now my... uhm... teasing was insensitive. I'd just like to apologise for my behavior and assure you that it won't happen again." Tonks gave him a sincere smile, hoping against hope that she'd receive at least a civil acknowledgment. True to form, though, she did not.

"If you are quite finished babbling, professor, I shall get on with my dinner." Snape strode past Tonks, not even giving her a backwards look.

Tonks smirked, and shrugged. At least, she told herself quietly, the beanpole heard her apology.

As for Snape, inwardly he appreciated the apology but he wasn't about to let the little chit know of it. He had asked her, just yesterday, mind you, to stop her flirting. Obviously, she had not, and today the Deputy Headmaster had to take her to task. And, she apologised. Hmph. He was not affected by her contrition.

The Potions Master strode into the Great Hall, saw that Dumbledore had returned from the Ministry, and made his way to his side of the staff table. Oddly, the Deputy Headmaster, who usually sat next to the Headmaster, was seated next to him with Minerva on his other side. Remus smiled at Snape, but did not intrude upon the other man's dinner.


7 Dec 1991, Saturday

A much recovered Harry Snape was sitting up in his Infirmary bed eating dinner with his father. Both their meal trays magically hovered at just the right height so neither spilled anything. Just as he was going to start in on his vegetables (Spring squash), Harry looked up at his father.

"Do you celebrate Christmas, Dad?" he asked in the hopes of delaying having to eat the slimy looking squash.

"I do not," Snape replied simply. And, he had not. Snape planned his schedule around the holidays only because the students had to celebrate anything that provided them with free goodies and enough sugar to keep them awake, and into mischief, for weeks. Holidays at his home, growing up, had been reason for him to secret himself away with a book. They generally ended unpleasantly. However, Snape said nothing of this to Harry.

Harry's shoulders drooped as he stared down at the persistent squash. "Oh. Okay." Using his fork, he picked up a piece of squash, put it into his mouth, and then washed it quickly down with a swallow of milk. He barely was able to suppress the grimace. He really hated squash!

Snape smirked silently at his son and his struggle with the vegetable. To be truthful, he wasn't all that fond of squash, either. It was one of those vegetables that just had a texture that was really something not to think of.

When Harry didn't take another bite of food and just stared at his feet covered by the blanket, Snape asked, "Did you wish to celebrate the holidays, Harry?"

The boy's head lifted and he nodded, rather miserably, as if he knew his father was just going to say no to him.

Snape frowned slightly, in understanding. "You have never celebrated Christmas, have you?"

Harry shook his head. "I got to watch the tree at night and sometimes Aunt Petunia let me watch them open presents." His smile was bittersweet.

"I suppose your relatives never gave you any gifts?" he asked, just barely keeping the bitterness out of his tone.

"Oh yeah. Aunt Petunia always gave me a bag of Dudley's old clothes and Uncle Vernon gave me a hanger, five pence," he began counting the stingy gifts from various Christmases off on his fingers, "a feather, a plastic laundry bag, a packet of seeds... that one was the best present." He smiled. "I got to plant the seeds in Spring and they were all different coloured dahlias."

Snape stabbed the last piece of his roast beef so harshly, the fork scraped on the plate. He had always meant to celebrate the season with his son, but now he planned on doing just a touch more than what he thought might be sufficient. "We will be celebrating Christmas, Harry, and there will be gifts so it might be wise for you to start thinking about what you wish to give to your friends."

Harry's eyes sparkled. "I get to give gifts, Dad?"

"You do. I will give you an increase in your allowance so that you can purchase your presents when we go to Hogsmeade." The bright smile on his son's face warmed his heart and Snape thought that, just maybe, Christmas might become a welcome tradition in the Snape family.


21 Dec 1991, Saturday

The week flew by as students worked hard in their classes in the hopes that vacation homework would be as little as possible; it wasn't. The teachers, it seemed, were all sadistic homework assigning fiends. Even Binns, the ghostly instructor of History assigned a chapter to read and an essay on some goblin war.

A few more, un-innoculated, Muggle-born students were caught by the measles, but the Muggle malady was swiftly dealt with by Madame Pomfrey so there was no worry of an epidemic.

Today was the day for all the students to pack up for the holidays. Miraculously, not a single student would be left behind for Christmas, although Harry, not quite sure where he was going, had almost signed up to stay at Hogwarts. Snape assured him that there was someplace else to go to besides Hogwarts, and, just in case, reassured his son that he would never be going back to the Dursleys. He had yet to tell the boy that Vernon was dead, Petunia had retreated to New Zealand, and Dudley thrived with his new family. As for the house at Privet Drive it now belonged to someone else.

Draco and Harry thumped down the stairs from their dorm with their trunks and then sat on either side of Hermione who, already packed for at least an hour, was waiting for them on the sofa in front of the fireplace. Snape would be taking them, and a majority of Slytherin House by carriage to the train station.

"What's that you got there?" asked Harry as he watched Hermione slowly turning a rather plain looking, jagged piece of stone about in her hand.

"Just a rock, I guess," she said, her eyes glued to its mottled grey, black, and white surface. "A few weeks ago it was a beautiful red colour, but then all of a sudden the colour just bled away." She stopped flipping it and put it to her ear.

Draco frowned. "Does it talk?"

Hermione laughed a bit self-consciously. "No. Well, I sort of thought maybe it sang." Both boys were frowning at her now. "At night, I kept it under my pillow, and sometimes I'd wake up hearing this really beautiful song; like an angel was singing." She shrugged and tucked the stone into her bag. "Maybe I was just dreaming."

All three were quiet for a moment, and then Harry asked, "'Mione, you excited about going to Malfoy Manor?"

"Of course she is!" answered Draco for the girl. "It's the best place in the world! Who wouldn't be excited?"

Hermione smiled at Draco, then at Harry. "What he said."

Snape swept into the common room. He wore his Winter cloak of heavy, black wool, a pair of black gloves, and a green scarf round his neck. He scowled at the number of students in the common room. "Why are not any of you in your cloaks and scarves?" he demanded sharply. "Hurry up!"

