The next morning, Dumbledore called Fiona up to his office straight after breakfast. The girl sat uncomfortably in one of the large chinz armchairs, looking around the office.
"Ah," one of the portraits said, a nasty-looking man in green and silver, "a student. In trouble already, girl?"
"Phineas!" a woman scolded from another canvas, "why do you always assume the worst? Hello, child. My name is…well, you can probably see my name. I'm Headmistress Derwynt. You must be a first year. My, it seems they are smaller every year…"
Fiona blushed. "I read about you in 'Hogwarts, A History'," she said, "You were a Healer too, weren't you?"
The woman nodded, pleased. "A perceptive child. What House are you in? My guess would be Ravenclaw."
"No, Ma'am," Fiona responded, "I'm in Slytherin, although the Hat said I wouldn't have been a bad Ravenclaw either."
"Too right, I said that," she heard, and her head shot up. The Hat sat on one of the shelves.
"A Slytherin, hmmm," Headmaster Nigellus said, narrowing his eyes, "you're a bit small and scrawny. But who knows what may become of you. It's your first year, there's hope yet."
"Phineas!" the other portrait chided again, "be a bit more optimistic! I'm sure the child is very talented, and will be a credit to your House."
"She will be," Dumbledore's voice came from the connecting door. He stood at the top of the stairs, carrying a small bundle, "it's not often a student is allowed to enter a year early. She did very well on the test we set her to see if she was advanced enough."
Fiona's blush deepened. The headmaster walked down the stairs, talking softly to the baby in his arms.
"It will be best if we take him with us, so you can compare the colors you see to his."
He gently put the infant in her arms while he pocketed his wand and took out the sling rider Dobby had purchased for him in a Muggle town.
"I have Herbology in half an hour, Sir," Fiona said.
"I know. I've already sent a message to Professor Sprout."
Severus gurgled happily at Fiona, fists waving about. Dumbledore chuckled, and picked him up again. After a short cuddle, he relocated the baby to the sling rider and sighed.
"Well, Miss Grendel, on with our adventure. Where to first?"
"The dungeons, I guess. That's where I hear the voice most often.
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Harry, meanwhile, was having yet another difficult class with the older year Gryffindors. The younger years gave him little trouble; the bitter rivalry between the Houses hadn't affected them much yet. These NEWT students, however, were a different matter. They had known Harry as a student, and had been taught to hate Slytherin. That Harry was now their Head of House was a huge insult to them. Many jabs were made during class. Harry tried to ignore it for a couple of weeks, hoping it would die down, but it hadn't. While the younger Gryffindors enjoyed the new chance to be on friendly terms with all other houses, these students were still bitter and angry.
"Alright," Harry shoved his lesson plan for the day aside, "I've had enough of this."
His green eyes blazed with a mixture of annoyance and determination, and for a moment the Gryffindors – and Ravenclaws in the class – backed down. Seeing the man sometimes struggling with his weakened condition, they had forgotten that he was Harry James Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One and the Vanquisher of Voldemort. They had forgotten that he was, still, a very powerful wizard, physical condition notwithstanding.
"Come on, let's have it out in the open," he challenged them.
"You're one of us!" one of the Gryffindors said angrily, "you've gone traitor on us!"
His fellows nodded.
"I mean…Head of those snakes? After what they did in the war? After the lousy way Snape treated us all those years? Students lost their whole family in the war!"
Most of the Ravenclaws by now shook their heads in disbelief and groaned.
"Yes," Harry said, in a soft, silky voice, "yes, many students lost families. I do know how that feels. No house has lost more than Slytherin."
"But they DESERVED to die!"
"Their PARENTS," Harry sneered, "may have deserved to die. But no one deserves to be an orphan at such a young age. No matter on what side of the war their family died. The remaining Slytherins are innocent of any crimes in the war. And need I remind you that some of my best friends and allies were Slytherins? They are NOT all evil."
He looked at the stunned class. "Let me tell you what I told them, that morning the Headmaster announced it to the school. Slytherin house has been shunned and discriminated against for a long time. Therefor, its members were more easily attracted to Voldemort. Stop that stupid flinching," he nearly hissed, "he is dead and not coming back this time. It's only a name."
Leaning forward on his desk, his penetrating green gaze locked with that of his students.
"Were they wrong, for doing what they did? Yes. Was our treatment an excuse for them to murder? Definitely not. Should we own up to our mistakes and prejudices that contributed to this war? Abso-bloody-lutely."
Apart from the shock of hearing their professor swear in class, this speech stunned the group so much that only one Ravenclaw was actually capable of collecting her wits and replying.
"So…you own up to your mistakes by helping Slytherin? By becoming their Head of House, I mean, so you can try to fix the damage and make them a real part of the school again?"
Harry smiled tensely. "Exactly, Miss Peterson. Five points to Ravenclaw."
"And now," he said coldly, "I don't want to hear any jabs in the classroom. What you discuss in your Common Room I don't care about, but you will not interfere with class again."
"Oh dear, Potter, did some of my snarkiness jump over to you?"
Harry paled at the voice.
"Professor?" the students asked, unsure what was happening.
"Class dismissed," Harry said absentmindedly, intent on finding out who or what this voice was for once and for all.
"Out looking for trouble as always, aren't you, Potter?" the voice was that of his former Potions Master, but the venom that had been in it for so many years was absent. In fact, it sounded like teasing more than anything now.
The voice seemed to come from a distance ahead of him, so Harry drew his wand and decided to follow.
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Carrying Severus on his chest, and holding Fiona by her hand, Dumbledore slowly made his way towards the dungeons, where Fiona told him she most often talked to the Voice.
"He's really nice, and gives me good advice," the girl chattered.