There was a confusion of scrambling as Snape's Snakes made to comply. More students came down the stairs, ready for a carriage ride, and with their trunks either thumping down the stairs, or levitating behind them.

"Miss Anglaise, Mr. Billock," Snape addressed the prefects. "Take a count and make certain we are not leaving anyone behind."

Tara and Gordon quickly began counting heads, then compared their numbers. Tara spoke up, "Everyone is here, sir."

"Very good," acknowledged Snape. "Let us be off, then." With Tara in the middle and Gordon bringing up the rear, Snape led his Snakes out of the dungeons and up to the Entrance Hall where he had the prefects perform another counting of heads. He then ushered the students outside to where a series of black carriages with silver trim awaited them. There were no horses to be seen in front of any of the carriages. The first years were puzzled at this, but the older years were familiar with it. The answer the first years were told about the horseless carriages was simply, 'magic'.

Once it looked like everyone was loaded onto the carriages, Snape inspected each one, made certain that trunks were stowed beneath the seats, and that the Warming Charm for each carriage was working. He then went to the first carriage where his Silver Trio waited, stepped up into the carriage, shouted, "Onward!" and then seated himself beside Harry as the carriages began to move away from the castle.


Snape didn't have to allow Harry to travel on the train with his friends, but such travel made a child feel grown up at this age, and the trip was one that had had Harry, normally rather reserved, chatting non-stop from the moment he had recovered from his measles. So, in a rare bout of magnanimity, Snape became one of the escorts for the students at the train station. Normally he left such duties to the Deputy and any other teacher who was foolish enough to volunteer for the duty. The Potions Master consoled himself that this would allow him to see his son safely ensconced upon the train until he met him at King's Cross where together they would Apparate to Snape's home.

Several hours later, Snape was no longer an escort but simply a parent at King's Cross awaiting the arrival of his child. Lucius and Narcissa stood with him as they waited to retrieve Draco and Hermione.

Three children, all with red-cheeked smiles in the brisk cold of Winter debarked from the train and over to their parents. Harry, Draco, and Hermione made their goodbyes, rather over-long, in Snape's opinion, since tomorrow they would all be going together to Paris. When such farewells appeared not to be ending, Snape grasped Harry by the shoulder and drew him down the platform to an Apparition Point.

The trip was short, but it was enough to cause Harry's stomach to think of Apparating as a dubious style of wizarding travel. Snape, always prepared, had a potion on hand to settle Harry's stomach before his breakfast could revisit in the worst way. Once taken care of, Harry took in their surroundings.

They were in an industrial part of Muggle London, Snape told him. The snow was slushy, dirty in some places, and glowering clouds up above threatened to drop snow soon. Adding to the gloom were the twin towers of an abandoned factory. As they walked down the street, Harry noticed that most, if not all of the houses, had boarded up windows and doors. The place was eerily silent, and the enthusiasm he'd had for seeing where his father lived, was quickly drying up.

"This is where I grew up," Snape said into the gloom as they approached a two-story ramshackle of a manor that looked to be painted out of some Dickensian novel. It was old, with paint peeling, and simply looked sad. It made Harry feel sad. Even so, he moved towards the house, not immediately noticing that his father wasn't following him. Harry stopped and glanced over his shoulder.

Snape appeared lost in the past. His features were grim, almost pained. It made Harry's heart hurt to see his father this way. After several minutes, Snape spoke up, pointing off to his left. "This way, Harry."

Feeling a bit confused, Harry followed Snape through a broken fence, over brambles, and some distance away from the street they had been on to what had, at one time been a small park. The slide was broken, the swings rusted; one had a chain missing so the ancient, wooden seat hung only from the other chain. Harry was not feeling sad anymore, he was feeling depressed. This was a terrible place to grow up.

Snape made his way over to the broken swing set. With a gloved hand he touched the swing with the missing chain causing the seat to swing. The remaining, rusty chain, squeaked softly. As Harry looked up at his father, he had a slight smile at the corner of his lips.

"When I was eight years old, I watched a pretty little red haired girl swinging on these swings. She was swinging very high. Her sister kept screeching at her to stop being so reckless. Suddenly, at the height of her swinging, she leapt off the swing and floated like a dove's feather to the ground. Her sister was livid, but she was giggling." Harry was enchanted by the story. Somehow he knew just who his father was speaking of.

"I told Lily she was a witch that same day and her sister Petunia mistook my words for something more offensive. Although they both ran home, I met Lily again the next day, and we became friends." Snape motioned Harry to his side. When Harry had moved, Snape crouched down so his head was level with Harry's shoulder and then pointed across the playground towards a row of houses with their backs to the old playground.

"See that house? The one with the fading, green paint that has three windows?" Harry nodded as he stared hard at the house. "That is where your mother grew up. Her parents, your grandparents, were Lea and Gus Evans." Snape stood and placed his hand upon his son's back. "It is unfortunate you never knew your grandparents, Harry."

"What were they like?" asked Harry as he memorised the house before him.

"Gus was a plumber. He taught me the Muggle way of fixing a lot of things in the house." Harry snickered as he tried to imagine his father fixing a leaky pipe. "I will have you know, child, that those are good skills to have, even if you are a wizard." He gave Harry a light nudge upon his shoulder, and Harry giggled. Snape smirked. "Gus loved to read anything and everything. For a Muggle, he had an impressive library that also served as an office for him. I remember being introduced to Mark Twain, Ernest Hemingway, and other authors your grandfather enjoyed."

"What was grandma like?" asked Harry.

Snape smiled fondly. "Ahhh, your grandmother Lea was an amazing woman, Harry. As I mentioned once before, Lea was an exceptional cook, but her passion was for volunteer work. Petunia always complained when the three of us helped out, but I rather liked it. That was her 'retirement' work. When she was younger, Lea was an English teacher."

"Was my grandmother the one that made you speak like you do, Dad?" asked Harry, his tongue nervously poking his cheek from the inside.

Snape glared down for a moment at his son, then gave him a small smile. "Perhaps Lea did. I do recall that she was always telling Lily and I to 'enunciate' and to 'speak the King's English'." His eyebrow rose a smidgen as he gave his son a mock glare. "Have you issues with the way I speak, child?"

"Noooo!" Harry shook his head. "It's just weird, sometimes, but it's you, Dad, so I think it works."

"I am sincerely happy that you approve," Snape said drily.

Harry was quiet for a few moments, then asked, "Did Aunt Petunia like mum?"

Snape started slightly. It shouldn't have been an unexpected question, but it was a difficult one to answer, at least truthfully. Carefully he began, "I believe that Petunia was jealous of Lily. As children, the two sisters often got into fights, and Petunia never held back on hurtful insults."

"No," agreed Harry. He remembered all too clearly Aunt Petunia's hurtful words. Sometimes they were sharper than his uncle's fists. Harry shuddered as a sudden vision of his uncle loomed up within his mind. Using his Occlumency, he squashed the visage of his uncle's face in his mind, and then took a few, deep breaths.

"Harry?" Snape asked with concern as he watched his son's cheeks pale as he tried to control his breathing. Harry's fists were clutching spasmodically as his eyelids fluttered. Snape grabbed one hand. "Little One? What is it?"

"Uncle Vernon!" Harry spat out. "Dad! I keep trying to push his face away but he... and what if he comes back for me, for real... and I can't!" Harry's breathing became little frantic hitches.

Snape drew his son close to his side and spoke in his ear. "Vernon Dursley is never coming to get you, Harry. Not ever." He wasn't certain whether or not his words were helping, so with a slight sigh of decision, he said in firmer, yet quiet tones, "He cannot. Vernon Dursley is dead."

For a moment Snape was afraid the truth was too much as Harry's breathing seemed to stop altogether. He was about to cast a Resuscitation Spell when Harry drew in a deep breath as his head turned to look his father's eyes.

"He's dead? Are you sure?" Harry's voice pleaded.

"Very. It happened in prison. Vernon Dursley will never bother you again," Snape affirmed.

Harry drew in a deep, shuddering breath and slowly let it out. For a solid minute he just concentrated on his breathing as his mind was finally, and ultimately, able to put the spectre of Vernon Dursley to rest. Snape was pleased when, a few moments later, the boy's breaths evened out.

"I'm okay, Dad," Harry mustered up a smile, but it was a tired one. It was then that Snape realised that the young child had had a very long day. "Are we going to stay at the first house you showed me?" Harry slipped one hand behind his back and crossed his fingers. He really hoped the answer was 'no' because the place really was sad.

Snape had no need for Legilimens to read what was on his son's mind, and he smirked. He hadn't told Harry that he had gotten rid of the old, crumbling two-story after the death of his Muggle father. It had been a depressing place to grow up in, and he'd had no desire to spend any time on the old place turning it into something more livable.

As for the Prince family land holdings, he had sold those, as well. No one knew that the Potions Master had then used most of the Prince fortune for much needed school supplies in all the classes at Hogwarts, a scholarship for the most financially unfortunate – yes, that meant Severus Snape, in a way, had so far paid for the educations of all the Weasley brats! – and a Squib Orphanage in Ireland. There were many family objects he hadn't been able to sell, mostly because they were either moving portraits of Prince members he really didn't know, or could recall and he doubted very much anyone would want them. The books that he could keep were in his library in his quarters at Hogwarts or where he was taking Harry. Then, there were many other objects that should be in no innocent witch or wizards hands; those he left in one of the Prince vaults locked down by the goblins and never to be opened. Most of the jewelry, which held no sentimental value for Snape, he kept for investment needs, or for gifts. It meant he hadn't had to buy a gift for anyone in almost fifteen years.

"Hold on," warned Snape and he lifted his arms slightly as Harry threw his own arms about his waist and buried his face in his father's abdomen. Snape laid his hands against his son's back, and within a blink they were gone from the neighborhood of his childhood.


Draco snickered as he watched Hermione's face. The young girl was staring upwards at the huge chandelier of crystal that hung over the grand entryway to Malfoy Manor. Dozens of candles that never dripped wax lit up the entire entryway that was of white marble, highlighted by real gold, and a wide staircase that led to balconies on either side of the large, oak door she had just stepped through. Beneath the chandelier was an equally impressive fountain of dancing fae-folk that splashed in the great entryway. There was no question to the visitor of the wealth that lay beyond the ornate doors of the manor.

Hermione, stunned by the opulence, couldn't help but find it a bit intimidating. She lowered her head, since she was beginning to feel a bit dizzy, and let out a slow sigh of breath.

"You live here, Draco?" it was a silly thing to ask, but Hermione couldn't think of anything else to say.

"Yes, but it's nothing, 'Mione." Draco grabbed the girl's hand and went through a door just beneath the landing that separated the staircase into two wings of stairs.

The small corridor they went through was almost like a tunnel. There were dozens of portraits of past Malfoys lining the walls. In between some of the portraits were silent statues of gleaming armor. When Hermione drifted too close to one, she was startled as it moved and thrust its weapon at her in a threatening manner. Hermione let out a squeak and Draco giggled again.

They emerged into a reception room of blue and gold lit by another chandelier that was a smaller twin to the one in the entryway. Columns of marble defined the reception room as being circular. The reception room was domed, and above the chandelier was a painting to rival that of the Sistine Chapel. Hermione let out another huff of breath.

This was too much for the girl who suddenly, and irrationally, had a desire for her own, plain home. Even if her parents rarely knew she was around, she would have her books, and her little bedroom. All this gold, silver, rich colours, statuary, and paintings, and tapestries... Hermione found it exhausting. She felt in a sudden need for the bracing air.

"Draco!" The young boy's smirk was wiped from his face at the sound of his mother's voice. Narcissa never shouted, but her voice could become sharp, and when it did, it was never a good sign.