Then she looked at him worried and a bit suspicious. "You aren't going to…hurt him, are you? Whatever he is?"
"Don't worry, dear. I have no intention of hurting whatever it is, unless the students are threatened. I do, however, wish to know what we are dealing with."
"I think he lives here," Fiona said, stopping suddenly, "because I most hear him here."
Dumbledore's eyes grew dark when he saw where they were. At the entrance to what used to be Severus Snape's personal chambers.
Before he had time to recover from the shock, Harry came hurrying around the corner, panting. Fiona gave a happy cry.
"There he is! I can see Professor Potter chasing the colors!" she nearly danced.
Looking up wearily, Dumbledore held up his hand to stop his panting history teacher from trying to explain whilst attempting to remain standing.
"I think I already know, Harry," he sighed.
He hadn't changed the password to Severus's rooms yet, although he hadn't been there either.
"Open, Sesame," he said. Harry looked at him curiously.
"He set that the night after Voldemort was defeated," Dumbledore said, smiling at the memory, "the only time I ever saw him somewhat intoxicated. He never changed it back."
Entering the rooms, the three –technically four, although the baby had little to contribute – stared at the spectral presence that stood in the middle, dark eyes unreadable and a slight smirk on his lips.
"Why, hello, father," he said to Dumbledore, "took you long enough."
Harry took Fiona's hand. "Come, Fiona, this is between the two of them."
"Wait a second, Harry," the spectre said, "I know about the going ons in the castle. I heard your speech to the Slytherins and Gryffindors. I'm sure my living counterpart would have said something exceedingly unpleasant, but I think eventually he would have given you his blessing."
Smiling, Harry took Fiona with him, telling the girl how well she had done and that they would visit the kitchens to get the somewhat shocked girl a mug of hot chocolate.
Dumbledore stared at the spectre of the man he had wanted to call son. "What…what happened?" he asked, "are you…are you a horcrux? Is the baby…"
"Merlin, no, father!" the spectre shook his head in disbelief, "honestly, how could you think that? Did we ever do something Dark, let alone something straight out of 'Magic Moste Evile'? No, the child is not a horcrux, and neither am I."
"Then what are you? What went wrong? Have I condemned you to an eternity of the life and memories you wanted to forget?"
Dumbledore felt himself getting agitated and emotional. In response, the child became upset and starting crying.
Automatically, the old wizard started soothing him.
"Oh, father," the ghostlike Severus shook his head, "yes, something…unexpected…happened. No, it wasn't your fault, not really. And nothing is wrong with my infant self."
Looking at his translucent hands, the spectre decided to start from the beginning.
"When you did the spells, you truly wanted to help me," he began.
"Of course, son," Dumbledore nodded.
"I know. Nevertheless, you weren't ready to let me go. Considering I sprung this on you three days earlier, that's no great surprise. However, part of you tried to hold on to me. Fortunately, only a small part. The de-aging process went fine, and Severus is now the baby you hold in your arms."
Dumbledore lowered his eyes, studying the small face. "He's perfect," he whispered, "not a Horcrux. How, then…"
"The small part of you that wanted to hold on to me, created an imprint of me," the spectre said calmly.
"This is more or less the same process when a portrait is activated upon death. I'm not Severus. I'm merely an imprint of him. I have his memories, but I'm not affected by them. I'm…Severus as he wanted to be. Without the restrains he had built up during his life. I am free to adress you as he would have wanted to do, but couldn't. I was waiting for you to come here so I could explain all this, but you didn't. Not even when you thought you could hear my voice," the spectre chided, mock-frowning, "no one listened except little Miss Grendel. When I realized she could see the 'colors' as she calls them, I told her to find a way to gently bring you here."
Dumbledore's eyes widened. "You mean…her innocent talking about colors and hearing a voice…"
"She IS a Slytherin, Albus. Most of the time she is indeed just chattering, but she is quite capable of inserting seemingly innocent comments to nudge someone in a certain direction."
Swallowing a lump, the old man looked at the spectre. "I miss you."
"I know. I'm not actually alive, so I can't miss you, and my real self is too small, but I do believe he will be content with you. Look at him."
The baby had calmed down, and was smiling at his grandfather, trying to get his attention.
"Gaahhhh," he managed, blowing a tiny, and accidental raspberry.
The spectre floated closer, watching with interest.
"I never looked this healthy as a baby," he commented, "and I certainly never smiled. He's very happy, father. Now, I only have one issue to raise."
"What, child?" Dumbledore asked, holding the baby against his shoulder and bouncing him slightly.
"Where do you want me? Quite honestly, I'm not all that happy about being a disembodied voice in the castle…except in this room. But there are no paintings of me. And at some point, you'll want these rooms back."
"It's my fault," the ancient wizard shook his head, "if I had been stronger…"
"Stop that, father," the spectre said sternly, "I'm no more than an imprint. Severus," he stressed, "is laying perfectly content and happy against your shoulder. I'm here because you love him. I'm here because you loved who that child used to be: a harsh, bitter man, hardened by war. While not being able to let go completely complicated matters, it means a lot that it did happen."
Ghostlike fingers tried to rub spines of books, labels of potion vials.
"In time, when you've accepted that Severus Snape is gone, I'll fade. Until then, I'd be happy to live in a painting with you."
"I'll have a painting made," Dumbledore said, looking old and frail, "I'd been planning on having one commissioned anyway."
"Thank you. It would have been better, for you, if this had not happened, and you didn't have to deal with me, but fate dictates otherwise. At least I get to make sure Potter doesn't turn my former students into little Gryffindors."
Dumbledore couldn't help but laugh, and the small infant on his shoulder, tickled by the beard and rumble in his grandfather's chest, made noises that began to sound like small giggles.