Narcissa, in robes of soft blue, strode into the reception room towards the two children. Her gentle brow was furrowed with her displeasure, at her son. "Your father gave you instructions to take Hermione through the family entrance!"

"But, Mother! I thought she'd like to see the Manor properly!" Draco protested.

"You did not!" Narcissa glowered at her son, her hands on her hips. "You're showing off again, and it's vulgar. Go to your room, and unpack."

Without argument, other than a thinning of his lips, Draco stomped off to the right, and disappeared through a door. Somewhere in the distance of the Manor, a door slammed. Narcissa lifted her wand, and sent a hex towards the sound of slamming. Nearly a minute later there was the sound of a faint yelp, from Draco.

Narcissa slipped her wand into a cleverly concealed pocket sewn into the skirt of her Spring gown of yellow decorated along the hem with trailing ivy. She smiled at the girl. Hermione, feeling suffocated, turned a stricken look up at Narcissa. "Oh dear! You look positively blotchy. Come along, Hermione." The elegant woman quickly ushered Hermione through an archway and towards a small door carved with twining ivy over an oak tree. The door swung open at their approach and Hermione found herself in a beautiful solarium filled with green plants. At the center were comfortable chairs where the witch led the little girl.

"Sit down, my dear. I think you can breathe here." Narcissa observed Hermione as her colour returned to her cheeks. Narcissa's lips thinned. "Draco should have brought you through the family entrance, Hermione. The grand entry is all for show and we really only open that part of the manor for events."

"It's really... beautiful," Hermione said quietly.

Narcissa smiled and sat across from Hermione. "Oh quite beautiful, but rather too much, I'm afraid. I find it can be most intimidating." She laughed gently. "One must be wary of one's skirts or the wrong move might send a small statue crashing to the floor!" After several long minutes, and a glass of water, they left the solarium via another door that led into a comfortable parlor.

The parlor was still beautifully decorated, but Hermione's keen eye could tell that this was a room frequented by the Malfoys on a regular basis. As she watched, four house elves came in carrying a large evergreen. The house elves began to set the tree up in a corner near the fireplace and in front of a tall window.

"You have a lot of house elves, Aunt Cissy," Hermione observed. She rarely saw the house elves at Hogwarts but had spoken a time or two to Draco about the use of house elves by wealthier families. It made her slightly uncomfortable.

Narcissa noted the child's odd expression as Hermione watched, worriedly, as the house elves worked. "You disapprove of them, my dear?" the witch asked shrewdly.

"Are they happy?" asked Hermione.

Narcissa glanced at the four house elves. "They are doing what they wish to do. Is that not a basis for one's fundamental happiness?"

"But, Draco said the house elves are bound to you. You own them. That's slavery!" Hermione clapped her hand over her mouth at the implied insult.

The older woman drew Hermione's hand down away from her mouth. "I do not deny that some of the older, Pureblood families treat their house elves horribly," she sighed as she thought of her own mother's penchant for torturing their house elves, and then beheading them, and creating a grim tapestry of the mounted heads on one wall. "The bond is not like that, though. It comes about from trust. It is a trust that the witch or wizard will care for the house elf as the house elf will do all in its power to care for whom they are bonded to. A house elf will protect their witch or wizard, it will keep their secrets..."

"But they aren't free," said Hermione softly. "I read that a bound house elf can only be free if it is given clothing." Hermione recalled mentioning how silly that was to her dorm mate, Millicent, but the girl didn't seem to care one way or the other how ridiculous that was.

Narcissa laughed at that. "You must have gotten that from Hogwarts: A History, Hermione. That was a tradition begun by Salazar Slytherin when he bound the first house elves to Hogwarts. Those house elves agreed to accept clothing as a way of breaking the bond. There are any number of ways to sever a bond between wizard and house elf because it all depends upon the bond that a house elf is under." She paused, then leaned a bit closer to Hermione. "That is usually a family secret."

Hermione was still not convinced that binding a house elf wasn't against the creatures best interest. With a sigh, Narcissa led her out of the parlor. "This holiday you will need to visit the library, my dear. Lucius has collected quite a few books about elves that you may find enlightening. Now, come along. I wish you to see your new bedroom."

As they walked, Narcissa explained that they were in the south wing of the manor. It was a cozier wing that Lucius had had added on to the main house after he wed Narcissa. The old part of the manor was far too large for his comfort, and in his opinion, it really wasn't a place for any family to live. This smaller wing held a library, Lucius' study, Narcissa's study, a kitchen, dining room, the parlor that Hermione had seen, the solarium, bedrooms for Lucius' family and a few extra guest bedrooms, Draco's old nursery, and a separate, glassed in gazebo that sat in the rose garden that served as a tea room for Narcissa and her lady friends.

Narcissa's features reflected her silent anticipation as they ascended the staircase, then moved down a pleasant hall where they passed the closed door of Draco's room, then a bit further down, the Malfoys bedroom, and finally at the end of the hall to Hermione's room. The matriarch of the Malfoy family, soon to be four instead of three, opened the bedroom door, and waved Hermione inside.

Hermione felt like she had just been put down in the middle of a fairytale! Blues, and golds, creams and ambers, velvet, silk, and satin. The girl was almost afraid to move for fear of disturbing such beautiful things. Yet, just when her heart began to twitch with sadness that this room, as lovely as it was, was not the one she had grown up in, she noticed something spectacular. All of her awards and certificates, the ones that she had so cleverly hidden from her mother beneath her bed, were on the walls, or shelves. Books from her childhood, the few her mother had let her keep within sight, lined some of the shelves, too. Every single one of her silly stuffed animals, one of the few things her mother approved of (because girls were supposed to love stuffed animals) were spread about the room.

Everywhere that the child looked she saw amongst the gorgeous trappings touches of her childhood that Narcissa had had her house elves rescue from the Granger residence. The elves had discovered the many nooks and crannies in her old bedroom where she had hidden treasures such as the awards, including her rock collection, her own drawing of the periodic table, the colourful crystals she had grown from household chemicals; everything that had marked Hermione as an intelligent, and inquisitive child.

Holding onto a cherished copy of Pippi Longstocking, Hermione wiped away at a happy tear, then turned and rushed over to Narcissa and wrapped her arms around her waist.

"Thank you so much, Mother!"

Narcissa, ignoring the two tears that fell onto her cheeks, draped her arms around the girl and hugged her close; reveling in Hermione's joy.


Portkey, Apparation, Floo travel. Harry decided that the wizarding mode of travel had a lot to be desired. This time he and his father had traveled by what Snape had called 'Portkey'. The portkey was a locket that his father wore around his neck and although Snape had whispered the word to activate it so Harry wouldn't hear it, Harry was sure he had heard the word 'Lily'.

At the moment Harry was sitting on the frozen ground wondering if his stomach hadn't taken off someplace. The portkey had been an awful feeling of something snagging his belly button and yanking it back through his spine. Snape handed a Stomach Soother down to his son who shot a dark glare up at him.

"You should have warned me, Dad!" Harry snapped.

"Portkey is best approached by a new wizard without any expectations, Harry." He watched as his son drank the potion and then bent over slightly to slip his hands under his son's arms and hoisted him up quickly. To elicit at least a smile from the boy, Snape lifted Harry so his feet dangled a moment above the ground, and then he settled the boy back on his feet. "It's too cold to be sitting on the ground. Let us go."

Snape guided Harry down the hill that was scattered with wisps of melted snow, towards a small, white washed cottage with a thatched roof. As they walked through the wintry meadow with its sparse, straw like grass and scattered rocks, pebbles, and a few impressive boulders, the boy could see that the cottage wasn't far from an extreme precipice. Before going to the cottage, Snape indulged his son's curiosity by taking him over to an edge of the cliff. Beneath them was the glassy, blue-black surface of an immense lake. Harry stepped back so rapidly that he trod upon his father's instep.

Snape grimaced at the sharp pain, but it was released quickly as Harry realised what he'd done. He grasped one of Harry's shoulders firmly. "I have put up wards to protect you, Harry, but even so I want you to be careful when you come outside."

"Where are we, Dad?" asked Harry.

"We are upon one of seven islands that exist within Loch Danna'Duir which is the loch that feeds the Black Lake at Hogwarts," explained Snape as he turned his son away from the cliff and towards the plain cottage.

"So we're not far from school!" exclaimed Harry.

"Precisely," agreed Snape.

As they reached the front door, a cold wind stirred up from the cold waters of the loch. They both shivered. Harry wrapped his arms tightly about himself as Snape took out his wand and muttered an incantation beneath his breath.

"Harry? Son." Harry looked up at his father. "Put your hand, palm flat, against the door."

"It's cold, Dad," complained Harry as his teeth chattered, a bit exaggeratedly.

"Just do it, Harry," Snape insisted firmly. Harry obeyed his father and pressed his hand against the door. There was a sudden corona of soft, orange light around his hand, and Harry giggled at the ticklish sensation. "Now you will be recognised by Lacewing Cottage, Little One. Let us go in and get warmed up."

Snape pushed the door open and he ushered his son into the cottage and then he followed.

The main part of the cottage was one large room that served as sitting room, parlor, study, library, and dining room. A large fireplace burst to life at their entrance and Harry ran over to a comfortably worn, tapestried sofa in front of the fire to warm himself. Snape left his son where he was, but waved his wand, easily divesting Harry of his Winter outerwear which he hung up on wooden hooks on the other side of the door. The Potions Master then added his own cloak, scarf, and gloves to the other hooks before joining his son at the fire where he stood with his back to the flames.

After several minutes of quiet, Harry broached the silence by asking, "Do we have to go to Paris tomorrow, Dad?"

Snape glanced down at Harry questioningly. "Is there a reason you wish not to go?"

"Well, you already said we aren't gonna do our Christmas shopping there, and we already got our dress robes, so what are we gonna do while Hermione and Mrs. Malfoy are doing all that girl stuff?" He slouched down in a slightly bored effort to touch his dangling feet to the floor.

Snape managed an invisible sneer with a heavily aggrieved sigh, "We are going to accompany Lucius and Draco. Narcissa's singular, and rather obsessed approach to shopping is painful to men, everywhere." He gave his son a small smirk. "It is a great sacrifice upon ourselves, Harry, but I believe you would agree with me that this is something friends do for each other."

Harry grinned and nodded from his odd, slumped position on the sofa. His father pointed a slim finger at him, and with somewhat narrowed eyes, he indicated that the boy needed to right himself on the furniture. Harry complied and was soon back in place.

"Are we gonna..."

"Going to," interrupted Snape. "Stop speaking like a bumpkin, or I'll start assigning words out of your dictionary."

"You can't do that!" protested Harry indignantly. "I bought that book which means it's a fun book and that means it's not a school book so you can't assign stuff from it!"

"Ah!" teased Snape. "So school books are not fun, then."

"Nope..." Harry frowned as he quickly reconsidered that statement. To be honest, some of his school books were interesting, maybe even fun. "Okay, so maybe some are fun. But, Transfiguration isn't."

"You do not care for Transfiguration very much, do you?" Snape asked his son seriously.

Harry glowered at the flames as he began to thump his heels against the edge of the sofa. "Well, I don't like the book because it's all filled with this theory stuff that makes no sense at all. And all the drawings... well, they look sort of neat, but I don't know what they mean. Then, when we try to turn something into something else, I know I'm saying the spell right! I got good pro... nun... ciation." Harry smiled at himself. He had found that word in his dictionary recently, but hadn't had a reason to use it yet.

"You did very well in turning your button into a beetle," observed Snape. That was on their last test, which Minerva had already told Snape that Harry had great difficulty with, although he accomplished most of the test's practical.

"Not really," Harry shrugged. "It took me eight tries to do it, and then, when I tried to turn it back into a button, I sort of squished the beetle by accident." He grimaced. "Professor McGonagall clucked her tongue at me."

Snape nodded as he recalled when he was a student taking Transfiguration tests one of the worst things to hear was Minerva's tongue clucking. It meant you did not do well.

"Transfiguration is a very difficult skill to master, Harry, and you cannot be perfect the first time around," said Snape as he moved away from the fireplace to sit beside his son. He winced as the corner of one of their shrunken trunks in his pocket poked his hip. He shifted so they weren't.

"Hermione's perfect at everything!" Harry snapped out with obvious jealousy. He thumped back against the sofa with his arms crossed tightly over his thin chest.

"On the contrary," objected Snape smoothly. "Miss Granger has her own difficulties in some of her classes. Transfiguration, for her, is an exception. She is, undoubtedly, quite a natural at the discipline."

"Yeah, I know, cuz she's always explainin' stuff to everyone and it gets really tiring," Harry complained a bit further.

Snape's lips thinned in disapproval at his son's persistent jealous attitude, "If I knew Miss Granger to be boasting, you know that I would say something to her. However, I do believe that in your study group all of you selected Miss Granger to be in charge of that subject as she does have an innate grasp of the matter."

Thump. Thump. Thump.

The Potions Master put a restraining hand on his son's thigh to get him to stop thumping his heels against the sofa. "I see no reason for your complaint, Harry. If you want to be better at Transfiguration, then you need to practice, and you need to ask if you need help in understanding the theory." He nudged his son. "Enough sitting, and no more jealousy over your friend's accomplishments. It is a disagreeable habit." When Harry didn't immediately move from the sofa, Snape held out his hand. Harry grabbed his father's hand, and allowed himself to be slid off the sofa and pulled to a stand. He then followed his father from the large main room to a short hallway.

Creamy White pine doors marked two bedrooms and a bathroom at the end of the hallway. Snape indicated that the door on the right was to his bedroom and the one just across from his was Harry's. He opened the door and showed the boy into a rather plain, whitewashed room that held a bed, some shelves for books and knick knacks, a desk, a wardrobe, and a night table by the bed. A wide window faced the loch.

"It is rather plain, but I thought you might enjoy practicing some of the spells from here," Snape held out a book to his son. His eyes held a reserved glitter in them as he hoped Harry might find practicing from Beginner Design Spells enjoyable.

Harry took the book and flipped through several of the pages. Some of it was Transfiguration, which he felt his heart plummet at seeing, but some of the design spells were more advanced and dealt with conjuring objects out of thin air; something Harry found fascinating.

"There's no theory stuff in here," observed Harry.

"Although I do believe that a fundamental understanding of Transfiguration is necessary for everyone, it is not entirely required to cast many spells, especially these." Snape paused, still not certain if his son was happy with the decidedly educational gift. "If you would like, we may work on this together."

Harry beamed at that. He really wanted to do something, anything, with his father. "Can we give me some curtains first, Dad?" He didn't say so, but the young boy wasn't fond of the blank darkness that usually showed through an un-curtained window.

Snape removed Harry's new trunk from his pocket, Engorged it, and levitated it into the bedroom. "Unpack first, then come back into the main room for dinner. We will do a bit of decorating afterwards." With a quick little flourish of his wand cloth slithered from the tip, and made their way to the windows where they covered them.

"I love magic!" Harry went into his bedroom and smiled at all of it. Even though it was plain, and not yet decorated, he was happy with it. His bedroom! Just think, he mused as he ran to jump on the bed and test it, I only had a cupboard before, now I have a dorm, my own bedroom in dad's quarters in Hogwarts, and my own bedroom here! Harry bounced just a bit, but sank into a down featherbed on top of the mattress. It was very thick, and he couldn't help but grab a portion of the featherbed to pull over on top of himself so that he was neatly buried.

"Harry! Stop playing and unpack your trunk!"

Harry scrambled from beneath the featherbed, thinking his father was right in the doorway, but he wasn't. He frowned, wondering if his father was one of those parents that had eyes in the back of their heads, and could see through walls.

"I'm unpacking, Dad!" shouted Harry as he opened his trunk.

Unlike most young boys, Harry did not just empty his trunk and stuff everything into the bottom of the wardrobe. From a very early age he had learned, beneath his Aunt's shrewish tongue, to hang or fold clothing. He neatly paired his socks and tucked them into one of three drawers in the wardrobe. He then neatly stacked his pants, and folded his white undershirts for a second drawer. The third drawer remained empty.

Once Harry was finished with his clothing, he put his school books that his father told him to bring along with him, onto one of the bookshelves. His ink, quills, and parchment all went into the desk.

The desk quickly became a pleasant thing to explore. It was an old rolltop desk of oak in which the sides were carved with dragons. One drawer held a set of keys that allowed the owner to lock the rolltop over the surface. Upon the desktop surface, on each side and towards the rear of the desk, were small drawers that Harry had to open and close. They were mostly empty. In one small drawer he found a carved bear that was about three inches in height. Harry took the bear and placed it on the desktop. A few more drawers were opened and he discovered a carved penguin, a very well done raven, down to a suggestion of feathers, and lastly, a coiled snake. The next thing he found were some small shells with a larger Cowrie shell. Harry scooped those out of the drawer and put them with the carved animals. The last bit of treasure the boy discovered was a bunch of dried lilac tied with a green, velvet ribbon. He took the lilac out of its drawer very carefully and put it with the other treasures.

Harry then picked up the carved animals and the shells and dropped them into his pockets. Lastly picked up the lilac and left his bedroom.

"Hey, Dad! Look at what I found!"


Snape had brought very little in his trunk and so it took only a few swishes of his wand to send everything to either his wardrobe, or his night table, or his potions cabinet. Once he had unpacked, he left his bedroom, went into the large main room, and then into the small kitchen.

The Potions Master had sent a pair of house elves to clean up the cottage and to stock the larder with food. In minutes he was cooking a simple stir fry with rice for himself and his son.

As he cooked he gave a bit of thought to tomorrow's trip to Paris. It wasn't a trip he wanted to make, and the truth was, it would be the first time Lucius and he spent time together, as fathers.

Snape and Lucius had begun as wary housemates that had come to an uneasy tolerance. The heir to the Malfoy estate was in his seventh year when Snape had just arrived at Hogwarts. Lucius, ever with his eye upon possible, future connections, had seen something in the rather ragtag, half-blood, but Snape had wanted nothing to do with anyone; other than the pretty Lily Evans.

Happenstance had brought the two together in, of all places, the library at Hogwarts. Snape, the Studious Snake, as he had been dubbed in Slytherin House, always retreated to the library when he wanted peace. He had not expected to find the aristocratic, Malfoy snob behind a stack of books, mostly rune magic, that would bury a Thestral.

Snape had feigned disinterest, but a few of the books had come from the Restricted Section and he could not help the many furtive, and covetous looks that went to the books. Nor could he stop the questioning glances at the young, pale wizard whose brow was beetled over an obscure, Egyptian text.

Despite the older wizard finishing school, and just as quickly wedding his arranged bride, Narcissa Black, Lucius Malfoy made good on a promise to teach the young, intelligent Slytherin what he knew of rune lore and rune magic. It was a subject that Snape found almost as fascinating as Potions, and such old magic opened up a facet of Potions that the young wizard had not expected.

A wary friendship grew between the two.

Snape was always cautious around Lucius because the older wizard did present a false front to the world. That mask was deceptively charming, devious, and hid an opponent that could be brutal when it came to business negotiation. Lucius had outstripped his father before he was 21 when it came to increasing the Malfoy estate and he had many more contacts than the older Malfoy did. Abraxas, who patently avoided all contact with Muggles refused many of the valuable contacts Lucius cultivated in the Muggle world.

When Abraxas fell ill to Dragon Pox there was no known cure for adults. Children were easily treated but not so adults. Thus, Abraxas fell beneath the deadly disease.

Snape could not fault Lucius for wanting his own father dead. After all, Abraxas had not only sentenced his son to a lifetime of servitude to a psychotic mad wizard, but Abraxas had done so to Snape, and dozens of other young men who should have been pursuing careers, and raising families. Abraxas' could also be blamed for the deaths of both witches and wizards who had either tried to leave the Dark Lord, or had displeased him in some simple manner.

It was, perhaps, after the death of Abraxas Malfoy that friendship between the two men became more solid. Lucius feared for both his wife and son; who were demanded by the Dark Lord to become part of his 'family'. The war was also escalating as was the depravity of the Dark Lord and a small number of his followers who were just as sadistic as Voldemort was.

Snape literally had fallen into the role of a spy for Dumbledore when he realised that Voldemort chose to allow his life to be ruled by a prophecy Snape himself had stupidly passed onto the megalomaniac. Lucius had no such recourse and could only work silently, and with many of his Muggle contacts, to prepare a path to freedom. Yet, together the two men worked, without acknowledging the other, to save those innocents that they could, or to mercifully end their torture.

After the supposed fall of Voldemort, Lucius had gone home to his freedom, escaping the touch of Azkaban and even gaining a bit of prestige in the Ministry. Snape did not escape Azkaban, and spent three months there while Dumbledore promised him release. Snape did get his release, but he was not out from under the manipulative thumb of Dumbledore. The old wizard still thought he had some hold over the Potions Master, but he did not realise his own huge blunder; in vouching before the Wizengamot and the Ministry that Severus Snape was an innocent man, the Headmaster had implicated himself in any supposed criminal acts committed by Snape during his time as a spy.

Snape smirked at this thought. Should Dumbledore ever try to put Snape back into Azkaban, the old fool would have a cell right beside him, for having sanctioned Snape's criminal acts!

"Hey, Dad! Look at what I found!" Harry came trotting into the kitchen. He held out the lilac just as he father turned slightly so he could keep one eye on the stir-fry.

Snape motioned Harry to the counter next to him and his son put down the bunch of lilac, removed the shells from his pocket, and the figures. Upon seeing the carved figures, Snape put down the long fork he was using to stir dinner and he picked up the penguin. He marveled at the little carving, astonished to see the figures he had not seen in years.

"I thought my father threw all of these away." Snape then put down the penguin and touched the dozen or so shells with his fingertip before picking up the cowrie shell. Suddenly waving a Stasis Spell over the stir fry, he conjured a chair in the small kitchen and sat down heavily upon it. He then Summoned the bunch of lilac.

"Where did you find these, Harry?" asked Snape, his voice uncharacteristically tight.

"There's a desk in my room and I was just looking at all the little drawers and these were in it." He picked up the cowrie shell. "Do you know what they are?"

"Well, the little figure carvings..." his throat tightened and he swallowed to loosen it. "My... my father taught me how to carve them. He... one night... I thought they were all gone."

Harry, sensing that his finds had stirred up difficult memories for his father, put the shell back on the counter and walked over to lean comfortingly against Snape's side.

"Where did the shells come from, Dad?" Harry asked gently.

"When I was... four, I think," he gave his son a watery, bittersweet smile. "My parents and I went to the seashore. I had never seen the ocean before and was rather afraid of it. My father took me..." Again his voice choked with long, thought dead memories that he tried to fight back. Drawing in a controlled breath, Snape continued, "All three of us collected lots of shells that day. These, like those three figures, were ones I gave to my father at the end of the day."

Snape closed his eyes tightly as he gripped the fragile bunch of dried lilac in his hand. A few of the tiny blossoms were crushed by the force of his grip. Suddenly he dropped the lilac, rose from the chair and strode out of the kitchen. Harry recovered the lilac, and then trotted after his father. He found Snape in his bare room, staring at the rolltop desk.

"That is my father's desk," Snape said simply as Harry stepped hesitantly into the bedroom.

"Dad? Are you okay?" asked Harry with worry. He was afraid he had done something wrong.

"You needed a desk," Snape began, still staring. "I did not think it practical to purchase one since I was certain that my vault at Gringott's had a desk in it, so I asked the goblins to send it here." He stepped, almost timidly, towards the desk and brushed his fingertips across its surface. "It never crossed my mind that it would be his."

Harry stepped beside his father, still worried, and puzzled. He had never heard his father speak about his own father, unless it was in clipped, dismissive tones. His father was still staring at the desk and Harry was becoming more worried every second.

"Dad!" Harry backed away swiftly as Snape turned sharply and glared down at the little boy. When the glower showed no sign of fading he moved rapidly to the other side of the bed, his eyes darting for possible escape routes if he needed them.

"Get out!" growled Snape, his slim finger pointing at the door.

Harry didn't hesitate. He scrambled over the surface of the bed and darted out of the bedroom. He jumped as the door slammed shut after him.


Harry had not seen his father in such an odd temper since... since he couldn't really say when. He was still worried, but he was scared, too. Snape had walloped Hermione in front of everyone. Even though he had said he would never hit Harry, adults just could not be trusted all the time.

Harry yanked his coat, and his scarf, and his gloves down from the hooks on the back of the door. Quickly slipped them on, and then went outside.

Outside of the cottage it was a lonely, desolate, and almost flat countryside. It was also cold, and despite being bundled up, Harry knew a cozy fire was so much better. Running, though, would warm him, and so he did. He ran away from the cliffs, hoping to come across someplace he could hide. He didn't want to stay away forever, but there was no way he wanted to be around his father's odd temper. There was no way for him to gauge which way the wind blew there and it was best, for him, to hide until the anger, and the old memories, whatever they might have been, were gone.


It was the slamming of the bedroom door that wrenched Snape from his childhood's past. Old, pleasant memories of times before his father had been laid off. Before the drinking began. Before he and his mother became outlets for Tobias Snape's drunken rages.

It was in that moment that Snape realised he had yelled at Harry. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose, angry at himself. He had stupidly drifted into the past, and then, ashamed at the darker memories that brought up, he had rejected his son's concern, and verbally pushed him away.

Snape opened the door and walked into the large, main room. "Harry, I am so..." he stopped. Looking around he saw that his son was not to be seen. Another look and his gaze settled upon the hooks behind the door. None of Harry's outer Winter clothing was to be seen. With a curse, at himself, Snape Summoned his cloak, gloves, and scarf, and left the cottage in search of his child.


The land didn't remain flat forever and in his running, Harry came across a jumbled field of stones and boulders that led to an equally rocky upslope. It was to his good fortune that there was a small indentation in the rock that he could slip into. Not even a cave, it was the perfect size for the small boy and worked well as a shelter against the wind that was growing outside. Harry tucked himself together, pulled his cloak tight around his shoulders and prepared to wait out his father's temper. He never suspected that even within the shelter of the cave, the cold would still seep into his bones, drawing his temperature slowly down. After almost a half an hour, Harry closed his eyes, not even realising he was giving himself up to the icy arms of Winter.


Snape fumed angrily as he looked over the nearly flat expanse of land that the cottage sat upon.

"How can a boy get lost in this?" he demanded of himself knowing that he should not have let Harry get lost in the first place.

For the third time he cast a Warming Charm. The wind was no brisk breeze, now. It whistled up from the cold loch like ice and Snape bet there was a storm in the air.

Fortuitously, Hedwig arrived at that moment after her long trip from King's Cross. She settled for a moment on Snape's shoulder and he absently scratched her soft breast as he continued to move further and further away from the cottage. After several minutes, the Potions Master grumbled at himself.

"You are the boy's familiar," Snape spoke to the owl. "Perhaps you can locate him."

Hedwig hooted and launched herself from the wizard's shoulder. Snape watched as she flew low to the ground and then a bit higher upon reaching a stretch of rocky ground up ahead. He was able to keep watch until she landed upon a slope of slate rock and hooted frantically at him.

Snape made his way quickly and carefully through the scattering of rocks until he came to the sloping rock and the small opening that Hedwig sat above. Casting Lumos to light the end of his wand, Snape bent down and was able to see, right away, that his son was curled up in the small dent of rock. Stretching out his hand, he touched the boy's pale blue cheek, and cursed himself again.

Tucking the wand into his sleeve, Snape pulled his son, who was now unconscious, out of the small cave. In seconds he had Apparated into the cottage and had Harry laid out on the sofa before the crackling flames of the fireplace.

After spelling a few potions into the child, Snape Ennervated Harry. The boy blinked wearily. He was wrapped up in an afghan and a quilt with the fire burning hotly. His father was seated beside him, glaring at him. Harry tried to sink completely beneath the blankets but Snape stopped him.

"It would have been much simpler if you had simply gotten mad at me instead of going out into the cold to hide," chided Snape.

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry whispered.

"As am I," Snape added and Harry blinked in astonishment at his father.

"How come you're sorry?" Harry blurted. "I'm the one that upset you, and then was more stupid by running outside."

Snape sighed, his gaze rolling up towards the ceiling briefly. "I am sorry for having yelled at you. Those... trinkets that you found stirred up some memories I thought had been very much buried."

Harry's fingers worried the edge of the afghan for a moment, and then he looked up at his father. "Dad? Was your dad mean to you?"

Snape was quiet, but then he began to speak quietly. "My homelife was a turbulent one, Harry. We did have a few good years and that is where those little treasures came from. I was very young when I gave them to my father. It... shocked me to learn that he kept them. Even after... everything that happened and when I could not even recall that at one time I loved him, he still had them in that desk." Snape bowed his head slightly as one hand rested suddenly against his heart.

"It's good that you have some nice memories, Dad," Harry said simply.

Snape lifted his head, and looked upon his son, giving him one of his rare smiles.


Update 5/2015